by Dayna Quince
“I know there is something going on between the two of you. I know both of you too well not to see it. Tell me.” Olivia gripped the back of her father’s chair.
“What is there to tell, Livie? I—” He paused and looked at his sister, hesitant to expose his bleeding heart. “I'm in love with her, and she thinks I'm not worthy of her affections.” It felt good to say it out loud. His chest was heavy with the emotion of it, but finally he could admit it to someone else. Who better than to someone who loves Lydia like the sister she never had? Devon walked over to the decanter and poured himself a finger of brandy. It was early, but he didn’t give a damn.
“That can’t be true. I have seen the way she looks at you.”
“I know how she feels, Livie, but it is what she says that throws me for a loop. I suppose you know about Lord Caverly?”
“Yes, I have met him. I know she thinks she can be happy with him but…”
“She doesn’t want happiness. She wants to be safe from a husband who might cause scandal. If she wanted happiness she would marry me.”
Olivia gasped. “You asked her? What did she say?”
“She flattened me like a runaway carriage.” Devon finished his drink in one gulp and relished the burn of the brandy sliding down his throat. He nearly choked when he felt Olivia throw her arms around him. “What the deuce?” He coughed.
“Oh Devon, I’m so sorry. I can see why she is so upset. She truly wants you. I know she does, but if it weren’t for her wretched father, she would accept you.”
“I am nothing like her father, and she knows it.”
“I don’t think she does. How does one undo a lifetime of thoughts and teachings? Her mother has convinced her of what kind of man to avoid in marriage, and you fit the bill.”
“Ridiculous. I am nothing like that scoundrel,” Devon growled into his empty glass.
“Be that as it may, it will take some serious convincing on your part to change her and her mother’s mind about you as husband material. How can I help?” Olivia clapped excitedly.
“You can stay out of the way,” Devon grumbled.
Olivia’s face fell. “I’m not going to let you muck this up. Lydia’s happiness is at stake!”
“I am not kidding with you, Olivia. Stay out of this. Now if you will please let me return to the correspondence. Father wants me to join him at White’s and time is pressing.”
“You will need my help, Devon, and when you do, I will make you beg for it.” Olivia turned on her heel, miffed at being so easily dismissed. It galled her that no one appreciated her willingness to help or even sought her opinion. She was not some empty-headed ninny, but everyone, including Lydia, treated her like a child. She was not about to leave the situation alone. If she did, she was sure Devon would ruin everything.
“If you have a care for her, Devon, do not go to the Stillwort ball. Give her a chance to make up her mind on her own,” Olivia warned. Lydia was as brittle as bone china right now, and it wouldn’t do to humiliate her in society.
“What would I do, Livie, challenge the old bat to a duel?” Devon scoffed.
“No, but let her face her future with Lord Caverly without having to deal with you for one night. She would never forgive you if you made a scene or upset her in public.”
Devon waved her away. He was too agitated to deal with a nosy little sister. He did agree, however, a night apart could certainly do them both good, and hopefully, Lydia would miss him. If only she could face her own feelings, and put an end to both their misery.
The evening of the Stillwort ball, Devon left London altogether. He chose a tavern on the outskirts of a small village and began an early evening of drinking his sorrows away. If he were lucky, he would get in a fight, but as it stood, the tavern was quiet, and the other occupants inclined to sip their mugs of ale in peace. A somber fire snapped in a cavernous fireplace better used to roast an ox rather than heat the small taproom. The walls were dingy from smoke and time, and the bar beneath his fingers rough and carved with the scribblings and names of past souls. Devon stared into his mug, but instead of seeing the swirl of cheap ale and foamy head, he could only see Lydia. She would be dressing right now for the ball. Perhaps sitting before her vanity while her maid did odd things to her hair, with whatever contraption ladies used these days to curl and create those masses of perfectly placed curls. Devon fantasized about undoing it all, pulling each pin and running his fingers through her long, pale gold tresses. He would bend and kiss her—No! No! He shouted at himself inside his tortured mind. He couldn’t think about her tonight.
