Taming Lady Lydia

by Felicity Brandon

  Our eyes connect, and for a long moment we both consider this. Clearly Lucy has heard something of the rumours which surround our host. Her eyes offer something of a warning, imploring caution. Neither of us says anything further on the matter though. Lucy knows it would be more than impertinent for her to speak against a lord, and I choose to suppress the anxiety I feel. After all, if Thomas has trusted Lord Pembroke with our safety, then I must trust my guardian. I nod my head, resolved in my thinking.

  “Very good, My Lady,” agrees Lucy. She walks toward me with my pale robe, and I rise from my bed to meet her.

  * * *

  An hour later I enter the dining room, feeling absurdly small without the presence of Lord Markham. I am greeted by Lord Pembroke, who rises from his place at the long table, and comes to meet me. “Here she is!” he exclaims, taking my right hand and planting a gentle kiss on my knuckles. “Lady Franklin, how are you?”

  “I am well, thank you, My Lord,” I reply with an insincere smile.

  “Good, good,” he says, gesturing for me to take my place at the table.

  I move past him, turning toward the sunlit breakfast table. It is then that Lady Pembroke’s smile meets my eyes. “Good morning, Lydia,” she says. “I trust that you slept well?”

  There is a twinkle in her eye as she speaks, and I wonder if they know about the intimacy Thomas and I had shared the previous evening. I blush at my own memories, certain that my face will have given them both clues as to what may have transpired.

  “Good morning,” I reply as I make my way to the table. “Yes, I am well rested, thank you.”

  Lord Pembroke passes behind my chair and resumes his place at the table to my right. “We are so sorry to hear about the countess,” he says, collecting his napkin from the table. “Thomas came to me before dawn to tell me the news, and inform me of his plans to travel back to Markham Hall. Of course I made him take my carriage—it is one of the finest made, and will have ensured his safe arrival by now.”

  I nod, as one of the staff appears with my breakfast. “Thank you, Lord William,” I answer. “Pray, how did Lord Markham know of the woeful news?”

  “It appears one of his own staff rode most of the night to bring it,” he says, taking a sip of his drink. “They arrived in the early hours, quite exhausted as you can imagine, and were met by one of my own footman.”

  I could well imagine. The ride on horseback from Markham Hall would take several long hours in the cold autumn darkness.

  “Thomas told me of his plans, and asked that I steward you until he is able to return—or bring news that you should yourself return to Markham.”

  I blink at him, aware of the scrutiny of Lady Helena opposite me. “I am most grateful for your hospitality, My Lord,” I reply. “I do not wish to burden you, though. Perhaps it is better that I also return to Markham Hall? It is after all, my home now?”

  He smiles, dismissing my comments. “Not at all,” he answers. “It is better that you remain here and do the bidding of your guardian, My Lady.”

  I swallow hard, hearing the edge to his tone, and knowing that this last comment was not a request. I sneak a sideways glance at him as he turns to speak to his wife, and take in his own fair complexion. His hair is barely darker than his wife’s honey shade, and is coiffed into a fashionable style. His face, whilst long, is ruggedly handsome, combining his heavy blue eyes with an expressive mouth. He turns, catching me staring, and I drop my eyes to my plate at once.

  “Let me be clear, Lydia,” he says. “You are our guest, and whilst you are here, you are afforded every luxury we can offer. If there is anything you need, then please feel free to ask either myself, Lady Helena, or one of the staff.” His voice is low and warm.

  “Thank you, My Lord,” I answer bashfully.

  His gaze falls upon me, his eyes devouring the cut of my gown and my exposed shoulders. I shift in my seat, my discomfort now not only due to my tender behind. The lusty look in his eyes is intensely disconcerting. “Think nothing of it,” he replies. “Helena and I have seen the way Thomas looks at you, my dear, and whilst it was not Her Ladyship’s place to say so yesterday…” He pauses at this point, throwing Lady Helena a disapproving glance. She giggles at his stare, reminding me of a girl half of her age, and he returns her smile before glancing back to me. “It is my opinion that the two of you will become close, and if I am not mistaken, we will be seeing much more of you here at Cranningford Hall, Lady Lydia.”

