Lydia rolled her eyes. She had lost count of the amount of times they had endured this conversation with one another, with it never coming to a decided conclusion. Lydia did not wish to marry for anything short of true, exciting love, whilst her mother would happily marry her off to the next wealthy Duke that happened to come along.
It was as though she had learned little from the family heritage, for though Lydia’s grandmother had suffered a great sickness of the mind at the end of her life, she had loved her husband until the bitter end. Even when she could no longer recognize him, she had spoken of him in the past and her overwhelming love for him.
That was the sort of love she wanted—the passion, the desire, the longing, of which her books spoke, and her grandparents had shared.
Annabelle Bradford, née Forrest, had not married her father for love. That much was clear to all those who witnessed them, for though they made an exemplary partnership, Lydia could not remember them sharing so much as a kiss at Christmas. How they had created three children, Lydia did not know. Indeed, they did not even share chambers, and there was no middle-of-the-night creeping between bedrooms. Not that she had heard, anyway.
I want what my grandparents had. I do not want the banal and dull perseverance of an arranged union. She wanted love, and nothing else would suffice. If that meant she spent her days as a spinster, as her father wanted, then so be it.
“Who do you have waiting, Mother” Lydia teased. “Should I peer around the door, lest he jump out at me?”
“Goodness, listen to you! Anyone would think you had been dragged into womanhood, rather than raised with the utmost care,” the Duchess muttered. “I thought we might attend the Sherringham’s ball on Friday, where there shall be an excellent selection of eligible young men.”
“Should you not worry for Caroline first?” Lydia knew this was a trying subject for her mother, and so she delighted in pushing the right buttons. Caroline had decided to turn to a life of religion and charitable endeavor, preferring it over marriage and eligible bachelors. It had caused their mother no end of grief, for though she was somewhat dull in her interests, Caroline was a pleasant young lady to behold.
“You know very well that Caroline has chosen an…alternative path. I will not have this discussion with you again,” the Duchess retorted, with a note of exasperation in her voice. “As for you, I shall have the modiste design a new gown, so we may impress at the Sherringham’s. They have a delightful son, and I am certain he will take a liking to you, so long as you behave.”
Lydia smiled. “I can make no promises.”
“You must behave, Lydia. You must find a suitable gentleman before the year is over, so that you may begin a family of your own and find your future in safe hands.”
“I am hardly ready to begin having children, Mother.”
The Duchess frowned. “At two-and-twenty, you are long overdue in the pursuit of children. Meredith Rochefort already has two darling boys, and she is but twenty.”
“How fortunate for Meredith.” Lydia flashed her mother a smile, but she did not seem amused.
“Why must we always be at odds on this matter?” The Duchess sighed wearily. “Can you not understand the need for security? If you had a brother, things might be different, but I was unable to bear one. As such, your circumstance is not as safe as you might like to imagine.”
“Father is not sick. Why should I worry?”
The Duchess shot her a cold look. “Because one can never tell what may happen in the future, Lydia. You must have a husband before anything befalls your father. It is far better to pre-empt such eventualities than find yourself floundering when the time comes.”
“May we discuss it another time?”
“No, we may not. The invitation has already been replied to, and you will be expected to attend the Sherringham’s ball on Friday.”
“And must I find a husband there and then?” Lydia retorted sourly.
“It would be preferable, yes.”
Lydia shook her head. “I will attend this ball, but I cannot promise an engagement. The gentlemen often lose interest once they have spoken with me a while.”
“Because you are determined to frighten them away with your coarse remarks and discussions about Greek literature.”
Lydia blanched. “I do not.”
“You think I do not know of the filth that you read? You think the maids do not tell me of the books you hoard beneath your bed? You may claim you are expanding your knowledge of Greek and Latin, but I am no fool, Lydia.” The Duchess took a deep breath to calm herself. “All I ask is that you comport yourself in a ladylike manner, without scaring the young gentlemen away. Is that so much to request?”
