Taming Lady Lydia

by Felicity Brandon

By the time I open my eyes again, I find my clothes unpacked and a neat pile of luggage where Carson had left it. I stretch my arms above my head, moving from my warm, comfortable position.

  “My Lady,” Lucy says softly. “I hope you are rested?”

  Her voice is gentle, and she smiles at me. In spite of my earlier irritation, I decide that I may like her after all.

  “Thank you, yes,” I answer, raising myself into a seated position. “I assume that supper will be served soon? Please help me to dress.”

  She nods as I stand. “Yes, My Lady,” she replies. “Supper is served usually at nine o’clock in the dining room. I will escort you there once you are ready.” She moves lithely to where my peacock gown hangs waiting.

  I stand, feeling the fibres of the soft rug between my toes as I move toward the dress. Lucy releases it, laying it gently across a lounging chair away to my right, before coming to assist me from my travelling attire. She is fast and polite, helping me from one garment to the next. I enquire as to her age as she fastens my lacing, and she informs me that she has just turned nineteen. I am surprised as she looks much younger than her years, but I say nothing further on the subject. Within a few moments I am adorned with the chosen blue gown, and Lucy steps back to admire her handiwork.

  “So, will I do?” I ask wryly, knowing full well how lovely the outfit makes me look.

  “You are quite beautiful, My Lady,” she answers politely. “The gown really complements your eyes.”

  I smile, and mean to continue on my mission for more praise when our attention is interrupted by three sharp taps at the door. Lucy moves at once, opening the wooden structure a few inches, before peering around it to see who the visitor is.

  “Lucy.”

  I recognise the tone of the young man who had previously brought my cases to the room… Carson, I think was his name.

  “Mr. Gregory requires your attention downstairs… now.”

  Lucy jumps at his words and there is something about his tone which makes even my eyebrow rise. What exactly is the urgency which means Lucy must leave this instant?

  “But, Mr. Carson,” Lucy stammers, visibly distressed by either the order or the intonation of its delivery. “It is nearly time for Her Ladyship’s supper. I mean to escort her to the dining room!”

  She implores him with her hands as she speaks, but he seems not to notice. “I think delay will only lead to more issues for you, Lucy…”

  I watch with interest as her face reddens at this news, before deciding finally to save the fate of poor Lucy myself. Stepping forward toward the doorway, I approach Carson. “I am sure I can spare Lucy for the time being,” I say matter-of-factly. “Mr. Carson, would you escort me to the dining room in her place?”

  Both of their heads spin toward me, as though they had quite forgotten I was even present.

  “Of course, My Lady,” he says, bowing his head.

  “Then you should go, Lucy,” I insist. “Do not keep Mr. Gregory waiting…”

  Her face pales at my closing words, but she curtseys before heading down the long wood-panelled corridor which leads away from my rooms. I watch her departure, wondering fleetingly what all of the fuss had been about, before collecting my sapphire fan and choosing a matching pair of slippers.

  “Ready, My Lady?” asks Carson.

  I turn, offering him a small nod as I close the tall wooden door behind me.

  Chapter Four: Supper

  Carson leads me down the quiet length of corridors, pausing intermittently to wait as I examine a number of exquisite oil paintings adorning the walls at length. I have long been fascinated by art, and my unplanned nap appears to have replenished my energy reserves, so I take my time as I absorb my new surroundings. I am full of curiosity for the place, and its mysterious owner; my new guardian, Lord Markham.

  We make our way down the grandiose staircase, turning left at the bottom to travel yet another corridor, this one darkened by the sleek wood panelling dominating the walls. The passageway is framed with a number of large canvas pictures and lit every few inches by candles secured to the panelling. It is impossible to make out the images in the canvases at the rate we pass them, yet the bold brushstrokes are striking in their own right. I follow the young servant as the hallway bends to the right, wondering at the depths that the corridors seem to go, until finally he reaches a large wooden doorway. He pauses, waiting for me to catch up to him, before he knocks twice on the mahogany frame.