  Blinking up at him, I absorb his assessment. My belly lurches in response, the loss of my guardian suddenly apparent. “Thank you,” I say in little more than a whisper.

  He nods in acknowledgement, draining his cup, before rising once more from the table. “Excuse me, ladies,” he remarks, as he stands. “I must attend to some far less interesting business for an hour or so. Please do continue, and enjoy your breakfast!”

  He moves toward Lady Helena, bending to kiss the side of her face, before striding from the room. Without his presence, the room feels instantly colder. Lady Helena, it seems, is far less loquacious than yesterday, and soon I rather miss the company of her husband. I play with the food on my plate, neither hungry nor interested in it as a distraction.

  Glancing to the westerly window of the room, I peer out into the large grounds of Cranningford. Outside the sunlight has diminished, and it looks as though the October cloud is winning the battle for the sky. I imagine my guardian, and wonder whether he has indeed arrived at his destination yet. I am inexplicably filled with tension at the idea that something might have happened to Thomas on his journey, and that he may lie somewhere hurt and alone. I push the thought from my mind, certain that all will be well, and yet perturbed that I should have worried about such a thing.

  “Are you thinking of him?” Lady Helena’s voice cuts into my thoughts, drawing me back into the gargantuan room.

  “Excuse me, My Lady?” I ask, uncertain that I have heard her correctly.

  “Lord Markham,” she clarifies. “Is it him that you think of?”

  Instinctively, and quite before I can control myself, I blush at her words. Realising that there is little point in denial, I nod in acquiescence. “I was wondering how the countess fares, My Lady,” I remark as formally as possible.

  The lady across the table from me laughs, holding her delicate features into the air as she does so. “I feel sure that the countess will be quite well!” she cackles.

  I still, confused by her shameless response. “What makes you say so?” I wonder aloud.

  “Well,” she explains, “you have had the pleasure, I think? The lady is stronger than an ox in my opinion.”

  I gape openly at her words, wondering how she feels able to compare Lord Markham’s mother with a stable animal. I steal a glance around me and see two staff waiting in the corner of the room. The fact that we do not speak in private makes Her Ladyship’s critique all the more startling.

  “Even if I am wrong,” she continues, “I feel sure that she will pull through. It often seems to me that the countess relishes attention more than any other lady, Lydia. Perhaps even more so than I!”

  She laughs again, chortling at her own words, and I say nothing, knowing not what the appropriate response is. After a time, she pauses, sighing as she takes a sip from her cup. “You have met the countess,” she asks. “Is that correct?”

  I nod, relieved to have a sane question to respond to. “Yes, My Lady,” I answer. “She arrived at Markham just a day or so after myself.”

  “So you know then, of the qualities to which I refer?” she says, her eyes twinkling at her own naughtiness.

  I pick up my cup, watching her over the rim. “She certainly did seem strong,” I concur after a moment.

  Lady Helena snorts at my careful wording. “Quite,” she replies. “And let me guess; she did not approve of your presence at Markham?”

  I blanch at Lady Pembroke’s accurate assessment of the situation. “It is true,” I
reply. “She seemed not to like me.”

  “Not you, Lydia,” answers Helena softly. “It is unlikely to be you that she does not like. The countess takes a general dislike to any woman who has contact with Lord Markham. Although she purports to find him a wife, I should not think that any woman in the land will be good enough for her son!”

  Understanding her meaning, I peer at her and nod. “It did seem that way,” I agree thoughtfully.

  “That said, there was always one lady in particular with whom she did seem to align.”

  The peculiar comment draws my attention back to my hostess. “Which lady do you speak about?” I enquire.

  Lady Helena flashes me a smile, although there is little warmth in her eyes. “I speak of the Lady Elizabeth Brooks,” she explains. “A young and beautiful woman—much like yourself.”

  My mind reels at the unknown identity. “I do not know a Lady Brooks,” I concede.

