Carrying the Gentleman's Secret

by Helen Dickson

  ‘She probably thinks she’s doing you a favour,’ Emily said without breaking off doing some fine stitching to a rather delicate chemise. ‘It would be good for business and probably bring in more clients of her class. I thought she seemed nice when we met her in the park with her brother. I saw how he looked at you that day—and so did she. Whatever the truth about the letter you sent to Mr Golding, she might be trying to do a bit of matchmaking on her own. I don’t see why you shouldn’t go to the house and measure her up.’

  ‘I can’t, Emily,’ Lydia said firmly. ‘If Alex wants to contact me he must do it directly and not through his sister. I wrote informing him that he was the father of my baby and for reasons I may never know he has decided not to reply. I have no wish to go to his house again. Besides, what if Henry is there? I really don’t want to have anything to do with him. It would place me in a situation that would be unbearably awkward and far too embarrassing to contemplate. It could cause no end of trouble—trouble I would rather avoid.’

  ‘I don’t blame you—but what happened was not your fault. What he did to you was disgraceful, but you cannot let it affect your business. If his wife wants you to fit her for some gowns, then I see nothing wrong with that. But if you feel you would rather not then I understand.’

  And so Lydia sent a second letter to Belgrave Square. She thanked Lady Seymour for choosing her above more experienced and well-known seamstresses in London to make her some new gowns, but it was with regret that she must decline her order. She stated overwork and that she was afraid Lady Seymour’s child would be born before she could complete the order. She hoped she would understand.

  * * *

  It was Lydia’s birthday. As a special gift and to cheer her up, her father called with tickets for the theatre. Lydia was pleasantly surprised.

  ‘Why—yes, I’d love to go. I’ve never been to the theatre. But—are you sure you are up to it?’ she asked, unable to conceal her concern.

  He chuckled. ‘Absolutely. Don’t look so worried. It will do you good to get away from the shop. It’s time you had a bit of fun—you, too, Emily. I’m as much of a stranger to the theatre as you are, so it should be an interesting—and entertaining, I hope—evening. It will be my honour to escort two beautiful young ladies to the theatre.’

  Emily immediately began planning what she would wear.

  * * *

  When all the stitching and fitting was done and the evening arrived, Lydia was wearing a pale lavender satin dress with slashed inlets of deep purple and a matching satin sash at her waist. Her pregnancy did not yet show and she was relieved the dress fitted her to perfection. Emily looked lovely in a sumptuous sky-blue satin gown with a low bodice and blue lace ruffles. Both girls wore fashionable cashmere shawls to guard against the cool autumn evening. Samuel, despite his frail appearance, looked dapper in his black dress coat and white shirt and waistcoat.

  A hired carriage took them to the Royal Lyceum Theatre on Wellington Street, just off the Strand.

  ‘Oh, Lydia, I’m so excited,’ Emily whispered, gripping Lydia’s hand as they stood their ground among the crush of people. ‘I can’t believe we’re here,’ she breathed, smiling broadly, her eyes dancing with delight as she watched titled, wealthy and influential theatre-goers alight from their carriages and enter the theatre. ‘I keep having to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.’

  Lydia laughed, amused by her friend’s wide-eyed awe and unconcealed excitement. ‘Take it from me, Emily, you are not dreaming.’

  That they were both looking their most alluring was confirmed by the smiles and appreciative glances of those around them.

  With seats in the Royal Circle, they had an excellent, uninterrupted view of the stage. Never having been to the theatre before, both girls were dazzled as they watched a James Planché’s fairy extravaganza, featuring spectacular stage effects that held them spellbound.

  * * *

  It wasn’t until the interval that Lydia allowed her eyes to idly scan the audience in the auditorium. It was filled with noise and laughter and people moving about to pay courtesy calls on their friends. Her gaze was drawn across the circle to a lady who was returning to her seat between two gentlemen. Lydia was about to look away when one of the gentlemen rose to let her in. Her eyes became riveted on the group and a sick paralysis gripped her when she recognised Alex as one of the gentlemen.

