Taming Lady Lydia

by Felicity Brandon

  Seeing his intent, I jump to my feet. “It is my fault entirely, Lord William,” I say boldly. “Lucy had indeed just found me, yet I confess I had been sleeping right here in my chair. I called her over in the hope that she might be able to tell me the time. I appear to have lost most of the day!”

  His face relaxes a fraction as he assesses me. “Indeed you have, my dear,” he agrees, moving toward me. “Lady Helena is most upset that she missed the opportunity to hone your shuttlecock skills, but never mind. There is always another day.”

  My belly twists at the notion of being kept at Cranningford yet another day, but I say nothing. “I did not mean to upset Lady Helena,” I reply. “I hope she is not too cross with me?”

  The smirk crosses his lips again. “No doubt she will tell you at length, My Lady,” he says, gesturing for me to make my way toward the exit.

  We move to the door, followed closely by Lucy, the tension in the air building as we walk.

  “Is there any news from Lord Markham?” I ask him, as we pass into the hallway.

  “Alas, not,” he replies, feigning distress on the subject. “I do hope that does not mean the worst for the countess.”

  “I cannot help but think it must be the case,” I murmur, more to myself than to him. Then, remembering myself, I speak up. “Pray tell me, My Lord, what is the time now?”

  Lord William checks his timepiece, tucking it back inside his pocket as he addresses me. “You appear to have slept well through the day, Lydia,” he laughs. “It is late afternoon now, and soon it will be time to change for supper.”

  His eyes scan over me as he speaks, as though he is thinking about assisting in the process. I flush at the unwelcome thought, turning at once to Lucy. “Ready a gown for supper,” I tell her.

  She stares at me, her eyes laced with concern. “Are you sure, My Lady?”

  “Of course,” I say firmly, overplaying my role for the purposes of our audience.

  She nods obligingly, turning toward the staircase. As she goes, she throws me one final nervous glance. I offer her a small nod, aware that our host will be watching. He turns to me as soon as she has departed. “Well managed, Lydia,” he smiles. “Often you need to be firm with the staff.”

  I prickle at his words, mentally envisaging how he might choose to be firm with them. “I am well used to handling a lady’s maid, My Lord,” I assure him.

  “Of course,” he smiles, then shifting his weight, he rounds on me unexpectedly. “Why don’t we retire to the drawing room for a pre-dinner drink.”

  I pause, unsettled by his suggestion. Every fibre of my being wants to resist the idea, and yet I am compelled by etiquette not to affront the gentleman who is my host. Even worse, I do not want to cause offence to Thomas, who has left Lord William in charge of me in his absence.

  I draw in a breath, resolved to do what is right. “Thank you, Lord William,” I reply, watching as his face lights up at my words.

  We cross the wood-panelled hallway, the high ceilings and fine oil paintings capturing my attention as I vie to escape polite small talk with my host. Reaching the drawing room, he opens the door for me and smiles as I pass by him. The room is lit by collections of soft candlelight, the final touches of which are being managed by a tall footman as we enter.

  “Can I help you, My Lord?” he asks politely as he sees his master approaching.

  “No, thank you, Miller,” replies Lord William. “You may leave us.”

  I watch as the footman passes by me to exit the room. As he leaves, my eyes fall onto Lord William, who has collected a decanter of red wine from the dresser. He removes the crystal stopper and pours two full glasses of the liquid, before turning back to me.

  “Your drink, My Lady?” His tone is deeper somehow, and more authoritative.

  I press one foot in front of the next, hesitantly making my way forward. He holds out the glass, compelling me to come to him in order for me to take it. I do so, our eyes meeting briefly as I thank him.

  “Thomas is indeed a lucky fellow,” he breathes, as he smiles at me.

  I know he is being polite, and yet deep down I suspect his intentions are far more foreboding than that. I take a step back, the intensity in his eyes forcing me to create space between us. “Well, My Lord,” I say. “I am fortunate indeed that Lord Markham elected to become my guardian.”

