by Tessa Candle
At least he was stretching his legs and getting some fresh air, but the peaceful trees and charming bird songs did nothing to soothe his spirit, and he persisted in searching around every trunk. It was madness to continue this quest, and he knew that he indeed looked like a madman, wandering about and periodically staring up at the same tree. But what if it were the same young lady?
Aldley had to meet her. He had to know if it were her, in the very least to thank her properly. She was very probably married by now. He clenched his teeth. But he could at least express his gratitude. On the other hand, if she were married, would she still be out climbing trees? Would her husband put up with it?
He thought not. It was, after all, rather improper. And although it seemed a charming eccentricity in a young lady he might court, he should not countenance it in a wife. He shook his head. Of course it was a merely hypothetical thought. Only he should very much like to thank her. That was all.
Chapter 10
Lydia was wearing her mother's pearls and a light, russet silk and tulle dress with a cream sash at the waist and gloves trimmed with copper beads. She was painfully conscious of how ladylike the total effect was.
As she caught a glance of herself in one of the many grand mirrors around Lady Goodram's ballroom, lit by the warm candle light so that the copper in her hair and dress gleamed luxuriantly as though she belonged in this warmly sparkling space, she felt a bit of a fraud. She wondered if everyone there could see the tree twigs and sun-burnt nose behind the façade.
She was once again under admonitions not to drink claret or be always tossing her curls about. It was lucky that she was in no head-tossing mood, though her nerves could use a glass of wine. She wished, as she was introduced by Lady Goodram to this or that person, that she had Tilly by her side to give her courage.
“Calm yourself, my dear, there is no one to fear at one of my balls.” Lady Goodram took her hand and pulled her toward the refreshments room. “Let us go find a glass of some cordial to fortify you.”
“Thank you, Lady Goodram. You are really too kind to me. I shall try not to shame you.” Some champagne would help.
“Shame me! No chance of that my dear, for you are so frightfully pretty—well, perhaps the Duke's daughter over there might be just a bit more beautiful.”
Lydia suppressed a laugh. No one would be overwhelmed by the mousy haired girl's personal appearance, but she had fortune and an enviable pedigree as well as connections to the royal family. And she was not plagued with freckles. Lydia could hardly feel superior. Out of respect, she tried to maintain a demeanour as deceptively sober as Lady Goodram's.
“But then,” Lady Goodram continued, “one's vision is always affected by the knowledge of her social standing. So who knows but that you might not be slightly prettier after all.”
“I am sure all the prettiness in the world cannot overcome my father's not being a gentleman.”
“Well, that might be somewhat true, but beauty combined with good fortune covers a multitude of genealogical sins. And anyway, you are only thinking of what engages female fascination. Just remember that what is important to men is rather a different thing than what is prized by the ladies of the ton. It is true that you do not have noble birth, nor do you play an instrument, and your needle work is… well let us not speak of that.”
Lydia giggled. The cocktail was a bit stronger than she was used to. “Does this have brandy mixed in with the champagne?”
“Yes. A rather lot—do not tell your mother. But as I was saying, alongside your numerous failings, you also have good sense, an improved mind, you read French and German, and far too many intellectual topics, and I dare say you have a very charming personality, when you are not hiding from society—which is, of course, only too tempting. But now you must shine. Share your beauty, your sense and your sweet, unspoiled disposition with the company, avoid the topic of trees, and I assure you more than one man will lose his heart to you.”
“I do not really want anyone to lose their heart. I just want to get through the evening without embarrassing you.”
Lady Goodram smiled and patted her arm “You could not embarrass me, even if you were trying, my dear little Lydia. I do not embarrass easily. Now, I think you have some acquaintance among this group of young ladies, so I shall leave you to their charming society.”
As they approached the group of muslin-and-lace-swathed débutantes, she said, “Miss Louisa Ferrel, I believe you are acquainted with Miss Norwood?”
“Yes, my lady, indeed I am.” She smiled at Lydia.