Tonight, she would be wooing her future husband and trying to forget about him. Tonight, she would both rip his heart out and leave it on the ballroom floor, or she would realize that love was worth fighting for. Devon prayed that she would pick him, and tonight she would think only of him, yearning for him the way he was yearning for her.
Each minute felt like an hour.
Every time Devon checked his timepiece, barely a quarter hour had passed, and he growled in frustration. He waved for another tanker of ale and slapped some coins on the bar. The ale was piss, but it would serve to get him good and drunk before the night was over, and that was all that mattered. Total oblivion was the only way to survive this night and stop him from doing something truly wretched. Bride theft was only accepted in the Highlands among the clans, from what Devon understood. London frowned on such tactics.
Lydia arrived at the Stillwort ball on Lord Caverly’s arm. She immediately scanned the crowd for Devon’s dark head upon their entrance into the ballroom, but it was fairly early and many of the guests had yet to arrive. Lord Caverly was not yet accustomed to the late hours kept in town, and it planned to be an early evening, but Lydia could already tell it would be the longest of her life. Since her mother’s return, all talk had been of Lord Caverly. Her mother went on and on about his estate, his family, and how interesting his letters were. Lydia wished to feel some semblance of interest, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to form the appropriate responses and nods. She had actually nodded off yesterday while her mother retold a story of his visit to Greece. Thankfully, her mother had been quite intent on her embroidery and had not noticed. Lydia had been jolted awake by the arrival of the tea service and a note from Olivia. Lydia and Olivia were going to help promote a respectable story for Lilly’s absence and would reunite the day after tomorrow.
Her mother accepted the news of Lilly’s return with skepticism but seemed to recall Lilly’s reclusive aunt from up north. Lydia sighed warily. Her life was turning into a web of lies that continued to grow bigger and bigger. She hated to deceive her mother, but what choice did she have?
The dancing would not start for some time, so Lydia led the way to the refreshment table. With glasses in hand, they selected a row of chairs to sit and watch the other guests arrive. Lady Covington kept the conversation flowing with Lord Caverly, as Lydia listened half-heartedly and watched the door. The evening wore on, guests entered and mingled, and still there was no sign of Devon. Lord Caverly claimed the first dance and the final dance before supper. After that, they would make their excuses to Lady Stillwort. Lydia was thankful it would be a short evening and glad for each dance that took her away from Lord Caverly. For these thoughts, she felt supreme guilt. It was not Lord Caverly’s fault for her lack of interest. He was very kind and attentive, listened intently when she spoke, and was the consummate gentleman. If only she could feel a return affection. He was everything she had thought she wanted, and her mother shared her idea most insistently, but clearly something had changed inside her and it scared her.
Lydia smiled and nodded through her first dance with Lord Caverly. By the time it was over, she felt as if she had sat through an Oxford lecture on Greek literature. Thankful for a reprieve, she met her next partner and returned to the dance floor. Her night continued as thus until a quarter after eleven when Lydia excused herself to the ladies withdrawing room. Breathing a sigh of relief, she accepted a cool glass of w
ater from a maid and sat down on a chair to rest her feet.
“Good evening, Lady Lydia.” Lady Burnes took the chair beside her and fanned herself languidly. “I am surprised not to see Lady Olivia by your side. I hope she is well?”
“Lady Olivia has a familial engagement this evening,” Lydia replied. She did not want to encourage more conversation with the likes of Lady Burnes. The woman was a viper and strained the definitions of the title lady with her reputation.
“Hmmm, so that is why Lord Wilhelm did not grace us with his presence.” Lady Burnes smiled coyly behind her fan.
Inwardly, Lydia stiffened as a jolt of shock ran through her nerves like ice; outwardly she returned Lady Burnes stare with calm boredom. “Pardon me. I was not aware you had an acquaintance with Lord Wilhelm.”
“Well… Most ladies of the ton do on some level, don’t they?” Lady Burnes snickered behind her fan.
