by Leenie Brown
“You like the country?” asked Mary Ellen during a small gap between Lydia’s cries of delight and her brother’s explanation of whatever it was that had caught Lydia’s attention.
“I suppose, I do.” Lydia’s head tipped to the side, and her brows furrowed slightly. “I have spent most of my life in the country, so I am not sure if I prefer it because I prefer it, or if I prefer it simply because it is all I have ever known. My aunt and uncle Gardiner live in town, of course, and I have visited them a few times for a day or two, but they prefer to have Lizzy and Jane stay for extended periods. I am not yet, nor, I suspect, will I ever be, invited to do so.” She turned her attention back to the wall that Marcus had pointed out was a new addition to that particular field. There was a small dip in it with steps so that one might climb over with ease.
“Why would they not invite you?”
Marcus rolled his eyes at his sister’s inability to keep a question to herself at times. It was a bothersome trait they shared.
Lydia looked back at Mary Ellen and gave her a tight smile. “They do not like me. Not many do. Most prefer Lizzy and Jane.”
Mary Ellen gasped at the response.
“Surely, that cannot be true,” said Aunt Tess.
“Oh, it is,” Lydia assured her. No one paid Lydia an ounce of attention unless she was making a scene, and then, they only noticed her so that they might scold her or scowl at her in displeasure. No, that was not entirely true. There were those who paid her attention for what they might receive from her in return. It was why she was so popular as a dance partner and a conversation companion at assemblies. Gentlemen enjoyed her liveliness and flirting while the ladies enjoyed the notice of the gentlemen who sought her hand for a dance. After all, someone had to dance with the men left standing when Lydia was occupied. But in her family, she was only truly liked by her mother and Aunt Philips. Oh, and Kitty, Lydia added mentally. Kitty liked her, too.
The rest wished she would go away, and her father? Well, he thought her foolish and silly. She knew he did because he often commented on her lack of sense. Again a pain gripped her heart at the thought that he would be happy to be rid of her. She had longed to be given the attention her father showered on Elizabeth. Lydia would have loved to have been questioned about books and asked to play chess. But, she was just a pretty face destined to make a good match and save her mama from destitution.
“I find it hard to believe,” said Aunt Tess.
Lydia shrugged. “It is just how things are. They shall be happy to see me installed with you. I am certain of it.” It took some effort to keep the smile in place on her lips.
“That is most dreadful,” muttered Mary Ellen.
“I speak the truth,” said Lydia with a small amount of indignation colouring her voice. “I am not dreadful.”
“Oh,” said Mary Ellen, reaching across the carriage to grasp Lydia’s hand. “I did not mean you are dreadful. It is dreadful that you should be so little missed. I cannot fathom it.”
Lydia dropped her gaze and blinked against the tears that wanted to fall. “It is not so impossible to think when you have been spoken of as I have been.” She blinked a few more times and then, feeling the threat of tears was passed, looked up and smiled at Mary Ellen.
“We often only see things as they appear to us,” said Aunt Tess. “The challenge is to view them through the eyes of another. While Miss Lydia sees a father who is cross and angry, another might see a man who is grieved at his failing and fearful for his daughter. And while some personalities might mesh well and prompt the like-minded to spend time together to the detriment of those who are not of the same bent, that does not indicate that one is liked while the other is not. One may be favoured, but there is nothing wrong with having preferences.”
Lydia pulled the left corner of her lower lip between her teeth and chewed on it slightly as her mind ruminated on what Aunt Tess had said, recalling how Mrs. Abbot had assured her that morning that she was loved.
“Very true,” said Marcus. “but then there are those who are too similar, and their similarities lead to disagreements. Take Mary Ellen and me for example. We get on well for being so similar, but both of us get along with Philip better than each other. She and I are similar, but Philip is not like either of us.”
Aunt Tess chuckled. “You are very much like your father,” she said to Marcus. “You are not afraid of working hard for what you have, nor are you afraid of offending with your opinion.”