“And Miss Stokes, and Miss Dreydon, may I introduce to you the daughter of my very good friend?” The ladies both expressed their pleasure at the idea, and when all three were introduced, Lady Goodram gave Lydia a private wink and said, “I must now go teach your mother how to lose gracefully at whist. Enjoy yourself, my dear.”
Lydia felt the loss immediately, for she did not really know what to say to these girls. Compliments. Her mother said always to lead with a compliment.
“That is a most elegant necklace, Miss Dreydon, and it is very becoming with your complexion.” But wait, her mother also said not to comment on personal appearance. Lord, had she made a gaffe already? But Miss Dreydon seemed pleased, and so the little dance of bland pleasantries and civil whiskers began.
They were sweet enough girls, but not nearly as interesting as Tilly. Lydia sipped her champagne drink and chatted, trying to appear engaged, and only surreptitiously glanced about the room. She saw an unexpected face.
“Oh!” Miss Ferrel's mouth opened in surprise. “It is Mr. Delacroix, unless I am mistaken.”
“Indeed, I believe you are right.” Even from a distance, Lydia could make out the alarming blue eyes, tanned skin and dark hair.
“But, I understood from Miss Delacroix that none of them were invited.” Miss Ferrel looked puzzled.
“Yes, that had also been my impression.” Lydia tried to maintain a bland expression.
“He is mightily handsome.” Miss Stokes played with the finger of one glove, and with a dreamy sort of look asked, “Do you think he bribed a servant and sneaked in through the back entry?”
“I should think not.” Miss Ferrel had the facial resolve of a lady choosing to believe the best. “We must have been mistaken, I think. It is not unheard of for only one person from a family to be invited, after all.”
Lydia held her tongue. She was rather more inclined to believe Miss Stokes's speculation, though she did not ascribe to it the same romantic veneer which appeared to entrance that young lady.
“Ah, but there is Miss Dervish.” Miss Ferrel's sweet smile broadened.
So there was an explanation. Whither that beauty went, there Mr. Delacroix would be drawn like a bee to a blossom. Or a fox to a hen house. Lydia watched as he approached Miss Dervish and took her hand briefly. Miss Dervish averted her gaze and blushed.
“That is Miss Dervish?” The finger of Miss Stoke's glove was now getting completely twisted, and she sighed rapturously. “She has the face of an angel!”
“It almost does not seem fair, does it?” Miss Ferrel's remark reminded Lydia of Tilly. How innocently one person might say something that would be pure mischief from another's lips.
“But I believe we have no cause for repine. It might be a little wrong of us to speak of unfairness when none of us will ever really want for anything. That is more than many can say.” Miss Dreydon, though undeniably right, seemed a little prudent for her fifteen years, a little too concerned with the lot of the poor for her conspicuous emerald pendant, and a little too correct in her views to be any fun at all.
A gloom settled over the four, demanding a few moments of silence.
“I say, I believe that is Lord Aldley.” Miss Ferrel's eyes were keenly trained on a tall, golden-haired man with broad shoulders and impeccable tailoring.
“The tall man with the golden hair?” Lydia's breath caught a little. So this was Lord Aldley, the man who sang so beautifully. She did n
ot often remark upon clothing, but this man wore his very well, and his tailoring showed his muscular body to great advantage. She could feel her heart beating faster.
“Just the same.” Miss Ferrel nodded.
“You know Lord Aldley?” Miss Stokes' eyes rounded a little.
“Not really.” Miss Ferrel smiled at Miss Stokes' awestruck face. “But my father once sold the senior Lord Aldley a horse, and the son accompanied him. I spied him from a window. I remember thinking that he was a prince, with the sun shining in his hair, and almost as tall as Papa.” She laughed at the recollection. “I was a fanciful girl. But I was not so very far from wrong. He is an earl, after all. And he has a fine bearing.”
Miss Stokes sighed dramatically and nodded in agreement.
