by Dayna Quince
“I wish the same for you, Livie.” Lydia hugged her quickly. “What are we doing arguing on such a fine day? It is quite unbecoming of us.”
“I suppose we should not behave like such ninnies.” Olivia dabbed at her eyes discreetly. “Let’s make our way to the buffet before all the cucumber sandwiches are gone.”
Linking arms, they ambled through the crowd. After gathering a sampling of sandwiches and fruits, they found a cozy table under the shade of an oak and sat in quiet companionship. Lydia’s mother held court over a circle of matrons nearby, and she could hear the gentle tone of her mother, discussing the cut of the latest fashion. Lord Caverly was nowhere in sight, thank heavens, but neither was Devon, and that did cause a pang of disappointment.
“Dear heavens!” her mother exclaimed.
Lydia turned and saw her mother holding a folded piece of paper with her hand pressed to her heart. Lydia’s heart began to gallop in her chest as any number of things went through her mind. Had someone seen her and Devon together and discreetly sent her mother a note? “Mother is something amiss?”
She went to her mother’s side at once and took the note from her slack fingers as the other ladies’ fanned Lady Covington and bid her to drink sips of cool lemon water.
Lydia read the note. “Poor Aunt Beatrice, we must leave at once.” She looked at the other matrons. “It seems my dear aunt has succumbed to scarlet fever, and the good doctor is summoning us.” Gasps and nods of understanding followed her words, along with well wishes.
“You cannot accompany me, my dear,” her mother finally spoke. “You have never had scarlet fever, and I could not bear to lose you, as well.” Tears welled and spilled over. Delicate handkerchiefs were immediately offered.
“She will stay with us. I will send a footman to collect her maid and necessary things.” Lady Lesley, Olivia’s mother spoke up, and Olivia nodded enthusiastically.
“You mustn’t worry about a thing, Lady Covington. We will take good care of Lady Lydia, and you can focus on caring for your sister.” She patted Lady Covington on the shoulder.
In a rare show of emotion, Lady Covington gave Lady Lesley a watery smile and patted her hand in return. “Thank you.”
Olivia’s mother nodded and smiled fondly. They had known each other since girlhood, but had scarcely used their given names with each other. “Tis settled then. Please fetch Lady Covington’s carriage at once,” Olivia’s mother bid the footman.
“Are we leaving, as well, Mother?” Olivia asked.
“Oh, no”—Lady Covington stood—“please stay and enjoy the party.”
“But Mother?” Lydia frowned.
“I insist. It will do you know good to mope. I will see to my sister, and you should not worry about a thing. I conquered scarlet fever as a young girl. I am sure Beatrice is too contrary to succumb to such a malady.” She gave Lydia a buss on the cheek and made her farewells to the other matrons, clasping hands briefly with Lady Lesley.
Lydia watched her mother walk away, back straight and head held high. She knew her mother worried for her sister, despite her brave façade.
“Are you scared?” Olivia took Lydia’s hand and gave it a firm squeeze.
“Of course, I am. Healthy adults still die from scarlet fever. Aunt Beatrice has a strong constitution, but one never knows.”
“Everything will be fine, I am sure of it.”
Chapter 6
There were whispers as news spread of Lady Covington’s departure, but it was not good fodder for gossip, so it died quickly. Lydia received many well wishes and prayers for a speedy recovery but soon grew weary.
She had not seen Devon since their discussion in the folly and wished at least for a glimpse of him to distract her thoughts. The archery tournament was starting, and the guests were directed to a large clearing, sporting chairs and tents to observe the competitors.
Taking their seats in the front row, Olivia chatted excitedly with the other ladies. The young men were putting on quite a performance with practice shots and good-natured jests. Everywhere around her, young ladies whispered fervently about which gentleman had the best aim, the best arms, or the best stance.
“Oh look, there’s Devon!” Olivia pointed and waved exuberantly when he turned at the mention of his name. He was some yards away, and when he looked, his gaze immediately met Lydia’s—like two opposing magnets inexplicably drawn together. Her cheeks immediately felt warmer, and she quickly looked away.