  “I should think not,” she says, nodding. “Lord Markham was once her beau, although it is his mother who seems to be rather taken with her. Thomas, on the other hand, gave their dalliance much less credence.”

  I pale at her explanation. The thought of Thomas with any other lady makes me envious and indignant, much less a young and beautiful one. I have many other questions on the subject, but all at once the lady opposite me speaks again.

  “At any rate, Lydia,” she says, rising from the table. “I must take my leave of you. Please make yourself at home, and I will come and find you later—perhaps we can indulge in a game of shuttlecock if the weather holds. Do you play?”

  “No, My Lady,” I reply, as she makes her way past the end of the long table toward the door. “There is not much leave to do so in London.”

  She pauses at the doorway and turns to me. “But my dear, you are no longer in London! It is time that you learnt!”

  Chapter Twenty-Six: Lord William

  Time without Thomas in my life seems endless, and I wonder at how I had coped so easily before my arrival at Markham Hall. I spend the hours after breakfast roaming the halls at Cranningford like a ghost, sweeping from one colossal room to the next, finding each to be as vacant as the one before.

  After much exploration I find a room which appears to be the library. Its oversized rails of books are overwhelming, dwarfing the impressive wealth of the collection at Markham Hall. I wander inside, seeing that the fire at the far side of the room has been lit, and thinking that this is a place in which I can at least spend a few hours in comfort. I scan the nearest wall of leather-lined editions, finding nothing which piques my interest, and instead find myself a seat by the hearth. Much like everything at Markham, the chairs here are enormous and expensive. I press my palm against the green leather of my chosen place, idly examining its quality, before settling against the hard back and turning toward the fire. The flames are warm and inviting, luring me into daydreams about my guardian, which it seems come all too easily to mind.

  My thoughts fly back to the previous night, and the look of Lord Markham as he had approached me with the riding crop in his hands. I swallow hard as I consider the memory; his cravat undone and his shirt half open, revealing strands of dark hair beneath them. His face had been like excited thunder, glowering at me as he had come to exact the required punishment upon my bare behind. I squirm against the leather seat reflexively, and I swear as I do, I can feel each stripe that the crop had given me. Peculiarly the thought makes me smile, and I lean my head against the edge of the leather headrest and toward the dancing flames. At some point my eyes close, the late hour of my sleep the prior night finally catching up with me. Thoughts of Thomas spill into my dreams, as memories of my guardian persist in haunting me. Even in sleep it seems, the presence of the gentleman is never so far away. The dreams are heavy and consuming, and whilst I cannot be sure of their content, it is clear that as I regain consciousness, the little bud at the apex of my thighs has begun to pulse once more.

  When I open my eyes again, the light has left much of the room, and the apparent darkness startles me. I have no idea what time it is, and yet I feel certain that some length of time must have passed. Why was I not woken for lunch, I wonder as I stretch out my limbs and wander toward the window ahead of me. The grey light outside does nothing to quell the growing anxiety I feel. The weather, it seems, has turned, and large drops of rain lash against the glass, gladly assisted by the weight of the wind. The door to my right opens, and all at once a rectangle of light is cast into the room.

  “My Lady, there you are!” It is Lucy’s voice which fills the space, and I look to her gratefully.

  “Lucy!” I say eagerly. “Thank goodness. I fell asleep in here some time ago, although how long I cannot say.”

  She moves toward me, the door behind her closing to block out the light again.

  “Is there news from Markham Hall?” I ask, my voice rather more hopeful than I would have liked.

  She shakes her head. “None that I have heard, My Lady,” she replies. “Although I have taken the liberty of packing your garments, so that we are ready to leave whenever word comes.”

  I look to her in the shadows, impressed with her efficiency, and yet rather taken aback by it. “Thank you, Lucy,” I say. “I appreciate your effort, but do not recall asking you to do so?”

  Even in the half-light I can see her colour as she blushes. “Apologies, My Lady,” she says in little more than a whisper.

  I reach for her arm to reassure her. “It is fine,” I say quietly. “I just wish to understand your motivations.”

  She nods, before peering around her self-consciously. “I do not think it is my place to say, My Lady,” she says finally.