“Because he always thinks his opinion is right,” said Mary Ellen with a smile.
“Oh, it very often is right,” said Aunt Tess, patting Mary Ellen’s knee. “Much like yours is. Where the struggle comes is in admitting when you are in error.” She sighed as she gave Marcus a sympathetic look and Mary Ellen’s knee another pat. “That is where your mother worked her wonders with your father. Her views often thwarted convention, but they were not wrong — which was something your father understood.”
“What was she like?” asked Lydia.
“Beautiful,” said Marcus softly.
“Kind,” said Mary Ellen.
“And stubborn as a mule,” added Aunt Tess, “and as lively and unfocused as a yearling.” She smiled broadly. “And wonderful. She was just wonderful. Such a mixture of beauty and vivacity coupled with intelligence and caring!”
“She sounds lovely,” said Lydia.
“She was,” said Marcus.
Lydia heard the sadness in his tone. He must have been close to his mother. “I know I shall miss my mother.” She sighed heavily. “I was to marry well and see to her comfort, you know. Now, it shall fall to one of my sisters to do so. I suppose it will be Jane as she is so very beautiful and always does what is right.”
Mary Ellen chuckled. “Or it might be Elizabeth.”
Lydia shook her head. “Oh, Lizzy would not know a fine gentleman if she saw one. She is so critical. I should not say it, but I was certain that Mr. Darcy was all but in love with her, and all she could do was speak poorly of him.”
Mary Ellen burst into laughter. “She seems to find him acceptable now. Did you not see them sitting closer than is acceptable at church yesterday?”
Lydia shook her head. “I did not attend. My father thought it best that I not make any appearance in public until he has sorted out my predicament.” She turned to Marcus. “Does she really like him now? I knew he liked her — not that she would hear of it, of course.”
Marcus looked at her in surprise. “Has she not told you? They are betrothed. Darcy asked her in front of a large crowd at the parsonage, and she liked him well enough to accept him and allow him to kiss her.”
Lydia’s eyes grew wide, and she looked to Mary Ellen and Aunt Tess for confirmation of these facts. “He kissed her? But that…that is so…improper!”
“You truly did not know?” asked Marcus.
Lydia shook her head again. “I have kept to my room since there are fewer disapproving eyes in my room.”
He took her hand. “I am sorry,” he whispered. How had her family allowed her to hide away in her room? No wonder she thought none of them liked her. First, she was questioned in the sitting room with few showing any acceptance of her ideas, and then she was kept home from church as if she was an embarrassment. He had not heard a word of gossip, and the ladies who had the pew behind him were not known for their lack of knowledge of anything that might be even slightly untoward. Yet, they had said nothing about Lydia, although they had mentioned seeing Wickham with Mr. Williams. Yes, he told himself, what she had done was foolish, but it was not beyond what could be repaired.
“It was my choice,” she said softly. She might have said more, but they had turned off the main road, and a large and elegant home stood before her. “Oh, my! Is that your home?”
“It is,” said Marcus proudly. “That is Aldwood Abbey.”
“I am certain it is as large as Netherfield! Oh, Mama would be so delighted to see such a house. She is always exclaiming over Netherfield a
nd its many windows…” Lydia stopped and poked the air with a finger. “There are two more windows on each floor!” She sat forward on the bench. “And the front of Netherfield is flat, but yours sticks out further on each end. Is it flat in the back?” She turned toward Marcus, who was enjoying watching her excitement at seeing the house. For some reason, her approval of it made his pride in his inheritance grow.
“No, it is the same in the back as it is in the front.”
“So like an upper case h?”
“I had not thought of it as such,” he admitted, “but yes, although no tutor would accept such a form since the two side posts are much shorter than the line that connects them. If there is time, I shall give you a tour,” he said impulsively.
She smiled at him and clasped her hands delightedly before the smile slipped slowly from her face. “I have not come to view the house. I have come to meet your father.”
“He would not be offended. In fact, he would be flattered, I am certain.”