“Oh, dear”—Olivia grabbed her arm suddenly—“look who he is talking to.”
Lydia looked and nearly cursed aloud. “It seems he has made the acquaintance of Lord Caverly.”
As they watched, Devon turned back to Lord Caverly and said something to which Lord Caverly laughed uproariously. Then much to Lydia’s humiliation, Lord Caverly waved to her. If there were ever a time for the ground to open up and swallow her—now would be it. She waved politely back to Lord Caverly.
“Please don’t let him come over here,” Lydia begged.
“Are you praying to me or our Heavenly Father?” Olivia giggled.
“Whoever responds quicker, claims my devotion.”
Devon looked back at them and winked.
“I do believe my brother is making a game of your predicament,” Olivia mused.
“Do you think he knows? I mean, is Lord Caverly that obvious with his intentions?”
“I’m afraid so. I’ve had three separate people ask me discreetly if there was an understanding.” Olivia patted Lydia’s hand sympathetically. “Your Lord Caverly is quite smitten and wishes everyone to know it.”
“This is humiliating.” Lydia covered her face with her hands.
Olivia gasped and Lydia looked up. “What is it now?”
As she watched, Lord Caverly was sharing his happy news with Devon, this very moment. Both men turned to face them, and Devon leaned in close as if Lord Caverly were imparting great wisdom. However, as Lord Caverly spoke, Devon’s cheery demeanor faded to a peculiar frown.
Lord Caverly didn’t notice in the least, and when he finished his dialogue and faced him, Devon had resumed his normal devil may care facade. Lydia dare not look at Olivia to see if she had witnessed the exchange, and Olivia was curiously silent.
A footman announced the start of the competition, and the men took their places. Neither looked in their direction again, and Lydia released a tentative sigh. What would Devon make of that? The tournament ensued, and one by one, archers were eliminated until only two competitors remained.
Devon and Lord Caverly.
The best of three would declare the winner. Lydia watched the spectacle before her with growing unease. Devon and Lord Caverly both proved to have remarkable skill, but surely, Devon would win, if not… Lydia feared Lord Caverly would make an unsubtle declaration about his intentions.
They had only just met, but it was clear by the teasing looks and whispers around her that he had not been discreet with his selection of her as his future bride. Lydia wished her mother were here, if only to diffuse the situation until Lydia could accept what may come and not feel like a rabbit trapped in a snare, doomed to be tonight’s supper.
Polite applause broke out around her, and she focused on the competition in front of her. Lost in her thoughts, she had missed the finish, and it seemed her nightmare would come true.
Devon congratulated Lord Caverly with a hearty handshake before turning to a gaggle of admirers swarming to soothe his bruised ego. A group crowded before her, blocking her view of Lord Caverly.
“Quick, Olivia, let’s go.” Lydia jumped to her feet pulling Olivia with her.
“Why are we running?” Olivia tugged her arm free, as she tried not to trip over her trailing hem.
“I don’t want Lord Caverly to make a scene, so we are escaping before he sees me.”
“Oh.” Olivia picked up her pace, not caring that she was revealing a flash of ankle as she ran.
Dear, sweet Olivia, no one could ask for a better friend
. They ran into a hedge maze, eluding Lord Caverly and the other guests without witnesses. She barreled through turn after turn, until finally coming to a dead end somewhere in the midst of the maze.
“I think we’ve eluded him.” She turned to Olivia but Olivia was not there. “Olivia, where are you?” She called in exasperation. She turned the corner and collided with a wall of chest. “Oh!” Her breath whooshed out of her, and she would have fallen back if strong arms had not reached for her and pulled her close.
“Shhhh,” he whispered. “We’re not alone.”
Lydia blinked up at Devon owlishly. He steadied her on her feet and took her back to the dead end. They were surrounded on three sides by thick six-foot tall privet hedges, meticulously groomed. Devon ducked low to keep from being seen above the horizon of the hedge.
