Lydia tumbled toward them, unable to control her momentum, but Dr. Sempill caught her easily by the shoulders.
He held on tightly and watched her for several seconds. “Feeling stable enough to try a few steps with our help?”
She wanted to try, more than anything, yet contemplating that very thing let loose her worst fears of having been made an invalid through incarceration in chains. She gave a nod, not even able to voice her thoughts.
With the other two close by her sides, Lydia tentatively moved her foot a few inches.
Patience sounded jubilant as she said, “You moved!”
“Nicely done,” said the physician to Lydia. “That’s very encouraging.”
While she was glad to see some movement, any movement, that still didn’t mean she’d be able to walk. She bit her lip, afraid if she tried to speak, a sob would emerge.
Dr. Sempill patted her shoulder, “Now there, Miss Sullyard. Since you’re able to stand and have taken a step, I’m very encouraged.”
“Then why—”
“Let’s take a couple more steps, then we can discuss it. All right?”
She nodded and swallowed against the lump forming in her throat. She willed her other knee to bend slightly and then placed that foot forward a little bit.
“Marvelous.” The physician beamed as if Lydia had found a cure for the plague. “Very well. Let’s turn you around and walk the few steps back to the bed.”
Her movements excruciatingly slow, Lydia forced her legs and feet to comply. One step. Two. The third was more of a half-step, half-stumble as she collapsed onto the bed. Completely out of breath, she allowed her sister and the physician to once again position her against the pillows and cover her legs.
Dr. Sempill smiled down at her. “Well done, my dear.”
“But I’m exhausted. Simply from a few steps. That can’t be news to get excited about.”
“Oh, but indeed it is. If you had permanent damage in your legs, you wouldn’t have been able to stand at all. Even with assistance.”
“Truly?”
He nodded. “Let me ask, if I may… How long were you, er… chained to the floor, unable to move?”
“Four weeks or so.” Was that all? The duration of her stay had seemed eternal while she’d endured it.
“My goodness. Well no wonder. Yes. I’m quite certain that given time and practice, you will make great progress.”
A fragile thread of hope burgeoned in her heart. “So… it’s possible I will be able to walk again, as I once did?”
“With patience—” He smiled. “—well both your sister, Patience, and your attitude, I don’t see a reason why not.”
Lydia sighed. “Thank you so much, Dr. Sempill.”
“You are quite welcome. Let me add that I’m so very sorry you’ve had to go through that terrible experience. I’m relieved you are once again in the bosom of your loving family.” He gave her a nod. “Now, while I’m here, I think I’ll slip down the hall to see how Mrs. Bexley and the new babe are faring.”
“I can’t wait to see them.”
He reached the door and then turned. “By all means. I think seeing your new nephew would perk up your spirits quite a bit.” He gave a wave and disappeared around the corner.
Patience smoothed the covers over Lydia’s legs. “Oh, Lydia, the baby is the cutest thing. Perhaps we can see him later. I believe Kitty is napping just now.”
Though gratitude for home and family engulfed her, Lydia’s mind jumped back to her conversation that had been interrupted by Dr. Sempill. About Stratford. Her feelings for him and… whether or not he was betrothed to that woman. She absentmindedly plucked at the pink cover on the bed.
“Would you care to talk about it? You know I’m a good listener.”
Lydia shrugged. What good would it do, at least until she knew for sure the status of Stratford’s betrothal?
“Is it what we were discussing before Dr. Sempill arrived? About Stratford?”
Lydia peered up into her younger sister’s blue eyes. She really was a good listener. Always had been. Had the kindest heart of anyone in their family. “I suppose it might help to… discuss my feelings on the matter.”
Patience sat down next to her on the bed. “He came to visit you, didn’t he? Stratford, I mean.”
“Yes.”
“I found that to be surprising, given what we know about his past behavior.”
“I was quite taken aback, I can assure you.”
“So… when he visited, was he…”
Lydia lifted one eyebrow. She knew what Patience was asking without actually saying the words. “He was quite the gentleman. Very solicitous, in fact.”