  Feeling her heart slam into her ribs, she froze for an instant, her thoughts scattered. He was seated beside Irene Hilton, beautiful and vivacious in a sumptuous gown of sapphire and silver lace, her hair gleaming and her red lips parted in a wide smile of sensuality. When she saw Irene’s hand rest on Alex’s arm with a possessive familiarity, leaning close to speak to him, a pain like she had never experienced before bit savagely into her heart.

  Not wishing to attract attention to herself, Lydia sat as far back in her seat as she could, hoping her father seated next to her would shield her from view. It was not to be. When the curtain rose, she was unable to resist another glance in Alex’s direction and it was at that moment that he seemed to sense himself being watched. He glanced across the distance and saw her. Their eyes locked, but then Lydia looked away and leaned back in her seat again, and Alex’s view of her was mercifully blocked by her father. She had not foreseen this—how could she?

  Never in the whole of her life had Lydia felt so agonisingly, unbearably jealous of anyone as she did of Irene Hilton at that moment. She swallowed down the tears that almost choked her, wishing she could leave the theatre and not have to sit through the words and music she was deaf to while blind to those about her. Her only conscious thought was that Alex was close by, dancing attendance on another woman.

  She could feel his presence with every fibre of her being, and, despite the shock of seeing him again after so long, an increasing comforting warmth suffused her. A strange sensation of knowing he was close at hand pleased her. But the memory of their parting, of the pain and the hurt he had caused by not acknowledging her letter, still pained her.

  Emily, noticing her friend’s strained profile beside her and sensing that she was not paying attention to what was being acted out on the stage, leaned towards her. ‘Are you all right, Lydia? You’re not ill, are you?’

  ‘No, no,’ Lydia was quick to reassure her, preferring to keep what she had seen to herself. ‘I am quite well.’

  * * *

  When the curtain came down and everyone began making their way out of the theatre, Lydia hoped she could avoid seeing Alex. Managing to get outside without a hitch, she began to breathe more easily, her eyes scanning the throng. She caught a brief sight of him standing with another gentleman, even more powerfully masculine and attractive than she remembered, and looking striking in his black-and-white evening attire. For a second their eyes met again, then he looked away, seemingly without interest.

  Her father left them to find the carriage, having arranged with the driver who had brought them to the theatre to drive them home. Jostled from every direction by people standing around discussing the performance as they awaited their carriages, Emily was positively bubbling over with her enjoyment of the performance. She had never seen the like.

  Waiting patiently for her father to return, Lydia visibly jumped when a female voice said her name.

  ‘Why, Lydia! How lovely to see you here.’

  Lydia turned to see Miranda coming towards her, pushing her way through the throng congregated outside the theatre. Resplendent in a green-satin dress, her face and figure positively blooming with her pregnancy, she was genuinely pleased to see Lydia. It would seem she wasn’t too put out by Lydia’s polite refusal to take her on as a client.

  ‘Lady Seymour, you take me by surprise. You remember Emily,’ she said, drawing her friend forward.

  ‘Yes, of course I do. Have you enjoyed the performance? It was quite a spectacle, don’t you agree?’

&nb
sp; ‘We enjoyed it enormously,’ Lydia replied. ‘We’re here with my father. He’s gone to see what has happened to the carriage but I’m sure he will be here in a moment,’ she said, hoping he would be since she had no wish to see Alex up close. ‘I—apologise for not being able to take on your order. I was afraid we would be unable to complete it in time.’

  ‘I understood perfectly. Alex told me some of what transpired between the two of you when you came to see him. I hope you don’t mind. Of course it would be difficult for you to take me on after that.’

  ‘Yes—yes, it was something like that.’

  ‘But now you are here you can’t leave without saying hello. Like your father, Alex has gone to find the carriage. He shouldn’t be too long.’