“I am late for my afternoon excursion,” she mumbled.
“You are like a common stale, always out in the stables.”
“You would deny me my one joy?” Lydia stared at her mother.
“If you do not accept your attendance at the Sherringham’s ball, perhaps we may have to rethink the freedom you have to ride as you please.”
The threat lingered in the air between mother and daughter. For, though Lydia knew how to press her mother’s buttons, the Duchess knew precisely where Lydia’s weaknesses were.
Lydia balled her hands into fists. “Very well, then you may call upon your modiste and have her prepare a gown. I will attend the Sherringham’s ball.” But I will not be happy about it, and I will not comport myself as you have asked.
The Duchess smiled. “Excellent, I shall send word to her at once. I thought emerald green might be rather becoming, with your dark hair and dark eyes. Yes…emerald would be rather pleasing.”
“Whatever you prefer, Mother.” Her mother had won this one, but she would not always be victorious.
Unwilling to wait around for further discussion about eligible bachelors, Lydia slipped out of the library and headed out into the brisk April air.
A light shower had sprinkled the verdant lawns in crystalline droplets, and the beautiful blooms in the gardens were raising their colorful heads to sup the sweet dew. Lydia loved to be outdoors and walked as often as she was permitted, though today she skirted hurriedly around the exquisite gardens and headed for the stables.
The scent of hay and resting horses struck her as she entered the brick building that stood a short distance from the house. Four beasts raised their snouts over their gates as she stepped into the dimly-lit outhouse, their nostrils snorting as she stroked each one. Caroline and Mary didn’t ride much, and her mother never rode, but she and her father shared a love for the creatures. Gone were the days when he used to ride alongside her, but she had fond memories of those excursions.
She stopped as an unfamiliar figure approached, bearing two bales of hay in sturdy arms. “Pardon me, but I do not believe I know you,” she said boldly.
The young man peered out from behind the bales and set them down. “Good afternoon, Miss. Did I startle you?”
“A little. Where is Danson?”
“He is with the pigs, Miss.”
She smiled, for he was more handsome than she had first realized. Dark blonde curls swept across his forehead, which beaded with perspiration, and two ocean-blue eyes stared at her with a bemused expression. He had faint freckles across his sweaty face and stood a good head taller than her. She did not know of any new hires and supposed this must be the gentleman that was discovered in the woods—naked or not.
So, my father gave him work in the stables?
“My name is Edward,” he said. “I am the new stable boy here.”
She sketched a curtsey. “I am Lady Lydia Bradford.”
His expression changed. “I am sorry, My Lady. I did not realize you were one of his Grace’s daughters. I would never have replied to you so informally, had I but known.”
“Never mind that. I should like to ride—can you tack up Conker for me?” She gestured to a sleek, chestnut mare that kicked impatiently at her door. Conker was Lydia’s most-beloved horse, named f
or the color and shine of her coat. Although, she rode her sisters’ horses from time to time, to give them some freedom.
“What did you say?” A peculiar, strained frown corrugated his forehead.
“Might you arrange my horse for riding?”
He dipped his head. “Certainly, My Lady.”
She stood by as he approached the chestnut mare, and slowly began to fix her up for purpose. Ten minutes later, Conker was ready to ride. Taking hold of Edward’s hand, she accepted his help up and onto the side saddle, where she settled comfortably and took up the reins.
“Thank you, Edward.”
He smiled vacantly. “It is my pleasure, My Lady.”
With a soft kick of her heels, she trotted out of the stables and began to ride towards the woodland. Once she was out of sight of the house, she lifted her leg over the saddle and sat astride it, in the manner of a gentleman. Her mother would have locked her in her room, had she seen her behaving in such an uncouth manner, but Lydia did not care. She reveled in the freedom of riding in such a way.
Turning the horse around, she set it to a canter along the riverbank that cut through the house grounds on the far north. Fish darted beneath the surface of the water, splashing every so often to make themselves known. With a fresh breeze on the wind, she lifted her face to the warm sunshine and let the slight chill nip at her cheeks.
