by Tessa Candle
When she recovered a little she said, “Please do not think me of a vapourish bent, Lord Aldley—Thomas. It is just that the last time I was whisked away in a carriage, I was not in such pleasant company as now.”
“Ah, yes.” He clenched his jaw and fists, then drooped into a helpless posture. “Forgive me. I am a great bumbling oaf. Please know, Miss Norwood, that I should never harm a hair on your head. I am truly sorry that you find yourself in this uncomfortable situation. But I am thankful for your trust. I shall not betray it. Only I could not risk losing sight of you again, for you cannot know how I have been plagued by the myriad intrusions that have frustrated me these past weeks.”
“Yes, of course.” Lydia suppressed the desire to ask what a rich nobleman could know about frustrated plans. In her experience, they did whatever they liked, and everyone else made it easy for them.
On the other hand, Lord Aldley was different. He was beautiful, kind, principled. “I believe I understand. You may call me Lydia, if you like.”
“I do like.” He clasped her hand. “Lydia. I like it very much.”
She smiled at him. His hand felt good, reassuring. He was a gentleman. She was safe with him. This was not the same situation. “Do you know where your mother may be going?”
“I have no idea. I expect the culprit is after some ransom, for I have been receiving strange notes, which I believed to be fabrications, intending to orchestrate some blackmail or swindle. Now it seems likely that they were designed to distract me so that my mother might be abducted.”
“Blackmail?” She wondered what he might be blackmailed with.
One had to have some sort of secret to be susceptible to blackmail. She remembered the letter she had received. They had assumed it was from Miss Delacroix, and if so, almost certainly a lie.
But then again, if Miss Delacroix were planning on posing as Lydia at the ball, why would she then send such a letter? How would it serve her purpose to drive a wedge between them, if their mutual attraction was what she was planning to exploit?
She supposed it was possible that Miss Delacroix was jumbling multiple strategies together. She was bent on scheming, but that did not mean that she was good at it. “Whatever could anyone have to blackmail you with?”
“Nothing at all, I assure you. But there are people who flinch from the mere threat of a scandal—however undeserved, and so are easily extorted. I am not one of them, but I should very much like to find the person or persons responsible and make them greatly regret their actions. Of course, I do not know that the same culprit is involved in taking my mother, but the timing is extremely suspicious. He sent me a letter asking to meet in my carriage outside the ball.”
“That is certainly unusual, and suspicious enough by itself. Whatever could have induced you to indulge such a request?” A knot of fearful suspicion was constricting her innards.
What if he really did have something to be ashamed of, even if he was not a man whose character would make him feel it?
“Ah, I see the way you are looking at me.” Aldley looked pained. “Lydia, the letter asserted things which I do not believe to be true. But the assertions are no shame of mine—no matter what conclusion everyone else might leap to. I am innocent in the matter.”
She did not feel assured. She knew she should trust this man if she had true feelings for him. Didn't she love him? And if she did, was she a fool to do so? She was certainly a fool to have put herself in this position if she were not in love with him.
“Perhaps, if you just told me the whole story. Or do I presume too much?”
He stiffened. “No, you do not presume too much. Indeed, there is nothing I should keep from you, so I shall tell you the story, though it is not exactly an appropriate conversation to have with… well, our entire situation will require some flexibility about social proprieties, I suppose. I shall not attempt to conceal that your doubt pains me and disappoints me a little.”
“It is not so much that I doubt you.” Lydia shook her head in consternation. “I only want to understand. Let me just say that I have been put in some extremely unpleasant situations in recent times, and all at the hands of people whose station in life should have made their vile conduct impossible to contemplate. I find myself very confused. Will you please be patient, and explain this?”
“Yes, as best I can. And as I tell you, please bear in mind that if I were not blameless in this matter, I should never have brought it up in the first place.” He then relayed the whole story of Solange Dupres and her child.
“So it was out of pity for the innocent victim of his mother's folly and his father's depravity,” he concluded, “that I had attempted to assist this child. I am sorry the babe died. He deserved a better fate. But he was not mine.”
“And you are quite certain that this child did not survive?”
“I trust in the word of my lawyer in Paris. He was very thorough in his report. In any case, there would be no reason for anyone to claim that a child who was apparently an orphaned and penniless bastard had died in the streets of Paris, when he had not. Particularly when there was the possibility of a trust, if the child were alive.”
He looked at her as though willing her to see the truth. “So when I lately received a letter from the so-called M. Boulanger, claiming the child lived, I was extremely suspicious. When the second letter asked for this unusual meeting, I was determined to bring the scoundrel to justice.”
She felt the veracity of his words and was stricken by a pang of shame for having doubted his character. “I suppose that the same person may have written my letter.”
“You received a letter, too? What did it say?” Aldley's lips flattened.
“Put succinctly, it said that you were the father, and had abandoned the mother and child. The author claimed to wish only to put me on my guard that I might not partake of your shame.”
His face darkened. “I should like to get my hands on the person slandering my name—particularly to you. But do you not think that it must be a different person? Surely the motives for the letters are quite different.”