  Before Lydia could make an excuse, Miranda was beckoning to a group of people. Her heart fell when she saw Henry. All she wanted at that moment was for the ground to open and swallow her up. Unable to escape his wife’s prompting, Henry, followed by Irene Hilton and another gentleman, came towards them. On seeing Lydia he paled visibly and hung back. She had been so overwhelmed at seeing Alex again that she had failed to look properly at his companions.

  Chapter Nine

  Miranda drew the stranger forward. ‘David, I would like to introduce you to Miss Lydia Brook. You will recall I told you all about her dressmaking enterprise.’

  ‘You did indeed, Miranda,’ he said, glad to be introduced to the tantalising young woman who had turned his friend’s world upside down. ‘May I say I am truly delighted to meet you at last—having heard all about you from Miranda—and Alex, of course.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Lydia liked David Hilton at once and for the life of her she could not understand how such a charming and amiable man could possibly be the brother of a woman like Irene. Looking past him to his sister, she smiled. Without opening her mouth to make any polite greeting, Irene merely smiled tightly and turned away.

  Miranda looked at her husband standing uneasily behind her, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. ‘Henry, come and say hello to Miss Brook.’

  ‘Yes, Henry,’ Irene drawled, turning to face them, a smug, knowing glow in her eyes. ‘Do say hello to Miss Brook.’

  Glancing from Irene to Lydia, Henry turned a queer shade of purple and reached for his handkerchief, clearly wishing he were somewhere else. He murmured a few incoherent words, looking anxiously to Lydia for support. Rising instantly to the occasion, Lydia drew herself up and, desperate not to say or do anything to give Miranda reason to think anything was wrong, she smiled calmly and inclined her head politely, before turning away to look for her father.

  * * *

  Alex was not as immune to Lydia’s presence as she might think. He was surprised to see her at the theatre. Having located his carriage, he turned to his companions. Seeing Lydia speaking to his sister with Henry hovering somewhat awkwardly behind her and wishing to avoid any unpleasantness, he hurried towards them.

  Nothing had prepared him for his first sight of Lydia after five weeks apart. His heart wrenched when he looked on her unforgettable face—so poised, so provocatively lovely that he ached to hold her. She was collecting the attention of some of the gentlemen—and to his chagrin he had to concede that dressed in a lavender gown, which set off her stunning figure to perfection, she warranted such admiring regard.

  Lydia watched him approach, her mouth dry. After weeks of not seeing him, it was like coming face to face with a stranger. That well-remembered gaze slid around those gathered around her before coming to rest on her. She had not forgotten how brilliant and clear his eyes were—or how hard they could be. As she waited for him to speak to her, her eyes searching his granite features, she saw no sign of the passionate, sensual side to his nature, of the man who had held and kissed her with such tenderness.

  ‘Hello, Alex,’ she said quietly, unable to wait any longer to hear his voice. She was painfully aware that all eyes were focused on her. ‘I am surprised to see you here.’

  ‘And I you. I did not know you frequented the theatre.’

  ‘I don’t,’ she replied, trying to remain calm, relieved to see out of the corner of her eye David Hilton take his sister’s elbow and escort her to their carriage. She looked again at Alex, gazing at him intently because she wanted to read him and what she wanted to understand was why he had not tried to contact her when he had read her letter. ‘I have been so busy of late that my father thought it was time for some recreation.’

  ‘It’s also her birthday,’ Emily enthused with a happy smile. ‘Mr Brook arranged for us to come to the theatre as a special treat.’ Never had she been in such illustrious company and she was determined to make the most of it.

  ‘Your birthday?’ Miranda repeated.

  ‘Happy birthday,’ Alex murmured.

  Lydia drew her shawl tighter about her shoulders. She wanted something more from him than happy birthday, but with all eyes upon them she couldn’t bring herself to speak to him. Their eyes were locked together. He was good at reading her, at understanding, and he knew this was neither the time nor the place for a discussion between them.

  Lydia wasn’t aware that her father had returned until he said, ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me, my dear?’