“But he is not well and would not be able to join us.” Lydia lay a hand on Marcus’s arm and looked around the group. “It would be unkind to leave him when he expected to be entertained.”
“I will ask him,” said Marcus. “Perhaps your presence will induce him to allow me to push him about in the chair that he hates to use.”
“Oh, it would be excellent to get him out of his three rooms,” said Mary Ellen.
“Three rooms? In a house so large?” Lydia stared, mouth agape at the house. She would not limit herself to three rooms in such a grand house even if she was unwell. Surely there were servants who could help an ill master to each and every room at least once in a fortnight. “How does his spirit manage it?”
Marcus laughed. “You may have to ask him if he becomes reticent about joining the tour.” He stepped down from the carriage and assisted each lady in turn to alight.
“Oh, Marcus,” said Aunt Tess as she took his arm to enter the house since Mary Ellen, much to Marcus’s displeasure, had already taken Lydia’s arm, “she is a delight. Lacking in training, but such potential.” She patted his arm. “She can stay with me, and you can tell Mr. Williams that Wickham is free to leave. She will not be marrying him. To think anyone would even consider it!” She patted his arm again. “However, I do think she is right. She might be able to capture some gentleman’s heart in time.”
“She is headstrong and not always sensible,” cautioned Marcus.
“Yes,” said Aunt Tess, removing her hand from his arm as they entered the house. “So was your mother.” She gave him a wink and a playful smile before following Mary Ellen to Mr. Dobney’s particular drawing room.
Chapter 8
After the appropriate introductions had been made, Lydia took a seat near Mary Ellen’s father as he requested. She carefully arranged her skirts and folded her hands in her lap. His words of welcome had been very pleasant, and he was a handsome man. Her eyes flicked to Marcus, who was just entering the room, and then back to his father. Yes, with a few wrinkles and a smattering of grey hair, they would look very much alike. They had the same eyes, both in shape and colour, and the same slanted nose, but their mouths were not exactly the same. Mr. Dobney’s lips were thin, and his mouth appeared smaller than his son’s.
“Did you have a pleasant drive, Miss Lydia?” asked Mr. Dobney.
“Oh, it was lovely! ” Lydia answered with some enthusiasm.
“I pointed out all the important estate details,” said Marcus, taking a seat beside his sister, and Aunt Tess on a sofa across from where Lydia and his father sat. “I believe Miss Lydia was duly impressed.” There was a hint of teasing in his tone. His father always wished to know that all visitors were pleased with the estate he loved so much.
Lydia’s head bobbed up and down. “Oh, yes. It is beautiful. So much land and then to see the house situated just as it should be…” She sighed. “It is nearly perfection.”
“Nearly?” Mr. Dobney asked with an amused chuckle.
Lydia nodded again. “Quite.”
“But it is not perfection?” Mr. Dobney wore a smile that Marcus had not seen in a while. His father was obviously enjoying himself thoroughly.
“Perfection does not exist in any estate — not even a palace,” said Lydia.
“Perfection does not exist?” The question slipped from Marcus before he could think better of asking. Of course, there would be some round about explanation that would be delightful to him, but perhaps it would not serve to show Lydia in the best light to the others, and for some odd and unsettling reason, it seemed extremely important to him that she be accepted.
On the tail of Marcus’s question and before Lydia could respond, Mr. Dobney asked one of his own. “If it does not exist in an estate, where does perfection exist?”
Marcus tipped his head and looked at his father inquisitively. It seemed as if his father had an idea of where Lydia’s thoughts would lead.
Lydia pursed her lips and drew her brows together. “Perfection is very rare,” she answered in all seriousness. “Few find it.” She looked up at Mr. Dobney, who was nodding his head in agreement and looking at her as if he were truly interested in what she had to say. He was smiling, but his eyes were not laughing. A faint blush stained her cheeks at the pleasure that such attention brought to her heart.
He tapped a finger on his chest, and her eyes grew wide in delight.