The man finished his discussion with the older couple he spoke to, and slipped away into the back card room. Lydia wondered if he would turn out to be as disagreeable as his mother—surely not if Lady Goodram liked him so well. But she wondered why Lady Goodram had not contrived to introduce them.
She turned to spy again on Miss Dervish's tête a tête, and realized that while they had all been gaping at the earl, Mr. Delacroix and Miss Dervish had disappeared.
Her curiosity, and the glass of spiked champagne, got the better of her fear of making a wrong move. She resolved to go look for them. “Will you excuse me for a moment? I must go take some air.” It was a strange way to excuse herself, for the rooms had not grown hot, but the young ladies acceded without comment.
She walked to the balcony on the south side of the hall. Her novels had educated her well on what goings on might occur on dark balconies and in garden pavilions. Perhaps it was a perverse curiosity about such secret meetings that propelled her out the doors to the balcony, or perhaps it was a particular fascination with Miss Dervish, and a desire not to see her compromised.
She could not say which, or how much of each motivation drove her. But her curiosity went unsatisfied, for the balcony was empty but for the long shadows of plants in urns and classical statues, cast about by a sprinkling of torches.
Lydia breathed the moist cool air, lightly scented by the flowering plants. She should spend at least a little time out there, or it would look odd. She walked to the edge of the balcony, and gazed out at the garden, remembering life in the countryside, where the skies were clear and one could see the stars perfectly.
Lydia had just decided she had been out long enough when a now familiar voice came from behind her.
“There you are, Miss Norwood. Have you... climbed any good trees, lately?”
Mr. Delacroix. She started, but ignored the comment, and fixed her gaze on an oak tree on the far side of the gardens.
“In fact, I see you have spied some future arboreal conquests on the grounds. Ah, you will never turn your gaze to me.” He came around to stand before her. “Not since the first time I saw you. It is cruel of you to hide your radiance from a poor besotted creature like myself.”
“We were facing each other when we were introduced, Mr. Delacroix.” Her voice expressed her extreme displeasure at the meeting.
“Perhaps, but not when we met.” His smile was a flash of wolfish white teeth.
“I am sure we had not met until the evening of Lady Delacroix's ball.”
“Then how should I know that you have a penchant for scampering about unescorted in the alleyways behind gentlemen's clubs?” His arms were suddenly around her waist and his breath against her neck as he whispered, “With your beautiful red locks falling out of your bonnet. Do not worry, your secret is safe with me, my wild little beauty.”
She had mixed feelings. On the one hand, her body was responding rather bewilderingly to his touch, to this forceful surprise. She was suddenly thankful for her uncomfortably complex undergarments, as her traitorous nipples hardened slightly beneath her corset and silk slip.
And he was terribly handsome, if at the same time repugnantly presumptuous. And something else. What was it? She searched her memory. Her father's club. He was the man in the window. He had thought she was a woman of easy virtue—his thoughts had obviously not altered much.
His grip was strong, but she had the advantage of anger and surprise. The young man had not the benefit of acquaintance with women who climbed trees for amusement.
She pried his arms off, and when he tried to re-entangle her, she drove her knee into his groin, a trick she learned from the farm children she had played with in her childhood. He cursed and stepped back in a partial crouch. The technique still worked rather well.
She hurried back to the door, and he did not follow her. Taking a breath, she attempted to look calm, but her limbs shook as she stepped back into the ballroom. She decided it more prudent to go check in on her mother than to see the other young ladies right at the moment.
Or perhaps she merely wanted to be somewhere safe, near her mother and Lady Goodram, near the card tables and polite conversation, the symbols of dignified society, as though it might erase this recent shame.
As she neared the table where her mother and Lady Goodram were playing cards, she noticed the tall Lord Aldley, his head inclined in conversation with Miss Dervish, who was seated and playing cards. She had been luckier than Lydia, and had escaped to the card room, where the hostess sat, and where Mr. Delacroix would not likely follow, if he indeed had not been invited.