“Was he?”
“He even…” She cleared her throat. “He held my hand.”
Patience gasped. “Did he… that is, um, do anything else?”
“Stratford actually sat down on the floor next to me. More than once. We talked. He’s a good listener, as well.”
“My goodness. That is a revelation. If I may ask, then… What has you so distressed?”
Lydia turned her head toward the wall, feigning interest in a painting of a woman taking a stroll by a pond. “For some time now, I’ve had a fondness for…”
“Oh, that.”
She whipped her gaze back to Patience “What do you mean… ‘oh that’?”
“I’ve known about it for months now.”
“How could you possibly—”
Patience waved her hand in Lydia’s direction. “It’s easy to see when you’re anywhere near him.”
Heat rose from Lydia’s chest to her face. “Good heavens. Does everyone know?”
“I doubt it. Only those very close to you would be able to ascertain the difference in you when he’s around.”
Lydia rolled her eyes. “That’s something at least.”
“Would it bother you so very much for him to know?”
“It wouldn’t have done any good. I’m not of his station.”
Patience gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Neither was Kitty in Nathaniel’s. But they’re very happy together.”
“Stratford’s a known rake.”
“You said just now that he acted sweet with you.”
Lydia crossed her arms. “True.”
“Given all of that, I’m not sure why you’re so troubled about him?”
Lydia grabbed her sister’s hand. “Because he might be betrothed to another.”
“Oh…” Patience lowered her eyebrows. “Then perhaps I do see why.”
“Not entirely. If he is betrothed, it’s to a vile woman.”
“Who is it?”
“Miss Queensbury.”
“How terrible. I still can’t believe how she tried to keep Kitty and Nathaniel apart. She’s a vile sort, that one.”
“And, he would be attached to her for a very wrong reason.”
Patience tilted her head. “What would that reason be?”
“Me.”
Chapter Fourteen
Stratford hadn’t literally dragged his feet since he was nine years old and was forced to apologize to Nathaniel for cutting one side of his hair in his sleep. He wouldn’t actually drag them now, but he wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to.
It’s for Lydia. It’s worth it.
Why couldn’t he save her from Bedlam and get to marry her too? He’d hoped until the last second that there would be a way but knew when Miss Queensbury had arranged Lydia’s release, there was no going back. The thought of something going awry and poor Lydia being put back there again was more than he could bear.
No, for once in his life, he needed to be the man he should have been, wanted to be, all his life. Doing this for the woman he loved wouldn’t make up for all of his mistakes, but perhaps, just maybe, it would be a point in his favor.
Even though he’d be miserable.
After giving the Queensburys’ door a good hard rap to help him vent his frustrations, Stratford stared at the door until it was opened. T
he expression on the servant’s face was something akin to Oh, you again. But of course, the man only uttered, “Good day.”
Without even giving a salutation, because he just wasn’t in the mood, Stratford said abruptly, “I’m here to see Miss Queensbury.” A shudder coursed through him. Very soon she would be Mrs. Bexley.
“Won’t you come in?”
Hmm. Not the same treatment as before. Had his intended given instructions that Stratford be let in right away in hopes of getting what she wanted?
He stepped inside, waved away the outstretched footman’s hand for his hat and coat, and instead marched down the hall without waiting for the servant.
Rapid steps came from behind. “Sir… Sir?”
Stratford turned and glared at him. “What?”
“I need to show you where to wait for Miss Queensbury.”
“Weren’t you going to put me in the parlor, as before?”
“Well, yes.”
“Problem solved.” He continued on his way. Inappropriate, yes. But he didn’t give a rat’s arse.
Rat’s arse.
The memory of his conversation with Lydia about the awful rodent in her cell gave him pause. Once inside the parlor, he paced the room as was his habit whenever he was vexed. And at that moment, vexation couldn’t have been more severe.