  “Enter!”

  The voice which comes from the room beyond is deep and booming. Its tone sends a profound shiver through my body as the large door is opened slowly in front of me. I follow the young man as he enters the room, his hands held tightly behind his back.

  “Ah, Carson!” The unknown voice, who I assume to belong to my new guardian, echoes across the room again.

  “Apologies for the interruption, My Lord,” replies the young man. “May I introduce Lady Franklin.”

  He falls backward, making way for my entrance, which I initiate at once. Stepping past the doorway, I cast my eyes into the room beyond me. The dining area is a massive, rectangular space, dominated by the large rosewood table filling its length. The walls are a dark pink hue, which complement the warm coloured wood which adorns the walls, culminating in the imposing fireplace on the left hand side of the table. There are three large windows integrated into the opposite wall. At the far end of the room, at the head of the table, a tall man catches my eye. I ogle him, watching him rise from his place and stride toward us.

  “Lady Franklin…” His voice is a low vibration as his eyes sweep over me. “It is a pleasure to meet you at last.”

  Something about his tone admonishes me, creating a sense of both petulance and shame. I raise my head to look upon him—this man, my new guardian. I acknowledge his height, seeing how he literally towers over my frame, and the expensive-looking cravat he wears. His deep green eyes are a truly astonishing colour, but they regard me sternly, his strong jaw forcing his mouth into a hard line.

  I inhale, willing myself to move forward, but seem to be rooted to the spot. Instead, he approaches me in just a few strides, reaching for my right gloved hand, which I proffer without resistance. Sweeping my satin-covered fingers into his large palm, he pulls my wrist gently north to his lips, before allowing the two to make the briefest contact. Those green orbs never leave mine during the kiss, their intensity searing into my face.

  I swallow hard, determined to make the correct first impression upon him. “Lord Markham, it is my absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  His hand—still encompassing my own small digits—lowers slowly from his face as I speak, and still that stare is never once broken.

  “Indeed, Lady Franklin,” he replies, his voice masking some other, unspoken emotion. “Tardiness is not generally well-received in my house, and yet I understand that it can be something of a labyrinth to the novice.”

  I eye him, more than a little bewildered. Evidently he is berating me for my lack of punctuality, despite the fact that he has been unavailable to meet me until this moment! I take a deep breath, the sense of injustice brewing within me as I consider how I should best reply. Before I can say anything, he drops my hand and turns on his heel. I watch as he strides back to his place and resumes his seat at the head of the large table.

  “Join me, please, Lady Franklin,” he calls from the other side of the room. “Our meal is already delayed.”

  I exhale all at once, feeling unexpected heat rising to my face at his words. There’s no denying they have moved me, stirring dishonour at my apparent late arrival, and yet I am incredulous! This gentleman is a stranger to me. Where is his decency? His courtesy? I will not be spoken to this way!

  The young man, Carson, walks around the table toward the seat on Lord Markham’s left. He looks back to me. “My Lady?” he says, pulling the chair away from the crimson tablecloth.

  Determined to stand my ground a
nd enjoy my first meal at Markham Hall, I pace after him. His Lordship’s gaze is back on me in an instant, watching the fall of my gown as I stride in his direction. As I approach my new guardian, our eyes lock again. In his I see a steely resolve. Perhaps he desires to put his new ward in her place? I scoff at the thought as I breeze past him to my own seat. Every ounce of my will wants to pour scorn on the notion.

  Taking my place, I thank Carson and calm myself, intent on regaining my composure. I am stunned that somebody I have never met before has had the ability to rattle me this way. I glance to my right, eyeing the gentleman in question. His attention is temporarily elsewhere, and I seize the opportunity to scrutinise him. My eyes fly over his form, taking in his dark unruly hair and the near perfect profile, and down over the cut of his fine-looking waistcoat. My gaze follows his long right arm to where his fingers clutch his expensive-looking glassware at the table.

  “Carson, ask the cook to bring the first course.”