“From whom are we hiding?” Lydia whispered.
“You tell me? You’re the one running away…again.” He smiled wickedly. “Although, this time I suspect ’tis not from me but your dearly betrothed?”
“That is not funny. There is no such arrangement, and you know it. I would have told you in the folly if that were the case, but he… Well, he seems to have the opinion that I will make an exceptional wife.” Lydia looked up into his face, but because he was stooping, he was exceedingly close to her, and she was having trouble thinking. It didn’t help matters that he still held her arms.
“Is he the reason for our conversation in the folly?”
Lydia hesitated. “Yes.”
“Ah.” Devon stepped away from her, and Lydia instantly missed his nearness. “He is the older gentleman who your mother is vying to marry you off to? Moreover, he just beat me in an archery contest. Splendid.”
“I have not agreed to anything. I only just met him today,” Lydia said lamely. She felt like a cad, as if she had lied somehow. She stared down at her slippers and kicked a small pebble.
“Ah, but you did make an agreement today.” He stepped close again, and there was a dangerous edge to his tone. “You made a deal with the devil.” He tipped her chin up, nearly bringing her lips to his. His eyes glared into hers. “This devil will make you pay dearly.”
“Well, it will certainly be easy staying under the same roof with you.”
“Beg Pardon?” He stepped back in confusion.
“My Aunt Beatrice in Yorkshire has fallen ill, and my mother had to leave this very afternoon to be with her. Your mother offered to take me in until she returns. We will be riding home together, it seems.” Lydia smiled.
“I don’t live at home anymore. I have my own bachelor lodgings.”
“You do?”
“Why Lady Lydia, you sound wholly disappointed. Did you have plans to steal into my room at night and ravish me in my sleep?”
“You wish,” Lydia snapped at him. Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. That was not her plan, but she did think she would spend a great deal of time in close proximity to him under one roof.
Devon stepped close again and pulled her against him. “It would be my wildest dream come true. Although, it is rather indecent to seduce a young lady under one’s own parents’ roof. I do have standards, you know.”
“I seriously dou—”
His lips crushed hers in a searing kiss. At once, her breath was taken from her and given back hot and spiced with the taste of him. It invigorated her and sent her blood rippling through her veins with delicious heat. She molded her body against his and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing as if he were going to war and this was their last kiss goodbye.
The bargain had been struck, and this moment was the beginning of an education in lust, desire, and perhaps—even though she would never say it aloud—love.
Chapter 7
It was a splendid evening for Lydia, despite the news of her aunt and the humiliation of Lord Caverly. Devon made all the difference. They only danced once, but it was a magical dance. The sun had just set, and the sky tinged a marvelous orange-pink. Small glass beads had been hung over the dance floor, and it looked as if fireflies blanketed the air over them, creating a fairytale world where only lovers existed. After leaving the maze, Lord Caverly did corner her, but had strained his hand during the tournament and was heading home. Lydia could barely contain her relief. He begged for an invitation to visit her in town, to which Lydia politely agreed as soon as her mother returned, and she did not know when that would be. He smiled graciously and bid her a fond adieu until they met again.
Lydia sincerely hoped they would never meet again.
As they headed back to town in the elegant Brentton carriage, Lydia sighed in contentment. Full darkness had fallen, and the only light came from the wavering carriage lights outside. Lady Lesley sat across from Lydia and Olivia, staring drowsily out the window. Devon sat beside his mother, pretending to be politely bored, while every so often bumping his foot against Lydia’s. He would apologize but smile playfully at her and wink. Olivia soon fell asleep against the squabs, and looked ready to roll off the seat with every bump and sway of the carriage.
“I think a light supper should do for tonight, and then we shall retire early. Devon, will you stay to dine?” Lady Lesley addressed him.
“If it pleases you, Mother.”
She looked at him skeptically. “Is that a yes or no?”
“Yes, Mother.” He smiled at Lydia.