Oh, Lydia, my sweet woman. How I’ve grown to care for you in the past weeks. But nothing can grow between us aside from familial ties.
He had to do it. If he didn’t wed Miss Queensbury and Lydia was forced to return to that pit, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.
No, as horrible as Miss Queensbury was, she was the lesser of two evils.
“Ah, you’ve come at last.” His soon-to-be wife stepped into the parlor and smiled. At least, he supposed it was her version of it. She seemed to be so out of practice that it appeared more like the expression of someone with severe stomach pain.
“Yes, I’m here. Shall we discuss the details?”
“My goodness. Is someone eager for the wedding night?”
He forced a smile. “How could I not, with a bride as beautiful as you?”
She sauntered toward him, putting more sway in her hips than usual. Before he realized her intent, she had both arms wrapped around his neck.
Stratford wanted to grab her wrists and tug them down. But he didn’t. He had to make her believe he desired her. That he truly was choosing her over Lydia. He couldn’t, however, bring himself to embrace her in kind.
She pressed her breasts against his chest. “Don’t be shy, my darling. We are to be married soon. Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“Why yes. Of course.”
“I knew you’d see things my way. Now that we’re betrothed, you must call me Eleanor. And… You’ll find I can be quite enjoyable. Romantically speaking.”
He had no wish to know anything about her in more than a casual way but forced her name from his lips. “Eleanor.” He avoided her gaze, instead looking at a painting of a fox hunting scene on the wall over her shoulder.
“Nervous, are we?” She touched her finger to his chest. “I can take care of that. And I always get my way. Why, just look what happened to your mad little Miss Sullyard.”
“She is not mad.”
“The physician at Bedlam says differently. And very soon, the rest of London will too. I’ll see to that personally.”
“Is that really necessary? To make a spectacle of her?” Not wishing to anger her, he added, “Darling.”
“I had a very good reason. She was in my way.”
“But she isn’t any more.” Please let Eleanor keep her end of the bargain and free Lydia from that prison.
She nodded. “True. Now that we’re together, I’ll never let you go, my love.”
He had to turn away. Peering into her eyes was like experiencing something dark and demented. Plus, if she could see into his, surely the truth would be written there. Truth he didn’t want her to discover, about his deep, abiding feelings for Lydia. That since visiting her in Bedlam, something had changed between them. Changed in him. His future wife, however, needed to know none of that. She believed he had an interest in Lydia beyond that of family obligation. Perhaps, with luck, he could keep up the ruse of an attraction for Eleanor. But if she discovered his love for Lydia, who knew what she might do next.
“That being said, I’ve taken the liberty of having my father get us a special license. We shall be wed in seven days time.”
Stratford stifled a gasp. That was too soon. He needed more time to try to think of a way out that wouldn’t endanger Lydia again. If he convinced Lydia to marry him, even if she didn’t love him, would that prevent her from being recommitted to the madhouse? “But—”
“You’ve had time enough.”
“Don’t you desire—” He hesitated when her eyes lit up at the word. “—a more traditional wedding? To be the talk of London?”
“While that does sound appealing, I’ve waited too long already. First for Nathaniel, then for you. If I tarry much longer, Father might change his mind and rescind his offer of a large dowry. No. It must be taken care of as soon as possible. And… if you’re thinking of marrying the mad little mouse in an effort to keep her safe from Bedlam, don’t bother. I have many friends willing to do things for me. The people of whom I speak have no morals. Kidnapping someone in the middle of the night wouldn’t be beneath them.”
Had the witch read his mind? That had been his last straw at which to clutch. There didn’t seem a way out of marrying a woman he despised. Stratford swallowed hard. So that was it. The end of life for him. The finality of any chance of happiness or a love match with Lydia. But he was doing it for her. Would do it a thousand times over if it would save her returning to Bedlam.
Love caused people to do outrageous things.
Stratford gave a single nod. Her response was to clap her hands gaily. And his response to that was to wish desperately to double over in pain, for it felt like he’d been given a swift kick to his stomach by a large, angry mule.