  His firm voice startles me from my analysis, and reflexively my eyes are drawn back to the mouth which delivered them. His Lordship’s lips are pink and full, drawn into a hard line. I do not recall having ever noticed a gentleman’s lips before this moment, and I watch as he raises his glass to them, surveying the red liquid which they draw from the crystal. He pauses, and the inaction wakes me from my thoughts. I meet his eyes, and realise that he has noticed me staring at him. This time there’s no concealing the blush which fills my face.

  I drop my gaze at once, appalled at myself for such shameful manners. I know better than to stare at anyone in company, let alone an unknown gentleman—let alone one who is now my legal guardian!

  “Are you quite well, Lady Franklin?” he asks, clearly amused at my impolite behaviour.

  “Yes, thank you, My Lord,” I respond in haste. “I was only wondering what you are drinking with supper?”

  He smiles shrewdly, as though he knows very well that this is not what I am thinking. However, he offers me a reprieve and chooses to take my bait, turning his attention back to the glass at his right hand.

  “It is a fine, full-bodied red,” he says, turning to look at me as he describes the wine. “Lots of interesting flavour in there, but perhaps it is a little young. I may have done better to keep it corked a while longer, until it had matured.”

  I watch the smile on his face grow as I listen to his words, shocked and not even vaguely amused by the clear analogy he is drawing between myself and the red wine. For the second time in just a matter of moments I am riled by his manner, unable to process his motivation for the words. The appearance of Gregory and several other serving staff is opportune, breaking the growing tension in the room. As the first course is presented before me, the butler appears at my left shoulder, holding a decanter of the offending liquid.

  “Would My Lady like a glass of the wine?”

  The question appears to be offered to Lord Markham, and not myself. I glance at Gregory, throwing him my most withering look. “Yes,” I reply in an unnecessarily clipped tone, “she would.”

  Sensing my acrimony, he visibly flinches at my words as he leans toward the glass already at my place on the table.

  “No.”

  Lord Markham’s voice is so loud that both Gregory and I jump at the sound of it. I eye him wildly, my face demanding an explanation for both the tenor and the content of his assertion. Seeing two sets of enquiring eyes awaiting him, he smiles, seemingly in his element.

  “My Lord?” asks Gregory, seeking clarification from his master.

  “No, thank you, Gregory,” comes the now much calmer response. “Her Ladyship is not of an age where intoxicating beverages should be served.”

  I watch him from my seat, utterly astounded at his words. “Excuse me, My Lord,” I begin. “I am nineteen years old, and no longer an infant!”

  Lord Markham tilts his head in my direction, before dismissing his servant with a wave of his right hand. “It is my understanding, Lady Franklin, that you are not nineteen until the seventeenth day of March—some five months from now?”

  “Yes,” I admit. “What I mean to say is that I am nearly nineteen years old, My Lord!”

  He smiles again. “Yes, My Lady, and even then you are my legal responsibility until you are twenty-one years old. Is this not correct?”

  Anger pulses under the surface of my skin at my denigrating treatment. Aunt Jane had always permitted me a small glass of wine, or sometimes port in the late evening. I fail to understand why Lord Markham cannot afford me the same privilege. “I do not appreciate being treated like a child, My Lord,” I reply in little more than a hiss.

  His stare is dark as he answers me. “Please do not behave as such then, Lady Franklin, and I shall have no need to treat you that way. Now, tell me, are you currently under the legal age of twenty-one?”

  I draw in a deep breath between my teeth. “Yes, My Lord,” I say grudgingly.

  “Good, then there is no cause for dispute. Gregory, please pour Lady Franklin a glass of water whilst we eat.”

  I catch his eye as this latest order is given, and I see a flicker of something there I cannot decipher.

  “My Lady,” he continues, gesturing to my plate with his left hand. “Please do enjoy your food.”