  ‘Oh—yes, of course.’ Lydia made the introductions.

  It was an awkward moment for her and she was more than a little anxious when she introduced him first to a sheepish-looking Henry, who was still doing his best to hang back and having very little to say, and then to Alex, wondering how her father would react to the two men who had hurt her. But she need not have worried. Her father could be charming when it suited him and he was now playing the role of a proud father. She was amazed how he had adapted to the refinements of London life—smart clothes, polite manners. No one who did not know him would imagine for one moment that he had spent seven years as a convicted criminal halfway across the world in a penal colony.

  ‘Mr Brook. What a pleasure it is to meet you,’ Miranda said. ‘Have you only recently arrived in London?’

  ‘A few weeks now—in time to invest in my daughter’s enterprise.’

  ‘How fortunate,’ she said. ‘Where were you before?’

  ‘Travelling,’ he said, looking directly at Alex. Lydia had told him that Alex Golding knew about his past and he was hoping he could rely on his discretion. Alex merely nodded.

  ‘I’ve been out of town myself for the past five weeks—in Berkshire. I only returned yesterday.’

  That was the moment Lydia realised he didn’t know about the baby, that he had not received her letter.

  Samuel looked at his daughter, aware of her hidden strain. ‘The carriage is waiting for us, Lydia. We don’t want keep it waiting.’

  The look she gave him was of relief. ‘Of course.’

  Hasty farewells were said and everyone went to their respective carriages.

  * * *

  Alex was quiet on the journey back to Belgravia. Seeing Lydia tonight had been unexpected and a shock. He was torn between torment and tenderness. After spending some time in Berkshire, he felt his anger and pain had finally diminished enough and he could think more rationally about Lydia. Recalling her agonised face when she had left him in his study at Belgrave Square, how vulnerable and hurt she had looked, he ached with remorse. That was when he had decided to return to London.

  How could he have thought for one moment that he could purge her from his heart and mind? In his anger that day he would have said he could, but not now. Seeing her once more, in a calmer mood, he knew it was impossible. It mattered to him what happened to this beautiful, intelligent young woman. For the first time in his life he had found a woman who was rare and unspoiled, a woman who had succeeded in touching his heart, which was something all the other women in his life had failed to do.

  * * *

  Alex was on the point of leaving the house the morning after the t
heatre when he had a visitor. Indeed, it was Samuel Brook, come to speak to him on his daughter’s behalf.

  ‘I thank you for receiving me,’ Samuel said, handing his top hat to a hovering servant. ‘I have come to have a word with you about Lydia. I will not keep you long.’

  ‘You are welcome, Mr Brook. Please, come into the study. We can talk there.’

  Inside the study, Alex seated himself by the fire, offering Samuel the seat opposite.

  Samuel took the chair and looked straight at the man who had seduced his daughter—although Lydia refused to call it seduction since she had been a willing participant. He couldn’t help but admire Alex Golding’s calm manner.

  ‘You want to speak about Lydia,’ Alex said. ‘Does she know you are here?’

  ‘No, she doesn’t. But she has given me a full account of her actions since meeting you. As you know I have not been present while she was growing up, which I deeply regret. I know she has told you the reason why, so I will not go into that. I have no right to play the heavy-handed father—I lost the right to interfere in her life a long time ago—but I want you to do right by her. I believe you to be an honourable man.’

  ‘I try to be.’

  ‘Then I expect you to do the honourable thing by Lydia. After your last encounter, she wrote you a letter. I have come to ask you why you did not have the courtesy to reply to her.’

  Alex weighed his words carefully before he spoke. ‘Had I received any such letter which warranted a reply, I assure you, Mr Brook, I would have done so.’

  ‘So what are you saying? That you did not receive her letter or that in your opinion it did not warrant a reply?’

  ‘The former. I had all my mail sent on to my home in Berkshire, but there was no letter from Lydia. I have a feeling you know its contents.’