He tugged at his cravat, feeling the proverbial noose tightening. Could he go through with wedding the shrew and still have some semblance of a life?
It’s for Lydia.
If he kept reminding himself of that, could he see it through without doing bodily harm to his new wife?
“Now, my darling betrothed…” She winked. “I don’t think it’s fair that I make all of the decisions, so I’ll give you an alternative.”
Alternative? Was there a way out of living a terrible life? He’d do anything. “Which is what?”
“Either we can be married in the chapel on our estate or…”
His mouth went dry. Say it. Give me some hope to cling to so I won’t be saddled with you.
“Or… the ceremony can take place at the Bexley estate. Your choice.”
His shoulders sagged. The tiny gleam of hope that he’d thought to obtain flittered away like a bird caught in a strong wind. “It matters not. Your father’s estate will suffice.” Such torture, cruel and certain, could take place at either venue. Besides, the farther he was from Lydia when the deed was done, the better.
“Splendid. Then the Queensbury chapel it shall be.”
He felt suddenly empty inside. As barren as a Bedlam cell when the patient had finally gone mad, died, and the body carted away. Not caring in the least about politeness at the moment, Stratford stalked to the other side of the room to a cart that held glasses and port. He poured himself a large helping and tossed it back, all in one swallow. Hopefully if he could get foxed enough, it might dull the pain. Even if it meant he had to drink heavily for the rest of his existence, he’d do it to be able to tolerate her.
“Please,” Miss Queensbury huffed out an audible breath. “Make yourself comfortable.”
He ignored her and poured another equally generous glass. The liquid burned his throat but he cared not. What was a momentary bit of pain compared to what Lydia had endured for weeks on end? Althou
gh, being married to that — He got a glimpse of his betrothed as he peered briefly over his shoulder. — would be punishment enough. A third glass followed, the liquor warming him from the inside out. He tapped his finger against the side of the empty glass, contemplating a fourth drink. With an eye to the port decanter, he decided there was more than enough.
In the back of his hazy mind, he wondered if there had been the same chaperone sitting across the room, hiding behind the fern. He’d been in the room for several minutes now, presumably alone with the Miss Queensbury. Not that it would have mattered. It seemed he was to be forced to marry her at any rate.
From somewhere close behind him — When had she crept up? — Miss Queensbury whispered, “I’m having a lovely dress made for the wedding. It’s the lightest of blues and will bring out the color of my eyes. Want to see it?”
The liquor must have slowed his brain and ability to make wise decisions because for some reason when she placed her hand on his arm, he actually turned toward her. And had to squelch a gasp.
The wench stood there with her dress undone down to her waist. And beneath the fabric was only… bare skin. He backed away but stumbled against the liquor cart. What was left in his glass spilled out right onto her breasts.
“I…” He tried to look anywhere but there.
“It’s no bother. Since you appear to like the taste of the port, why don’t you just—” She took a step closer. “—lick it off.”
Words eluded him. He simply stared at her face. Then, without his permission, as if yanked there by some strong force, his eyes strayed to her bare breasts.
She laughed and tugged her dress back in place. “Just thought you’d like a preview of what you’ll be obtaining. Enticing to view, aren’t I?”
He set his glass down on the cart and sidestepped out of her reach. “I’m sorry to say, it’s time I left. I-I’m afraid I need to go to the magazine. Get some work accomplished.”
As he hurried from the room, her laughter clung to him like smoke to a fire.
Chapter Fifteen
Though she’d been exhausted the previous day, sleep had taken it’s time in coming. Finally, her mind had calmed enough to relax. But the sublime feeling hadn’t lasted. Her dreams tortured her with images, both true and imagined, until she’d woken herself up, more than once, screaming. Poor Patience, who had been in the next room, had comforted her back to sleep. Would Lydia ever be able to forget what she’d endured? What she’d seen, heard, smelled, and felt?
Color of Danger (The Sullyard Sisters Book 2) Page 11