  “Tell me,” he replies, eyeing me intently from the fireplace. “How is your relationship with my cousin since your arrival at Markham Hall?”

  I move toward one of the lounging chairs, uncertain if choosing to sit is a good idea or not. “It is good, I think,” I reply, choosing my words with care as I seat myself in the chair. “Of course, it is not easy for either of us, compelled as we are, into this new arrangement.”

  He nods, taking a sip of the wine. I look down into my glass, imagining Thomas’ response if he knew I had been offered wine, and so early in the day.

  “I have known Thomas my whole life,” exclaims Lord William, “and it is my opinion that he has taken to this new role as your guardian like a duck to water!”

  I smile at his words, pleased at least for a compliment which is not pertaining to my own appeal. “That is good to know, thank you,” I say, looking up to meet his eye for the first time since backing away from the hearth.

  “And you, Lydia,” he continues. “How do you find it now being governed by a gentleman who is, shall we say, a complete stranger?”

  I glance down at my glass, gripping its neck with my tense fingers. “It has taken some getting used to,” I admit, “but I am grateful for Lord Markham’s time and attention.”

  A wry smile forms on Lord William’s lips as though he well understands what sort of attention I may have been garnering. “Indeed,” he replies. “Thomas does have his own exact way of eliciting the correct behaviour from others.”

  I know I am blushing as he goes on. I can feel the betrayal of heat crawl across my cheeks.

  “How do you find these methods, Lydia?” he asks.

  I gasp silently at the directness of his question, knowing now that we are both aware of the methods to which he refers. “I…” I pause, unable to think of a protocol to alleviate this moment. “I would rather not discuss such things with you, Lord William.”

  He takes a small step toward me, and the movement gains my attention at once. “You have nothing to fear,” he says, trying to soothe me. “Thomas and I are practically brothers; we have no secrets from each other.”

  His smile is full, yet it feels insincere. All at once I want to bolt from the room, my heart galloping wildly inside of my chest. “Then perhaps it is better that you ask Lord Markham,” I reply, doing my best to suppress the indignation which surfaces in my voice.

  “Oh, believe me, my dear,” he says, taking another step in my general direction. “I most certainly will…”

  Something about his tone makes me shudder. The notion that he and my guardian may be discussing the private intimacies I have shared with Thomas makes me feel quite nauseous, but it is the defiance in Lord William’s voice which really startles me.

  All at once I find myself on my feet as he approaches. “Thank you for the drink, My Lord,” I witter, my fingers still clinging to the glass like a safety net. “I think it time I retired, and readied myself for supper.”

  I turn to leave, placing my full wineglass on a small table to my left.

  “Come now,” says Lord William from just behind me. “You have not even touched your wine, and I thought you enjoyed your glass yesterday evening?”

  I twist to face him, feeling torn yet again between my propriety and the growing sense of dread which is building within me. “No, I… I think I have the beginnings of a headache,” I lie, clutching my palm to my heated forehead.

  He stares at me, his lips curling slightly at one end. “Do not imagine that you can run from me in my own house, Lydia,” he says slowly.

  I eye him with frightened eyes
, feeling my feet backing toward the door. “Run, My Lord?” I ask, feigning disbelief. “I am not running.”

  He takes two strides toward me, and is upon me before I can even take a breath. “You are quite correct, My Lady,” he purrs over me, forcing me to press myself against the wall to avoid contact with him. “You are not running…”

  Gaping at him, I freeze, paralysed by his sudden close proximity. His tone is soft, yet it conceals a threat which intuitively I have feared since Thomas had revealed the nature of the parties they had shared. Everything had seemed well—playful and light-hearted—under the supervision of my guardian, yet without him, I am all too exposed and alone.

  “Thomas and I share everything,” says Lord William from next to me, his voice droning as though he means to hypnotise me.

  I tense, the energy coursing through my body finally dissolving some of the fear. “My Lord, I know not what you mean,” I hiss at him.