Before long, she became conscious of a frisson on her most secret place. It was part of why she rode in such a way, pressed against the pommel in a private moment of delicious pressure.
The horse moved at a steady place, making the pommel rise and fall against her body, deep beneath her pantalettes, rubbing against her sex. Her teeth caught on her bottom lip as she rasped in a sudden breath, gasping at the sensation of pure pleasure.
She thought perhaps she did need the doctor to examine her, for what young lady behaved in such a manner?
And yet, she could not help herself. The sensation was indescribable, filling her body with bristling pulses of ecstasy. Sometimes, it culminated in an explosive surge of pleasure, but other times she was content with the tantalizing tease of the friction.
Unbidden, she envisioned the stable boy walking towards her with his muscles straining under the weight of the hay bales. She pictured the sheen of sweat upon his forehead, and the way his curls swept forward, one strand lying over his blue eyes. She smiled as she rode, wondering what it might be like to feel a man’s strong touch upon her, instead of the firm leather of a pommel.
Would it feel the same? She did not dare to dwell too keenly on it, her cheeks flushing with heat as she contemplated it.
Glancing back at the stables, she gasped as she saw the stable boy standing in the doorway. He watched her, his muscular arms folded across his lean chest. It made a change from the suited and booted individuals who visited her father on business and cast a flirtatious look in her direction.
There was a wonderful simplicity to Edward, dressed in a white shirt, and black trousers, his boots high to the knee. There were no frills…just him, as he was. Strong, silent and steady, much like the beast who carried her safely along the riverbank.
What would it feel like if you were to touch me?
Chastened, she gripped the reins in her hands and dug in her heels, driving her horse into a gallop. If she rode fast enough, she could forget the weight of responsibility upon her shoulders and forget the ball that was to come in a few days’ time. More than anything, she could forget the fantasy of the stable boy’s hands dancing upon her skin.
You must not think of such things. Leave your imagination to the books you read.
There was a fine line between fiction and reality, and she could not cross it. Ever.
Chapter 4
Edward watched the young lady for a while before turning around and returning to his work. His mind was in a state of complete turmoil, but he was determined to make the best of his lucky situation. He knew he could well have awoken in a far more dangerous place without the benevolence of a kind Lord to act as his savior.
Glancing at His Grace’s daughter would only serve to get him in hot water, and he vowed not to look at her in such a way again.
Although, he reasoned that would more difficult than he could fathom, for she was remarkable. He had quite lost his breath when she had entered the stables, for he had thought her a mirage.
She was slender and pale of complexion, with the darkest brown eyes he had ever seen, and a tumbling mane of dark hair that contrasted starkly to the pale color of her skin. Faint flushes brought a pleasant rose to her cheeks, and the way she moved was elegant and agile, like a dancer. He could not help but admire her.
But only from afar, he reminded himself.
Even if he meant well, he could not afford to lose his position within the household by staring too long. The Duke seemed rather protective over his entire family, and Edward knew that he would not take kindly to any lingering looks.
An hour later, he looked up at the sound of hooves approaching. For some reason, the sound sent a sudden spike of fear through his heart, though he could not comprehend why.
I am unafraid of horses, so why does that sound chill me to the bone? His mind would not cooperate. He could not fathom a single reason from the fog of his brain.
“My Lady, are you finished for the afternoon?” He gathered himself, swallowing his unexpected anxiety and took the reins from Lady Lydia. Carefully, he led the horse toward the mounting steps.
“Yes, thank you,” she replied. He smiled slightly as she took his hand and dismounted, noticing that she was no longer sitting side saddle but sat astride the creature as well as any man. He turned his bashful gaze away as he caught sight of her stockinged calves, her skirt lifting slightly as she swung her leg over to get down.