Lydia felt her stomach drop with a nauseating plop. She could feel her palms growing damp and her skin go clammy as Lady Burnes fanned herself and looked over Lydia with a predatory gleam in her eye. “I only wish to warn you, dear. You have an impeccable standing in society, and I would hate to see that tarnished. I have noticed the attention Lord Wilhelm has paid you of late, and I can see that my comment has struck some nerve. You would be wise to trust your affections to Lord Caverly. It is clear what his intentions are toward you.”
Lydia tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a breathless gasp.
“Oh dear, I see I have upset you.” Lady Burnes pouted for effect. “Don’t worry, dear, I shall see Lord Wilhelm later at a private party. I will tell him that you are much too precious for him to tamper with and should seek his entertainment elsewhere. Before you know it, you will be married and happy as a hen.”
Lydia could scarcely believe the white-hot rage that consumed her. In that moment, she wanted to rip Lady Burnes’ pouty red lips right off her face. She took a shuddering deep breath and summoned all her self-control. “There is no need to go to such trouble on my behalf, Lady Burnes. I would recommend perhaps that you not associate yourself with a young gentleman like Lord Wilhelm. Young men can be so tedious at his age. You need a man to match your maturity. Should I ask Lord Caverly if he has any acquaintances in town?”
The insult hit its mark, and Lady Burnes narrowed her eyes into slits. “Why you…you—”
“I really must return to my mother. Have a pleasant evening.” Lydia smiled tightly and quickly took her leave. She was positive that wasn’t going to be the end of Lady Burnes’ spite, but whatever that harpy dished out, Lydia could handle. What Lydia couldn’t handle was the idea that Lady Burnes and Devon had some sort of intimate relationship. The thought made her want to vomit all over the parquet floor. She knew Devon was no saint, and it didn’t change the feelings she could no longer deny but only intensified what she knew all along. She could never marry a man like Devon, a man so charming and seductive that scores of women fell at his feet. No wife could keep such a man to herself, and thanks to her mother, this was not a lesson Lydia would have to experience to appreciate. She wanted him more than anything in this world, but she could never have him, not in any permanent way, at least not in any way accepted by society. She saw the path before her in her mind’s eye, a future she would embrace with dignity. She would hold her head up high, even if her heart would never be the same.
Chapter 11
Being reunited with a dear friend is a pleasant distraction from one’s own heartache. Lydia shed far more tears than were warranted, but the flood of joy upon seeing Lilly, daughter of the late Duke and Duchess of Cranston, so whole and happy, was a release for her emotions. They met in the drawing room of Olivia’s home and the three hugged tightly, shedding unabashed tears for the time lost and the worries they had held on to for so long. Lydia was in awe of Lilly. She looked absolutely wonderful and had a glow of happiness about her. Lilly and Chance got them up to speed about their plan to reintroduce Lilly into the good graces of society after her family scandal and hopefully trap her treasonous stepfather. It was up to Lydia and Olivia to spread the word about her return from a visit with a distant aunt. Lilly told them about the Earl of Redwick, who had found her out and was now helping her. He would be acting as her guardian for the time being since Lilly’s true guardian, a distant cousin and the new Duke of Cranston, had not returned from the continent nor been in touch with the family.
Lydia was instantly skeptical about the propriety of Lilly living with an unwed bachelor, even with his aunt in residence as chaperone. There was something about Lilly that changed when she spoke of the earl. Lydia’s eyebrows shot up when she used his given name so casually, and Lilly’s happy glow intensified tenfold when she talked about their time at his country residence. Lydia worried that maybe this earl had taken advantage of Lilly, but by the looks of it, Lilly was smitten and maybe that was not such a bad thing. She would hold her opinion until she met this earl. In the meantime, Lydia recognized that perhaps she was a little jealous of Lilly. She had gone through the worst of scandals and came out the other side looking happy and well, maybe even in love. Lydia wished she could have Lilly’s strength, for it must have been sheer strength of character to accomplish such a thing.