“Yes, I see what you mean.” She could not help scowling. “But it could also be one person who is too deranged to keep schemes from crossing purposes.”
Aldley nodded, and fell silent for a time. “You did not believe it of me, did you?”
“In truth, I knew not what to believe.” She burrowed herself more deeply into the fur wrap. “I am sorry. Only your words ring true to me, now. And I do believe you.”
“I am glad to hear it. But you should know that I also received a letter suggesting that you were ruined both socially, because of the abduction, and financially.”
Lydia shifted uncomfortably.
He continued, “Of course I dismissed it, as I already knew that you were the blameless victim of a man whom, by then, I had great reason to despise. I knew it to be gossip-mongering interference. But I made no connection between the two letters, for the handwriting was different, and one was anonymous, whereas the other was signed.”
“Yes, perhaps it is mere coincidence.” Lydia was not convinced. “Only I have reason to suspect someone amongst our acquaintance.”
“Whom do you suspect?”
She smiled a little self-consciously. “You will not think me a slanderer, myself, if I share my suspicions, will you?”
“No. Certainly not.” Aldley drew a little closer to her.
“Do you recall meeting Miss Delacroix under the unusual circumstance of your happening upon her, alone beside her overturned carriage?”
“Yes. That was odd.” Aldley's mouth showed his suspicion.
“And do you recall her behaviour?”
“Well, it is not genteel of me to say, but she struck me as someone angling for an introduction.” He paused to think for a few moments. “Do you really suspect her? Trying to arrange an introduction, however artfully, is hardly the same thing as slander, fraud and blackmail.”
“What you do not know is that this very
evening she executed a scheme to spill wine on my dress and take it from me while it was ostensibly being cleaned. She in fact enlisted the aid of a young woman to pose as a house servant and lock me in a room. She had earlier procured a red wig and had it coiffed to look like my hair.”
“The locked room. Good Lord, she is as bad as her brother.”
“Not quite.”
“Yes.” Aldley's mood blackened with the memory. “I beg your pardon. Not quite.”
“But bad enough, for you also do not know that just as his grace, Miss Ferrel and I were coming out the front entrance, I saw Miss Delacroix in the wig and my dress getting into a carriage bearing the Aldley coat of arms, just before it sped off. I thought the vehicle to be yours, though it turned out to be your mother's.”
“My God.”
“Yes, I know not how things actually went, but I assume her intention was to disguise herself as me and to meet someone in that carriage. And based on what you have now told me...”
“You think that someone was me. And I can easily see her writing that letter using slanders she obtained from her brother. You might as well know that the real father of Solange Dupres' unfortunate child was Mr. Delacroix.”
“Ah. I am not shocked. Does it not seem likely that Miss Delacroix was behind all the letters? That she was trying to arrange a meeting with you, disguised as me so that you might stay with her in the carriage just long enough to compromise her?”
“At the risk of sounding like I think too well of myself, yes, it does seem likely. And she would not be the first young lady to try that stratagem to trap me. Although, this is certainly the most bizarre scheme I have heard of, and—”
Lydia was puzzled when the earl suddenly threw his head back and laughed almost like a maniac.
His eyes were streaming with tears and it was some time before he regained his composure.
“Pardon me, please. I know I must sound like a mad man. You may understand my mirth when I tell you that the carriage Miss Delacroix climbed into contained a bottle of whiskey, no doubt firmly attached to the face of my odious brother-in-law, Lord Essington.”
He laughed again, then said, “You had the misfortune of briefly encountering him at the Delacroix estate—forgive me for reminding you.”
Lydia smiled broadly. “Really.”
“Oh yes!” He wiped his eyes.
“Is it wrong of me to feel gratified by this news?” Lydia allowed herself a malicious smile.
“I should think not. God, himself, and all the heavenly host must be laughing. Even better, the servants were under orders to lock Essington in and take him back to Essington Hall this very evening. So Miss Delacroix is in for a lengthy rendez-vous, though not the one she had in mind.”
It was Lydia's turn to laugh long and hard. She wiped her eyes. “And to think, I was only wishing to light her wig on fire. This is so much better.” Then she blushed, realizing that this was not quite the thing to say.
The earl laughed again and kissed her hand. “Lydia, you truly are a jewel. I hope you will always be this unguarded and honest with me.”
Lydia knew her cheeks were burning. She hoped the gloom of the carriage would conceal it. She felt a little ashamed. Should she tell him about her father's turn of fortune? Should she tell him of their first meeting? Would he not change his mind about her?
“Is there something wrong, Lydia?” Aldley clasped her hand tightly.
“Yes, there is. Only I wish I did not feel obliged to tell you.” She chafed the fabric of her dress with her other hand.
“You can tell me anything, dearest.”
“Am I your dearest?” Lydia tried to calm herself.
“Have I not all but declared it by being in this carriage with you?” Aldley's voice sounded hurt.
“All but, yes. But you would not be the first in the nobility to have a dalliance with an untitled maid.” Lydia wished she did not sound so bitter. But he must realize the truth of her words.