  “Please, Lucy,” I reply, taking her hand and guiding her back toward the warmth and light of the fire. “We are quite alone, and you may speak candidly.”

  She seats herself on one of the oversized chairs at my insistence, and looking absurdly uncomfortable there, she turns to me. “I have heard things, My Lady,” she begins, her voice still a low, deliberate whisper.

  “What things?” I ask into her large blue eyes.

  “Things about Lord Pembroke,” she answers.

  I swallow hard, all at once understanding her trepidation. “Go on,” I coax her. “A lady needs her maid to advise her, Lucy.”

  She smiles, clearly warmed by my words. “There has been much talk amongst the lady’s maids, My Lady. I had heard whispers at Markham, but the staff downstairs here seem to reinforce it.”

  “What, Lucy?” I implore her. “What do they say?”

  She blinks, once again checking that we are alone. “They say that His Lordship is quite the ladies’ man,” she whispers. “They say that he has a reputation of demanding favours from the ladies here at Cranningford…”

  Her voice trails away, as though she is too ashamed or afraid to divulge further. I sigh, uneasy at the rumours circulating the staff. “I have heard something of the tales,” I say slowly. “I know that Lord and Lady Pembroke have hosted parties here which I have heard have been labelled as scandalous…”

  Lucy’s eyes fly to me at once. “Scandalous, My Lady?” she repeats.

  I nod. “Yes, Lord Markham told me of this himself.”

  “The maids here say they are more than that, My Lady,” she confesses, clearly nervous at sharing the news. “They say that truly debauched things have occurred!”

  I gasp at her words, recalling more of what Thomas had told me of the subject. Closing my eyes, I think of his exact words on the matter, and I flush as all at once I remember he had admitted that undoubtedly the most raucous parties had happened here, at Cranningford.

  “Lucy,” I insist, my eyes opening to meet her own. “I can tell that you are uneasy. Please tell me why. Surely you cannot think that there is any sort of threat against us?”

  “I know not, My Lady,” she says, shrinking visibly as she speaks. “All I know is that one of the maids here spoke about things which are
quite unsuitable for a young lady.” She pauses, clearly torn on how much more information she feels that she can share. “I fear for your reputation, My Lady,” she says eventually. “If we are to stay here at length.”

  I grip the left arm of my chair, considering her words. Unlike my maids in London, I have not known Lucy for a long time, and yet during that time I have known her to be nothing but a loyal and dutiful young woman. I believe that her intentions toward me now are honourable. I have known the Pembrokes for considerably less time, and what little shared experiences there have been, had been tempered by the presence of my guardian. Without him I feel adrift and vulnerable, a fact which I am certain will not have been lost on Lord William. “Thank you for sharing this with me,” I say, reaching for her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

  “You are not cross with me?” she asks, wide-eyed as she awaits my verdict.

  “Of course not,” I reply with a smile. “I truly appreciate your honesty on this difficult matter.”

  “Thank you, My Lady,” she sighs, a relieved smile lighting her face against the flames of the fireplace. “I do not usually entertain rumours, and I know that Mr. Gregory would not take kindly to such behaviour.”

  “I vow never to tell him,” I say warmly, thinking of the likely consequences she would face if I did. I shift a little in my seat as I imagine her upturned over his lap, or even worse, over the lap of my guardian.

  All at once the door to the library is thrown open. Both Lucy and I turn at once to identify the perpetrator, finding Lord William standing in the doorway. His eyes sweep the shadows of the room, until they find us sat by the fire. “Lydia!” he booms from across the large space. “We have been looking everywhere for you!”

  Lucy rises from her chair in an instant, and comes to stand in front of Lord Pembroke. “Apologies, My Lord,” she says, bobbing into a small curtsey. “I have just found Lady Lydia.”

  “So I see,” he smirks, his blond brow rising as though he begs to differ with the young maid. “And yet it seems you have had time to sit with Her Ladyship?” He pauses as he takes a predatory step toward her. “Perhaps Lord Markham needs to train his staff to be more honest?”