* * *
The three ladies went shopping on Bond Street escorted by Chance. It was a pleasant afternoon, and Lydia relished the chance to push aside her aching heart and just enjoy the company of good friends. It was easy to pretend that everything was all right when no one else knew about her affair with Devon. She behaved as she used to, laughed and chided Olivia for her outrageousness, teased Chance about his unwed state, and enjoyed Lilly’s enchanting wit. Lydia had missed pleasant afternoons such as these, when life seemed much simpler. Lydia dived head first into her part of Lilly’s return. Evening after evening, entertainment after entertainment, together with Olivia and Chance, they spread the word about Lilly’s return.
She saw very little of Devon, but when she did, her body would simmer with the heat from his gaze. They rarely spoke beyond mere pleasantries, and never did he ask her to dance or try to pull her away to a private area of the party. Lydia was half-disappointed and half-relieved. She needed the space to think clearly and plan how she was to go on with her life. It was as it should be, but Lydia felt at odds with herself. She wanted it to be the way it was just a few days ago. She wanted to touch him, to kiss him, to be pulled into a dark room and tortured with pleasure as before. She was grieving the loss of his nearness every moment she was away from him. It had to stop. She needed to have control of her heart once again and close that last door to dreams of love and passion. She needed to cage all her wanting and longing for him inside and, like a beautiful bird, keep it hidden only for her pleasure when she was lonely and aching for him in her empty marriage bed.
How does one do such a thing? How does one go about life empty and cold—always aching for another—when one looks into her husband’s eyes? Death sounded easier. As days went by, Lydia began to feel like a shell. Outside she was as she always looked—serene, polished, and always proper, but inside she felt hollow. Unfulfilled desires ricocheted inside her like echoes, never finding satisfaction. By the end of a fortnight, she was the personification of a porcelain doll. Her façade was effortlessly perfect, her manners flawless, and her practiced smile an art form, in and of itself. She had watched her dear friend Lilly fall madly in love with her handsome guardian, and tonight at the grand ball that would be the conclusion to their carefully laid plan. Envy was a constant pain in her heart.
She stood watching as her friends laughed and anxiously awaited the arrival of Prince George. She wanted to be happy with them, but tonight, as she stood among her friends and other guests dressed in their finest evening wear and jewels, Lydia silently shattered. Her fine icy shell broke apart and as she watched Devon—so startlingly handsome in his black and white attire—she barely stopped herself from moaning in agony aloud. Her heart thudded slowly and painfully in h
er chest, her hands began to shake, and palms grew damp as she clutched them together, desperately holding onto control.
Devon felt a pulse of longing so acute he turned to the source of it. He found Lydia staring back at him—pale as a ghost and nearly shaking out of her slippers. He was by her side in an instant. “Dear God, what is wrong.” He took her hand and it was cold as ice.
“I… I need to be alone with you.” Her whisper shivered out through tense lips.
Around them, the room buzzed with excitement and talk of the discreet arrival of the Prince Regent. They passed unnoticed to a small stand of potted palms hiding a door for the servants. Slipping out of the ballroom, they came to a halt in a corridor used only by servants.
“This is as accommodating as I get considering you threw me over,” Devon joked, but the words were a stab to his own heart. The past fortnight had been his personal hell. He had watched and waited from a distance as Lydia danced, laughed, and carried on as though ripping his heart out had caused her little more trouble than opening her correspondence. She was a masterful artist of self-control, but he knew deep down she still wanted him. Tonight, as he turned and saw the raw emotion effusing her whole body, he was both thrilled and shaken to his very core. Dare he dream that she had finally made her choice? Would she admit she wanted him and loved him?
“Thank you.”
“We better make it quick before any servants come through here,” Devon warned. “What is it, darling?” He held both her hands between them and pulled her close to him to look deeply into her eyes.
“I want you to come to me tonight after the ball. I’ll leave the terrace doors to the garden parlor unlocked.”
She told him how to get to her room, and where he needed to be especially careful not to wake anyone up.
A roar of pure triumph sang through his mind. “I have waited all my life for this moment,” Devon whispered. Inside his body hummed with joy, and the heady sensation nearly made him drop to his knees before her. He pulled her close, smothering her gasp with a fierce kiss of a man long denied what he longed for most in this world. In but a moment, he thoroughly plundered her mouth until they were both breathless before letting go of her.