Her mother was facing the door, and was the first to see her. “Lydia, my dear you are flushed. Are you unwell?”
She knew her mother secretly wished to enquire if she had been drinking the forbidden red wine.
Lord Aldley looked up from Miss Dervish, to take in the view of Lydia's person. His brows raised slightly, and a faint smile played around his lips.
His eyes were a deep, innocent blue which offset the high, chiselled cheekbones and strong jawline that might have otherwise made his face look severe. His hair waved at his temples, and was not golden as she had thought when she first beheld it, backlit by candles. It was rather a deep nut brown shot through with beautiful veins of gold.
But his shoulders were just as broad and strong as she had first thought them, and his perfectly tailored shirt and jacket showed off the movements of lithe muscles in his arms and chest as he straightened to better behold her. It took both of them a moment to realize they had been staring at each other just a little bit longer than they ought.
Lydia felt her flush deepen, but rallied herself. “No, Mama. I am very well. I only came to check on you. Has Lady Goodram reduced us to poverty, yet?”
The lady smiled fondly at Lydia. “Your mother is a sly thing, and more lucky at cards than is entirely plausible.”
“She has this in common with you, Miss Norwood,” added Miss Dervish with a smile. “As I recall you were also rather good at whist, for an uninitiated player.”
Lydia omitted to explain to Miss Dervish that her talent for cards might be more fairly attributed to her father's side of the family. She wondered if Lord Aldley were still looking at her, but disciplined herself to keep her gaze pointed elsewhere.
“Well, I suppose I shall be fortunate to escape with my own pearls.” Lady Goodram fingered the heirloom strand possessively. Her mother maintained an innocent look, but appeared pleased with herself. It was not a high stakes game, of which she would not have approved, but she clearly enjoyed the pretence.
“You needn't worry, Lady Goodram.” Lord Aldley's voice was deep and strong and smooth. It made the hairs on Lydia's back stand straight up.
She drew in her breath sharply. Lord Aldley's beautiful vocalization would have melted her insides, if it did not throw her into a cold panic, for she recognized it. She could never forget the beautiful voice of the earl she had almost met in the pleasure garden the summer before her first season.
How could she not have heard it previously? She should have recognized that lovely singing voice as the same one that enchanted her before. Did he recognize her?
“I shall front you my best gold watch, if you are
too hard pressed. Your pearls are safe.” Lord Aldley was grinning rakishly at Lady Goodram.
It made him that much more magnetic, but Lydia smiled and relaxed a little. He could not recognize her, surely. He betrayed no sign that he did. And this playful affection for Lady Goodram was becoming in him—as was his tendency to look at Lydia as often as was polite, although he stood next to the most beautiful woman in London.
In the light cast by the great pillar candles and smaller tapers that lit the room, he looked so angelic. She realized she was staring again, and re-focused her attention on the many fascinations of the card table.
“All I ask in return is that you introduce your young friend.” Lord Aldley must be speaking of her, but Lydia could not permit herself to look up.
“Oh my, yes of course! I should have offered to do so immediately.” Lady Goodram tapped her temple. “Decorum is the first casualty of losing at cards. Lord Aldley, may I introduce Mrs. Norwood's daughter, Miss Lydia Norwood.”
“How do you do, my lord.” Lydia curtseyed deeply. His lips curved imperfectly around his slightly crooked teeth, forming into a smile that seemed a bit sideways and boyishly charming. Her stomach fluttered.
Lord Aldley bowed. “Very well, I thank you. I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Norwood.”
“The pleasure is entirely mine, my lord.” Warmth rushed throughout Lydia's body. She could listen to his voice forever, but she had run out of words with which to prompt him, now that the official formalities were over.
Still, she wanted more than anything to impress this man—or at least not to look like a great simpleton with nothing to say. And yet, remaining silent was the best preventative for saying something unacceptable, like the country-come-to-town chit that she was.
Suddenly she remembered his mother. What might Lady Aldley have said to him? But at least it gave her something to speak of.