Lydia rolled her eyes heavenward but couldn’t help smiling in return. The evening had cast a spell over her, and its lighthearted effects were still in play. Every time she met his eyes, she thought of the kiss in the maze, and her imagination ran wild with possibilities. When would he kiss her next? Should she kiss him first? The idea brought a quick blush to her cheeks. How could she behave so wantonly? She was acting like some silly chit overcome with infatuation for some elegant blade. Lydia was normally immune to such antics, but for some unexplainable reason, Devon did something to her. It made her throw caution, and all her dearly held ideals, to the wind. It was an uncomfortable feeling to be so out of control of one’s self, and yet also freeing.
She lived her life with a maidenly shield of ice around her, to protect herself from rogues and rakes determined to make a conquest of young ladies, and now Devon’s rakish charm was melting right through it. Lydia closed her eyes, trying to steady the chaos of her thoughts, but they would not settle. There was no going back, only forward, directly into the strong arms of a man she shouldn’t be attracted to, a devil who was only too ready to expedite the surrender of her carefully guarded virtue. The lines were drawn between them, but looking at Devon from under her lashes, Lydia wondered if she would be able to toe them, or if she would fall head over heels for the blasted man.
The carriage drew to a stop before the Brentton townhouse. A footman opened the door and let down the step, assisting Lady Lesley from the carriage followed by Olivia and then Devon. Devon turned to hand Lydia down, and the warmth of his hand was a shock to her senses. She pointedly ignored him as she shook out her skirts, and then proceeded to climb the front steps. If she couldn’t get hold of her reaction to him in public, then her entire reputation would be ruined. She was never one to wear her heart on her sleeve, and she wasn’t about to start now.
“Will Father be joining us?” Devon asked, entering the foyer and giving his gloves and hat to the butler.
“He is playing cards with Lord Ketterig tonight, so he won’t be home until quite late, I’m afraid.” Lady Lesley continued, “He did leave some farm reports for you to look over on his desk, Devon. He wants you to become acquainted with some new farming apparatus.”
“Oh, joy.” Devon said sourly.
Dinner was a drowsy affair with little talk and only a light supper before the ladies excused themselves, and Devon retired to the library to review his father’s notes.
Devon preferred the library to his father’s study. The room was larger and cheerier with bookcases lining the walls and comfortable seating scattered throughout the room. He lounged on a settee pulled close to the fi
re, flipping through farming reports and notes his father made about crop yields, summer planting, and fence repairs. He had removed his coat, cravat, and waistcoat, throwing them haphazardly over the back of a chair. He rested his head on one end of the settee and crossed his booted feet over the other. He yawned and checked the clock on the mantel. It was only half past eight, and yet he wouldn’t have minded heading to bed, especially if his bed contained a certain disapproving blonde-haired woman.
There was a whisper of sound from the doorway, and when he looked up, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Well speak of the devil, or rather, an angel cloaked in a simple white dressing gown trimmed with pale blue satin. Her hair was braided to the side and pulled over her shoulder like a golden rope of woven honey and cream. She froze, her eyes like saucers, and her lips parted in a gasp.
“Well, don’t stand there all night. Come in, if you must.” Devon beckoned.
“I just wanted… I shouldn’t.” She hesitantly looked over her shoulder. “I just wanted a book to read. I thought you would be in your father’s study.” Her hands fluttered around the sash of her robe nervously.
Devon silently and quickly rose from the sofa. He stepped near and around her to close the door with a soft click. “I prefer the library. You never know when an underdressed woman might wander in.” He smiled wickedly as he drew closer to her side and fingered the braid draped over her shoulder.
“Does that happen often here?” she asked skeptically.
“Not here, I’m afraid, not until now.” He picked up her braid and weighed it in his hands.
“Stop that!” She snatched it away from him and moved out of his reach while he chuckled. She pretended to peruse a wall of books, contemplating the closed door.
“Can I help you pick something?” He smiled benignly. “Perhaps something from the East, an instructional manual of sorts?” He strolled to a nearby shelf and pulled a red volume with gold lettering.