by Ava Stone
~ 15 ~
It was rare for Lydia to be in a snit. Certainly she got annoyed or put out every now and then—and heaven knew that even from the very beginning, Robert had always had the capability to get her ire up faster than anyone else—but for the most part she had a sunny disposition and tried to see the best in people and find the silver linings in difficult situations. She’d had lots of practice.
Which is why she was quite annoyed with herself at the moment. She knew that getting angry seldom did any good—especially for women, who had little or no control over their lives. Often it just made the situation was worse. However, with that said, she found herself storming up the stairs to her chambers—still fuming over her conversation with her husband.
It was very hard to get used to the paradox that was Robert Beckford. On one hand he had convinced her to bear his heir so that Luke wouldn’t inherit the earldom, and then on the other he’d allowed the lout to stay in their home—knowing full well that she hated the situation.
At first he’d told her that she could pick the prison of her choosing and she could rear their children; but now Peter and Penny were his wards and he would make decisions concerning them. She would have had more freedom and control over her life if she’d opted not to stay at Gosling Park with him. She could have gone to Beckford Hall, or back to Blackstone, or any number of Robert’s properties—up to and including Masten House in Berkeley Square, but to do so, she also would have had to give up Robert. Despite his ability to drive her completely insane, she did love him with all her heart. But damn it, concessions were difficult!
She opened the door to their chambers and immediately heard shouting from the attached dressing room. The voices were unmistakable—Kistler and Betsy.
“Just because you’ve found yourself promoted to lady’s maid, does not mean that you can take over my space,” the stuffy valet bit out the words.
But Betsy was holding her own against the persnickety gentleman’s gentleman, and she sounded calmly determined. “I am just following his lordship’s orders, you puffed-up bag of wind.”
Lydia was surprised that neither servant had noticed her footfall into the chambers. She certainly shouldn’t eavesdrop, but before she could interrupt, she heard Kistler’s boots stalk loudly across the dressing room floor. He growled, “Listen to me, Betsy Bowman, I have been dressing Lord Masten for more than a decade. I’ll have you know that this dressing room belongs to me.”
Betsy answered him saucily, “Well, Jonathan Kistler, this dressing room is attached to the chambers that both Lord and Lady Masten share. Therefore, you and I will both be using this space. If you don’t like it, you can take it up with Lady Masten.”
“The devil I will,” Kistler spit out. “I’ll talk to his lordship once he’s back from the stables. And then you’ll be removing all of these fripperies out of my space, one piece at a time.”
Betsy laughed haughtily. “Good luck with that, Jon. You’ve been in London, so you would have no way of knowing that things have changed around here. For your information, Lady Masten is in charge of all household issues.”
“He would never turn those duties over to her.”
Lydia cringed when she heard the dismissive inflection of the valet’s voice.
“She’s the lady of this house, and all Ladies of Quality are responsible for household matters. I would’ve thought that you, of all people—being so high and mighty—would know that.”
“Lady of Quality, my arse.”
“And you’d best watch that tone of yours, you self-important prig. Lady Masten is the best thing to happen at Gosling Park in years—maybe ever. And if you want to keep your position, you’ll keep that in mind. His lordship would never allow anyone to speak badly of her—you included,” Betsy hissed, but Lydia was able to make out each word clearly.
“I don’t know why not. He did enough of that himself,” the valet grumbled and stormed out of the dressing room and into the bedchamber. He stopped in his tracks when he spotted Lydia in the middle of the room, most of the color now drained from her face. The valet feigned a polite little smile and bowed. “Lady Masten.” Then he rushed from the room as if his coat was on fire.
Tentatively, Betsy poked her head out from the dressing room door. Her dark brown curls spilled out from beneath her mop cap, and she looked as if she’d just eaten something that had gone bad. “I suppose you heard all of that?”
“I think I heard enough to get the gist,” Lydia admitted with a frown.