  I concede the point, allowing my hunger to ultimately decide for me, and collect the correct cutlery from my place. The veal before me is extraordinarily tasty, and soon both of us are immersed in the meal. I suppress the urge to complain when Gregory reappears with a china jug and fills my crystal-ware with water, instead choosing to focus on the succulent food before me.

  The atmosphere between us is stilted. Indignation continues to whip around my body at my coarse and unnecessary treatment at the hands of my new guardian. I feel the strangest urge to look upon him once again and try to discover more about the man, and yet I sense that he is looking for just this opportunity to denigrate me further. After a short while, he does indeed pause, placing his fork to the side of his plate and contemplating me as he chews.

  “So, My Lady.”

  I can feel the weight of his full attention upon me and I finally relent, meeting his stare.

  “It seems we are to reside here together for the foreseeable future.”

  His tone is speculative, and I wonder if this might be the perfect time to discuss my imminent return to London.

  “Lord Markham,” I begin, looking into those deep green eyes. “I would like to thank you for your gracious welcome, and for accepting me—a complete stranger—into your lovely home.”

  “You are most welcome, Lady Franklin,” he replies, wiping the corners of his mouth with his burgundy napkin. “Besides, you are not a stranger, but family. I’m sure you know that our fathers were cousins, and great friends as young men. That is why I could not refuse the earl’s request to accommodate you in this time of grief and need.”

  I pause, watching him and wondering whether he really believes the sentiment he has just expressed. “You are indeed gracious, My Lord,” I answer, taking a sip of my water. He watches me knowingly, suppressing a flicker of a smile. “And yet I feel sure that I will not have to trouble you for much longer, after all?”

  Mirroring my action, he reaches for his glass and takes a long sip of red wine as he considers my statement. “Why would that be, My Lady?” His tone is deep and seems almost foreboding.

  “I have been living most comfortably with my aunt back in London, My Lord, and whilst I do appreciate you abiding to my father’s wishes, I see no reason why I cannot return there and continue to reside with her?”

  “My Lady Franklin.” His tone is somewhat clipped and that new intonation helps to punctuate the statement. “It was, as you have said, the wishes of your great father, that you—his only child—should be received here. And, received you have been…” He puts down his knife, shifting his body weight to face me.

  “I understand this, My Lord,” I answer as affably as I know how. “I am
most grateful to you for your kind hospitality, but I should…”

  He raises his left palm and shows it to me, producing a physical barrier to my reply. My words stutter to a halt as I acknowledge the gesture and its intent.

  “It was also your father’s intention that you stay here at Markham Hall, and that I—lord of this estate—become your guardian. I am certain that he would have asked my own father, but as he had already passed on, the bequest fell to me.” He pauses all of a sudden, lowering his hand, but the intent in his eyes never fades. “You understand all of this, My Lady?”

  “Yes, but all I propose is a new arrangement to better suit both parties, My Lord?” The words spill out in a rush, as though I know I had better get them past him as quickly as possible.

  “Why would it suit me better to have my ward live hundreds of miles away in the city?”

  The question is pointed, much like the piercing look in his eyes as he delivers it. I take a deep breath, feeling already as though this battle is slipping away from me. “I do not wish to be a burden, My Lord; much less to a gentleman who knows nothing about me. The earl was absent for months at a time, and I am unused to being managed by a gentleman. I fear we shall not get along at all?”

  There is silence after I speak and I smile inwardly. Finally, my words appear to have had some impact upon the impenetrable man to my right. I take a long drink as I watch his response. His body language has not changed; he is still turned toward me, clearly pondering my words in some detail. It is with some frustration then, that I see that smile creeping back to those lips.

  “You are not a burden, Lady Franklin; you are my legal responsibility. As you know little of me, I will make this very clear for you: I take my responsibilities extremely seriously.”

  His hand creeps across the table to where my own right palm now rests against the crimson cloth. I watch its journey toward me, subconsciously appraising his long digits. It pauses just an inch from my fingers, eliciting a small gasp from my lips. I raise my head to meet his eye again, suddenly weighed down by the intensity of his gaze.