  “Oh, but I think you do, Lydia,” he says quietly, the look on his face predatory. “And soon I think you will find that…”

  A firm knock on the door to my right startles him, and I take the opportunity to slide away, skipping to the door and twisting the handle before he can halt me. My heart is pounding, threatening to emerge from my mouth at any moment as I pull the large wooden door toward me.

  Waiting behind the door is Mannington, who looks rightly stunned to see me upon him. “Lady Franklin?” he says, his tone unable to hide the shock he feels. “Is everything as it should be?”

  Relieved at the sudden opportunity to escape, I practically fly into his arms, forcing him to take a step back as I pass in a whirl before him. “Yes, thank you,” I just manage. “But I feel quite unwell, and think I need to retire to my room.”

  “My Lady,” cries the butler from behind me. “Please wait, I have news for you!”

  “What is it, Mannington?” asks Lord William. He appears from behind the door, the picture of calm. “What news do you have?”

  Mannington looks from me to his master, obviously confused. “Lord Markham’s valet, Buckton has arrived, My Lord,” he replies, deferring to his employer’s instructions.

  “Buckton?” I cry, almost screaming the name to the startled butler. “What news is there?”

  Both men look to me, before Lord William approaches slowly. “Mannington?” he says. “Answer the lady—what news is there?”

  “Well, My Lord,” says Mannington slowly. “As I said, young Buckton arrived a short time ago with instructions from Lord Markham that Lady Lydia and her maid are to return to Markham Hall at once.”

  My heart literally leaps with excitement at the words from the butler’s lips.

  “Lady Lydia cannot leave now, Mannington,” interjects Lord William. “It is getting late, and is already dark outside.”

  “I care not!” I cry from beside the butler. “Mannington, please notify Buckton to ready the carriage. I will inform Lucy that we are to leave immediately!”

  I run to the foot of the stairs, ready to ascend them before another word can be said on the subject.

  “Do not be rash, Lydia,” calls Lord William from behind me. “I am sure Thomas did not intend for you to travel in the darkness.”

  I turn on the stairs, facing both of the men again. The older, taller man behind us watches us both with piqued interest as I reply.

  “My Lord,” I answer, trying to maintain the respect in my voice as I continue. “Thank you for your hospitality, but my guardian’s instructions are quite clear. We will make for Markham Hall just as soon as we can.”

  * * *

  With my things already packed by the shrewd-thinking Lucy, Buckton having taken his fill in the Cranningford kitchen, and the horses watered, it takes little time for my departure. Lady Helena meets me at the bottom of the stairs, her face genuinely crestfallen at the news of my retreat back to Markham.

  “Lydia,” she cries, pulling me into an embrace. “I have just heard the sad news that you are leaving so soon. Are you certain that the journey is essential this late in the day? You can stay for supper, and leave after breakfast in the morning?”

  She looks sincere enough, so I smile kindly, but pull away as I answer. “No, thank you, Lady Helena. My place is with Lord Markham.”

  She grins at me, a knowing look in her eyes. “Ah, of course,” she says. “You must have missed him today?”

  I nod as we make our way toward the large exit. “I did,” I admit quietly.

  “Lydia!” The sound of Lord William’s voice booms from the drawing room. Both Lady Helena and I spin to meet him as he strides across the entrance hall. At the sight of his face I shiver, pushing down the spiral of fear which resurfaces in me. “Farewell, sweet Lydia,” he says, moving toward me and planting a firm kiss against my right knuckles.

  I squeeze my eyes shut at the contact, backing away almost as soon as he has returned to his place at Lady Helena’s side.

  “I do hope you will return soon, with Thomas of course.”

  I take a deep breath, praying for the strength to get me through these next moments and into the carriage home.

  “Are you ready, My Lady?” It is Buckton’s voice which interrupts my thoughts.

  I turn to find him standing on the steps of the grand house, waiting for me. “Yes, Buckton, I am,” I reply.

  “Thank you so much for permitting me to stay on, even after Lord Markham had to depart so unexpectedly.”