Betsy crossed the room in a trice and draped her arm around her mistress’ shoulders. “Don’t pay that arrogant prattle-box any attention, your ladyship. I can count on one hand—no, scratch that—I can count on one finger the number of people at Gosling Park who care what Kistler thinks, and that’s Kistler.”
“He doesn’t seem to like me very much.”
Betsy smiled weakly. “That old windbag? Truly, Lady Masten, Kistler doesn’t like anyone very much. Why, I’ve heard him talk to his lordship in just such a manner.”
“And Robert tolerates that?” Lydia was aghast. It certainly didn’t seem like her husband to overlook a belligerent servant. It was just one more of Robert’s confusing dichotomies.
“Oh, Lord Masten just turns a deaf ear to the man. And for all his whining and complaining, Jon Kistler always turns his lordship out looking magnificent.”
Lydia nodded, as if she understood, though truthfully she didn’t. One would think Robert could find a valet that didn’t possess such an acidic tongue that could turn him out looking just as magnificent.
Apparently, Betsy didn’t like that Lydia’s frown had only deepened because she cheerfully began directing her ladyship toward the coveted dressing room. A large trunk was in the middle of the floor and the lid was wide open. Lydia knew at once what was inside—her new gowns from Madam Fournier. Finally, a smile tugged at her lips.
Her maid was cooing, “These are some of the finest gowns I’ve ever seen. They must’ve cost his lordship a pretty penny.”
Lydia laughed, despite herself. “Well, that was the objective in buying them.”
“Now, you sound like Lady Staveley.” The maid giggled conspiratorially.
Lydia’s laugh deepened. “Indeed, it was her idea.”
Together, the two women laughed and Lydia hugged Betsy tightly. Her maid was a blessing, and Lydia would never forget Betsy’s words in loyal defense of her to the stuffy valet.
Betsy went to the trunk, started removing dresses, and shaking them out. She held up a rose-colored gown, with tiny embroidered flowers and a gauzy overdress. The creation was breathtaking. “Oh, my lady! I think you must wear this one to your dinner tomorrow night.”
“You don’t think the color will clash with my hair?”
Betsy held the dress up under Lydia’s chin and she smiled brightly. “I think it will compliment your coloring. You’ll simply take his lordship’s breath away in this one, my lady.”
Lydia blushed. “You know, Betsy, I think those were Lady Staveley’s exact words.”
“Well, now! If there’s one thing Lady Staveley knows about, ‘tis picking out a fine dress.”
The maid’s job was complete. Lydia’s mind had finally let go of the troubling events of the morning and she explored her new dresses with enthusiasm.
***
Wearing one of her new creations, a soft jonquil day dress of cambric, Lydia sat squeezed into a tiny, child-sized chair in the schoolroom, enjoying a late afternoon tea party with Penny and Miss Mitford. For the last hour or so, Lydia had already listened, with great interest, to the little girl’s wild tales of their journey to Dorset.
“An’ then Petey thot ‘e saw a ‘ighwayman followin’ us, bu’—”
Miss Mitford cleared her throat loudly, with raised brows as she met Penny’s big brown eyes. The girl looked away bashfully and frowned as she tried to concentrate. “Sorry, Miss Mitford. He thought he saw a highwayman following us,” Penny was careful to enunciate.
Miss Mitford smiled widely. “Very good, Penny. That sounds much better.”
The little girl beamed with pride. “But, Lady Masten, it was just a bloke on a horse.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” Lydia began indulgently. “I’d hate for you to be captured by highwaymen.”
“Penny has quite an imagination. She entertained us the entire journey.”
Penny took a sip of tea, with a practiced grace. It was obvious that Miss Mitford had already worked very hard with the children. Caroline had done a wonderful job in selecting their governess. “However did Lady Staveley find you?” Lydia asked.
Almost immediately, Miss Mitford looked uncomfortable, apparently not accustomed to such pointed attention from a countess. “M—my—cousin works for Lady Staveley, and she knew I’d just left my last post.”