“Yes,” she said, “that is precisely where it is found. Aldwood Abbey cannot be perfection to me, for I have only just met it, and though I find it delightful in appearance and situation, it does not have a place in my heart.”
“Not yet,” said Mr. Dobney, “but I would venture to say, it will one day when it has become a welcome old friend — if you will visit often enough.”
Lydia blinked and a small furrow formed between her brows. Was he just being polite or did he actually wish for her company? His eyes were smiling as much as his mouth, making it appear that he was quite honestly inviting her to visit. “I would like that.”
“Would you like to see all of this big old house?” he asked.
Lydia sucked in a quick breath and nodded and, though she caught her lower lip between her teeth, could not help how her smile grew at the suggestion.
“Very well, after we have had a bit of conversation and some tea, I will allow my son to push me around in that confounded chair he has placed outside the door and show it to you myself.”
Lydia’s eyes grew wide. “It will not be too much?” she whispered, looking at his leg which was propped up on a tufted green footstool. “I do not have to see it all at once. Mrs. Barnes might allow me to return.”
Mr. Dobney’s fuzzy grey brows drew together slightly.
“I am to be her companion,” said Lydia. He nodded at her comment, but his eyes were still puzzled. She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again. She did not want to tell him of the situation that required her to take a position as a companion. He seemed to like her, but once he heard how foolish she had been, that was likely to change.
“It was my idea,” said Marcus. “Miss Lydia has found herself in a spot of trouble, and it seemed a good option for solving the problem.”
Lydia could feel the fear climbing up her spine and stiffening it. How could he tell his father about that? Did he not realize that she would no longer be welcome? Her eyes dropped to her hands. Perhaps she might still be allowed to tour part of the house today before she was sent away.
“Ah,” said Mr. Dobney. “This will rid us of that scoundrel?”
Lydia’s head snapped up. He did not sound displeased.
“That is the plan,” said Marcus.
“Then it is a good one.”
Lydia blinked. He was smiling at her and not just with his lips. He was not going to call her a fool and send her away.
Mr. Dobney pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. “Marcus is a smart lad, is he not?” he asked softly.
Lydia nodded and blotted the t
ears from her eyes before they could fall.
“Now, Mrs. Barnes,” he continued, turning away from Lydia and toward Aunt Tess, “It appears the decision of how large our tour will be falls at your feet.”
It was decided, after a short discussion, that the lower halls and garden would be an excellent amount of the house to be seen this afternoon, and when they called next, Mr. Dobney would meet Lydia and Aunt Tess in the library above and escort them through that level of the house. It was a plan that delighted Lydia, for though her curiosity would have dearly loved to be assuaged in one complete tour of the house, she knew that in dividing the tour, she was being welcomed to return.
Being welcomed just for herself was a new feeling. Lydia had little to offer the Dobneys. She had no societal position that begged their attention nor was she a relation whom they must entertain. Miss Dobney had not inquired once about any matter of fashion, and seeing as Lydia was new in the area, it was quite evident that Miss Dobney did not wish to be her friend merely to gain introductions to gentlemen. And Marcus — Lydia paused to look at him from where she sat on a garden bench next to his father’s chair. Marcus had already proven himself a friend. They wished nothing from her beyond her presence. It was really a very novel thing.
“Do you like it?” asked Marcus, catching her eye when she looked at him.
“I do,” she said with a smile. “It is so well arranged and the decor is just what it should be.”
Marcus came around from behind his father’s chair and took a seat next to her, curious to hear her description, for he could tell by the small furrow between her brow and the slight pursing of her lips, she was about to elaborate on her comment as soon as the proper words were found. And he was not to be disappointed.
“The colours are rich and somber where they should be. The deep reds in the chapel and its drawing room give just the proper amount of reverence without being off-putting and austere. And the artwork is such that one cannot but think of things beyond this world. And the grand parlour, which must be used as a dining room or ballroom on occasion?” She looked to Mr. Dobney to see if her guess was correct. He nodded and admitted that it had in the past been used for that very purpose.