It was a sight that would remain with him for a while, no matter how hard he tried to force it away. Her legs were slender and shapely, with a line of lean muscle that indicated she was a skilled horsewoman.
He held onto her hand for a moment longer than appropriate, though she made no move to snatch it away. Instead, she leveled her gaze at him, a flicker of curiosity passing across her dark, doe eyes. He wondered if she looked at Danson, the stablemaster, the same way. The thought amused him. Danson was a man of advancing years, with very little of his hair left, and a constant five o’clock shadow across his jaw, no matter how recently he had shaven.
“Do you like to ride, My Lady?” he asked, unable to bear the tense silence a moment longer.
She smiled shyly. “Very much, Edward. And you?”
“I think so.”
“You think so? Surely, you either enjoy it or you do not?” She was teasing him, but he did not mind.
“I remember very little of who I am, My Lady.”
“You are the man they discovered in the woods, are you not?”
He nodded. “I believe that shall be my call to fame, yes. The gossip seems to have preceded me.”
“By all accounts, you were discovered without a stitch upon you.” A grin lit up her features, glowing like a warm fire from within. He had never seen her look prettier, and he already thought her the most exquisite creature he had ever beheld.
“As I say, the gossip precedes me. I assure you, I was appropriately dressed, if somewhat disheveled,” he confessed. “I do not know how I came to find my way to the grounds of your father’s estate, and I am still attempting to piece my memory together. Thus far, nothing has returned to me but my name. Although, I am not even certain Edward is my name.”
She tapped the side of her temple. “How very curious. I have never heard of any real instances of amnesia, though I have watched a beloved grandmother suffer some form of tragic memory loss. I suppose it is not so different.”
His heart gripped with sorrow. “Is that so, My Lady? I am sorry to hear it.”
“It was a troubling time,” she replied sadly. “If you were to see someone familiar, do you think you would recognize them?” She changed the s
ubject, and he did not press her for more information regarding her grandmother. He had not seen many members of the household, but he was fairly sure the grandmother was no longer in this world.
“I do not know, My Lady. As of yet, I do not think I have witnessed anyone familiar, to try out such a hypothesis.”
She stared at him for some time, as if assessing him. “And you truly have no memory prior to being discovered two days ago?”
“None whatsoever. I had thought some memory might return to me, but it has not. The doctor explained that it may take some time, but I have firm hopes that my recollections may come back swiftly. It is a peculiar state, not to remember a thing.”
“I can imagine,” she mused. “Freeing too, though, I should think?”
He shrugged. “I cannot say if it is freeing or not, My Lady.”
“Perhaps, in your old life, there were things you might not wish to remember. If I were you, I would see this as a blessing as much as it may be a curse.”
He had not thought of it like that. Ever since awakening, all he had been able to focus on was regaining the lost memories in his mind. However, he reasoned she had a valid point. What if he was running from something in his past existence? What if there were responsibilities he might not want to return to?
What if I have a wife?
The idea stunned him. Glancing at the pretty features of Lydia, he firmly prayed he did not have a wife, for otherwise he would not be able to look upon her in the manner he was doing—freely and without shame.
Ordinarily, he would have deemed it improper to gaze at a woman with such outward admiration, but he was merely matching the expression on Lady Lydia’s face. She was setting the boundaries, and he did not mind one bit. Although, he reminded himself that he had to be cautious. Yes, she was beautiful, but she was forbidden fruit. He could look and appreciate, but he could not touch.
“I noticed you do not like to ride side saddle, My Lady,” he said, with a note of intrigue.
She stared at him. “You must not breathe a word to anyone, not even Danson.”
“I will keep your secret, My Lady. I merely wanted to suggest a different saddle, if you prefer to ride in such a way,” he replied evenly. “Your balance may be compromised if you sit astride a side saddle, but I can arrange an ordinary saddle for you, in the future. Your skirts will cover any discrepancy, and I will not say a word of it to anyone.”
Secret Confessions 0f The Enticing Duchess (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 31