  I direct my speech to both the lord and the lady of the house, careful to make eye contact with neither of them as I conclude. I make my way to the door, seeing Lucy waiting for me besides the carriage. Her face breaks into a smile as I descend the stone steps, and she holds her hand out to me. “May I ride with you, My Lady?” she asks as I approach.

  It would usually be an outrageously insolent suggestion, and one in which I would never indulge. Maids do not sit alongside their ladies when they travel, and we both know it, but in light of recent events, I ignore the usual decorum and gladly welcome her offer.

  “I would appreciate that,” I nod, taking her hand and squeezing her fingers gently.

  I make my way into the carriage, allowing Buckton to help me up the small steps and into its sanctuary. Taking my seat, I watch as Lucy climbs aboard and takes the bench opposite me. I lean forward to take one final look at the grandiosity of Cranningford Hall, and on the steps I see Lord William. He is standing and staring at me, as though he cannot believe that I have managed to get away. He offers a smile, his bottom lip curling again in a way that makes me shiver.

  “Are you cold, My Lady?” asks Lucy, seeing my response.

  “No, thank you,” I answer, just as Buckton secures the door of the carriage in front of me.

  “We will see you again soon, Lady Lydia!” cries Lord William from the steps.

  I say nothing, but eye him as I hear Buckton climb on board and signal to the driver. As we pull away I am inexplicably unable to draw my eyes from him, my heart pounding with anxiety until we are many miles away from the house.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: Sanctuary

  We ride hard and fast into the night; the horses pulling the carriage gallop on as though they too feel my pain. For the longest time there is only silence inside the gig. I feel Lucy’s eyes on me, and I know she senses something of my mood, yet either fear or propriety keep her from enquiring.

  At length, once we are some distance from Cranningford and my unease is finally settled, I take a deep breath and look to my loyal maid. “Thank you, Lucy,” I whisper, feeling the emotion welling in me all at once.

  She gasps at the sight of my tears, flying to the bench on which I sit. “My Lady, I know it is not my business to ask, but are you quite well?”

  I shake my head, feeling the first large tear rolling down my cheek. “No,” I say, fighting back a sob. “I am not, Lucy, but—I hope I shall be, once we are back at Markham.”

  “Oh, My Lady,” she says, sounding tearf
ul herself. “Did Lord William hurt you?”

  I look away, my eyes trying to keep up with the dark and twisted shapes of the trees as we rush past them. “No,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “Though I think that he intended to, and had it not been for the arrival of Buckton, I dare not think on what may have transpired.”

  I hear her gasp, and yet for some time I am unable to look at her, as though seeing the shock on her face will make the whole sorry story a reality. Eventually, my tears cease, and I garner some strength from within myself. “You must keep this matter between us,” I say, turning to look at her by my side.

  She blinks at me as though she means to protest, yet wisely she says nothing of the sort. “As you wish, My Lady,” she replies in the end.

  We sit together in the darkness, and I am comforted enough by her presence to fall into a fitful slumber. When I awake, I find that Lucy has once again taken her place on the opposite bench.

  I stretch my limbs, leaning forward to try to decipher any of the landscape outside. “Are we near our destination?” I ask hopefully.

  “I think so, My Lady,” she answers. “Buckton called down a short while ago to indicate that we are close to Markham Hall.”

  “Good,” I reply, leaning back against the hard seat.

  As my tender behind shifts against the bench, I am reminded of the way in which Lord Markham had taken me over his knee the last time we had travelled in a carriage together. All at once thoughts of Thomas fill my mind, and an eager wave of excitement at the idea of seeing him crashes over me. Within a few moments, I feel the carriage turn from the road, and I look from my window to see the lights of the great house at the end of the driveway ahead of us.

  We disembark in the darkness. Buckton is on hand to help me from the carriage, and collects my bags as we ascend the steps of the entrance. I am met by Carson as I step inside. He smiles at me, bowing his head as the familiar sights and smells of the place reignite my senses. Scanning the stairway, I glance toward the door of Lord Markham’s study. All of a sudden I am nervous, those butterflies in my belly animated at the thought of my guardian.