He recoiled as though he had been slapped, unconsciously removing his hand from hers. “I see. You think me a cad, merely toying with your happiness for my own amusement. I wonder what I have done to deserve such a castigation.”
“I do not castigate you. Truly I do not. It is only that you have never declared your intentions to me.” Lydia sighed. “And when you hear what I have to say, you may not wish to.”
Aldley cursed himself. She was right. He had not declared any intentions to her, and had merely expected her to take it on faith. Why had he not? Was it he who was still in doubt?
“Please tell me what you have to say, Lydia. You wrong me with your doubts, but I have also wronged you with my reserve. I wish there to be no secrets between us.”
She drew a breath. “That anonymous letter you received refers to an abduction which, as you know, was thwarted, but nonetheless did happen. It seems Miss Delacroix knew of her brother's plans in advance—but I digress. The other accusation is also true. I know it is well known about town that my father is very wealthy, but he has recently lost most of the fortune. We are not forced to withdraw abruptly from society, and we have not, of course, advertised our troubles. But we have been slowly liquidating what we can. That is why my father sold Ari to you.”
“I see.” It was nothing. He cared not about settlements. But her sweet, disinterested honesty in revealing this to him made him realize what a prize she was. He wanted to kiss her, buy her everything she could ever want, and spend the rest of his life trying to make her as happy as she deserved to be.
Lydia swallowed. “And now that you know the letter told the truth, does it change your opinion of me?”
“I hope, in addition to believing this recent defamation, you do not also suspect me of fortune hunting.” His eyes were smiling as they sought out hers.
Lydia's lips pursed with the effort not to grin. “Not of fortune hunting, certainly, but most people would think my family's turn of fortunes a material consideration. I think it would generally be considered in the realm of prudence, rather than avarice.”
“If you had advertised your misfortunes, you no doubt could have dissuaded Mr. Delacroix from his infamous conduct. But my intentions are honourable, and have nothing at all to do with money. You shall not dissuade me.” How he longed to take her in his lap and kiss her.
But Aldley knew that he should not take liberties in this situation. There would be time enough for lavishing her with affection when she felt more secure, when they were engaged. Hopefully that would be soon, if only he could get her to stop throwing up maddeningly pointless objections that only made her seem more adorable and perfect.
Lydia felt such a relief at Lord Aldley's—Thomas' words, that she hardly noticed when the carriage slowed to make a turn.
Aldley opened the carriage door and leaned out. “Where are we?”
“We have just turned west, my lord. Our carriage is larger, and we must take our turns more slowly. I still have an eye on him. This is the way to Bristol—though I know not where he is destined.”
“Keep tracking him.” He slid back into his seat.
“Are you very sure your mother was in that carriage?” Lydia could not help remarking on the way his lithe muscles shifted in concert as he slid in and out of the seat. It stirred something inside of her and warmed her cheeks.
His brow creased. “Yes. But now that we have solved the mystery of the letters, I am even more in the dark about my mother's abduction. I only wish we could catch them.”
“I am sorry. You must be very worried.”
“It is a great comfort to have you here.” He almost took her hand again, but stopped himself. “And it is not as if my mother is a young maid, so...”
“Yes.” She could not help remembering her own abduction.
“I only hope she does not struggle and give them reason to harm her.”
They were quiet for a few minutes. Then he spoke again, “They have to stop some time, but I wish I had packed some provisions, for we did not even stay
at the ball long enough to dine, and I think it may be a long journey. I hope you are not expiring from hunger.”
“At the moment my stomach is too nervous for food.”
“You have nothing to fear, dear Lydia.”
“You have not heard all of my confession, Thomas.”
“Indeed? Now you intrigue me. What else can an angel like you have done?”
“I have kept something from you—not by design but because there has never been a good time to broach the subject.”
“I suppose we could not have many better times than now.”
“Yes.” She drew a breath. “Perhaps you might recall a trip that you made some time ago, before you went to Paris, to a pleasure garden in the countryside.”
He smiled. “I most certainly do. I was rescued from yet another scheming young woman by a most unusual and fascinating dryad. I have always wished to find her again, to thank her, but I never got her name and I did not see her face.”
“I was the scandalous tree-climbing maid. I recognized your voice when I first met you at Lady Goodram's ball. I have never forgotten the encounter, either. I have often wished I had been less of a coward, and had walked with you back to the hall. It amazes me that we ever should have met again.” She was blushing, but searched his face for understanding.
He took her hand then. She smiled, so he moved a little closer to her. “Indeed it is a miracle. I admit, I had my suspicions when I heard gossip about your tree-climbing. But far from being a dark confession, you cannot imagine how happy it makes me that it was you. It is as though we were destined for each other.”
He kissed her hand. “My dearest dryad. What a joy it is that you are here with me.”
Her heart beat quickly. He leaned toward her. His mouth was mere inches from hers.
“Wait.” She was breathless and did not sound convincing.
But he stopped, and cupped her chin in his hand. “What is it, my dear? I hope I am not frightening you. This is not a dalliance. I am quite in earnest.”
“But you have not heard the rest of my confession.”
He leaned back into the seat. “Surely you are tormenting yourself over nothing.”