Lydia grinned widely. “Really? Where were you before?”
Miss Mitford took a long sip of tea. Then the governess sighed. “Essex, my lady.”
It seemed to Lydia that the governess was uneasy discussing herself, but then Lydia could understand that. Perhaps everyone had secrets or a past they’d rather not discuss. Caroline had sent a glowing letter of introduction for Miss Mitford. So, as long as the governess treated the children well and did her job, Lydia supposed she was entitled to her secrets.
“In London, Miss Mitford took us to the Staveleys'. Me an’ Petey got to play with Adam and Rachel and Emma,” Penny announced proudly.
“And did you have fun?” Lydia asked the child with interest.
“Oh, yes, my lady. Is there anyone to play with ‘ere?”
Miss Mitford cleared her throat again.
Penny looked exasperated. “Is there anyone to play with here?”
“I’m certain we can find someone, when you’re through with your studies.”
The little girl frowned at that. But before she could make a remark, the schoolroom door flew open and Peter ran in excitedly as if the devil was chasing him.
At first, Lydia was scared that something bad had happened, until she saw the broad smile on the boy’s face. He hugged his sister wildly and words just exploded from his mouth. “Pen, Lord Masten let me touch one of ‘is ‘orses. Star Dancer. An’ she’s gonna ‘ave a baby, an’ Lord Masten said I could name it.”
Lydia gaped at the boy. This was Peter? The boy who was deathly afraid of horses? Penny scrunched up her face. “I want to name a ‘orse.”
Miss Mitford cleared her throat.
Penny scowled this time. “I want to name a horse,” she clarified.
Lydia stood and stroked the girl’s hair. “Perhaps his lordship will let you name the next foal, Penny.” Then she turned her attention back to the excited boy. “I’m so glad that you enjoyed yourself, Peter.”
“Oh, my lady, Star Dancer is,” he screwed up his face trying to get the words just right, “an Anglo-Arabian. And Lord Masten says she’s my kin’red spiri’, wha’ever tha’ is.”
“That means you understand each other.” Lydia smiled at him.
The boy nodded eagerly. “I knew there was something wrong with ‘er, and I was right.”
“Her,” Penny corrected miserably. “Why doesn’t Miss Mitford make that sound when Petey says it wrong?”
Lydia bent down and dropped a kiss on Penny’s head. “Remember what I told you, Penny. Be nice to your brother, Peter has taken good care of you, you little imp.”
Soundly chastised, Penny nodded sullenly and whispered under her breath, “I still wan’ to name a ‘orse.”
Lydia smiled, squeezed Peter’s shoulder lovingly and promised to see the children before bedtime. Now that Robert was back, she wanted to apologize for her earlier snippiness. Obviously, her husband had been right in how to deal with Peter and his equestrian fears. Though she still thought he should have consulted her. But seeing the boy so happy was well worth the concession.
Soon she rounded the corner and ran straight into the wall of her husband’s chest. Startled, she took a step backward, looked up at him, and laughed. “Oh, I was just coming to find you, my dear.”
“Well, you found me,” he remarked coolly.
Lydia frowned up at him.
***
Robert’s strong suit was not in dealing with feelings. Not really. He’d handled the situation with Peter all right, but that was because he understood horses, not necessarily the boy. And right now he certainly didn’t understand his wife. To make matters worse, she was now frowning at him.
The entire way back to the house, he’d been sullen. For weeks he’d felt a special closeness and bond develop between Lydia and himself, something he’d never felt before. But how close could they truly be? There was so much that he didn’t know about her. So much she still kept hidden. And he wondered—did any of it really matter?
The one thing he did know, the one thing he was certain of, was that he loved her. It didn’t matter that his wife had lived in an orphanage. But what did matter was that she hadn’t told him. He didn’t want it to bother him, but it did nonetheless. What concerned him even more, was wondering what else she hadn’t told him.
“I just saw Peter,” his wife explained quietly. “It seems that you were right about the stables. I just wanted to apologize for earlier, Robert.”
He didn’t want to be at odds with her. He missed the closeness they’d shared that morning—had longed for it all day. With a conciliatory smile, he offered her his arm. “The boy did enjoy himself. Though, honestly, he was only comfortable with one of my mares.”
“Star Dancer?” Lydia took his offered arm and they started down the corridor toward the staircase that led to their chambers.
Robert was surprised she already knew that piece of information, and he nodded. “The poor girl was painfully neglected and roughly treated before she came to Gosling. Actually, I’m surprised she took to the boy. She’s a bit skittish most of the time, but they seemed to connect.”
“She sounds just like Peter,” Lydia remarked and looked up at him. “Is that why you said they were kindred spirits?”
Robert smiled at her. “Did he tell you that?”
“Oh, yes. That and the fact that you told him he could name her foal. Which, by the way, made Penny exceedingly jealous.”
Robert’s smile vanished. He hadn’t thought that he would be causing a problem when he’d made his offer to Peter. It had just seemed the thing to do. Rearing children was not going to be easy, and it had been too many years since Luke and Caroline were young. Caroline. How did she handle parenting so flawlessly? “Was the little urchin upset?”
Lydia rested her head against Robert’s arm. “I told her that she could ask your permission to name one in the future. I hope that was all right.”
Well, that made sense. Why hadn’t he thought of it? Robert squeezed Lydia’s hand and smiled. “Certainly.”
Perhaps consulting his wife wasn’t such a bad idea. Perhaps they could handle this parenting thing together. Perhaps that’s how it was supposed to be all along. So now the pressing question on Robert’s mind was, could he trust his wife completely—knowing she was keeping a part of herself separate from him? “Lydia, I need to speak with you.”
They had reached the threshold of their bedchamber. Lydia pushed the door open and looked back at her husband. “And I’d like to speak with you as well.”
Robert waited until Lydia had found a spot in her chintz chair before he took a seat opposite her. He pursed his lips and nodded to her. “Ladies first.”
Lydia sat forward in her seat and smiled. “First of all, I am so glad that everything turned out well with the stables today. I am very happy that you were right, Robert. But I meant what I said this morning. I intend to be involved with decisions concerning our children.”
“I’ll try to be better,” he acknowledged with a nod. “But what I said this morning is true as well, Lydia. I’m not accustomed to having to include anyone in my decisions.”
“I am well aware of that.” Ly
dia smiled saucily. “If you weren’t the overbearing Lord Masten I married, I wouldn’t know who you were.”
And that is the crux of the problem, isn’t it? She still thought of him as the arrogant, heavy-handed bully that had sent her away to Cheshire. It was no wonder she didn’t trust him. The realization nearly knocked the wind out him, and Robert winced. He’d foolishly thought they had gotten past all that. How much longer would it take? Would she ever forgive him?
“Robert?” Lydia ask with a note of concern in her voice.
He shook his head. “Yes, dear?”
“I asked if you were all right.” Lydia slid from her seat and dropped before him. A worried expression had settled on her face. “You don’t look right.” She gently touched his face.
Robert didn’t feel right; he felt empty inside. Was there anything he could do to right the wrongs of their past? He looked down at her and smoothed his hand down her slender neck. “Lydia, will you ever see that I’m not really that man?”
“What man?”
“The awful bastard who said terrible things and sent you away to Blackstone?”
“Oh, Robert.” Her face softened and she stretched up to softly kiss him. “That’s not who you are to me. I don’t think of you as that man. I’ve given you my heart.”
“But do you trust me?” He desperately searched her face for answers.”
“You know I do. What would make you believe differently?” She looked at him with loving concern.
Robert frowned. He didn’t want to ask, but he had to know. It was driving him mad. “Are you keeping secrets from me?”