The countess presses her lips into a hard line, as though she vehemently disagrees. “Is that what this is about, Thomas?” she snipes. “You are to marry her because of her fine face, and the fact that she will look pretty on your arm?”
I gape at the conversation as it unfolds before me. The name Lady Brooks seems oddly familiar, and my mind recalls it was Lady Helena who had mentioned her when I was still at Cranningford. Thomas, for his part, is enraged. His eyes darken, as he raises his voice. “Mother, how dare you!” he cries. “I am appalled that you would say such things, and in front of Lydia as well?”
“Well,” replies his mother, “I did ask if it was appropriate that she remain?”
It is at this moment that Gregory knocks and enters the drawing room, a silver tray with refreshments in his hands. I take a deep breath as the tension in the room radiates, sneaking a look at both Thomas and the countess as tea is served. Gregory, clearly aware of the atmosphere, retreats from the drawing room, and once again the three of us are left alone.
The countess leans forward, collecting her teacup and raising the steaming liquid to her lips. Our eyes connect as she takes a small sip, and all at once I feel compelled to have my say. “Thomas, if I may say something on the subject?” I look to his tall, lithe frame for the permission I know he will require me to ask for.
His eyes widen a fraction as he acknowledges my question, but he nods. “You may,” he says softly.
I steel myself as I begin. “My Lady, please believe that I do not wish to cause discord between you and your son. Neither did I have any intention toward matrimony when I arrived here at Markham; in fact, it was my original purpose to leave as soon as possible.” I pause, searching her face for any sign of emotion. Seeing none, I have little choice but to go on. “But now I find myself at this juncture, and I am overjoyed to accept My Lord’s proposal. I vow to be a good and loyal wife to him…”
My voice trails away. I am unnerved at how little apparent impact my plea has made on the older woman. Seeing my alarm, Thomas steps into my rescue. He moves toward my seat, trailing his long fingers over my neckline in a reassuring caress. “Thank you, Lydia,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice, even though I do not look up to appreciate it.
The countess is less than impressed with the gesture. “Thomas,” she cries, placing her cup back on its saucer. “It is most improper of you to behave this way!”
I hear Thomas laugh next to me. “Oh, Mother,” he says calmly. “You must get used to seeing affection between Lydia and me. In one week, she will be my wife!”
“Perhaps,” replies the countess scathingly. “But she is not your wife today, and such contact between you is utterly indecorous!”
I swallow at her tone, guilt surfacing for all of the other acts that Thomas and I have already indulged in. My eyes flicker toward him, and he returns my smile knowingly.
“We do not mean to cause you offence,” says Thomas, his fingers still caressing my neck. “But you are in my house now, Mother, so please do not think that you can instruct me about how to behave here.”
The countess recoils, physically moving away from us at her shock at his words. She eyes her son as though she cannot believe his audacity, and from behind her gaze I see the inner turmoil, as she longs to contradict him. Gaining control however, she collects herself, and resumes her position as she speaks. “It seems there is little progress in this conversation?” she says, once again taking a sip of her drink.
Thomas moves from my side, coming in front of me to sit next to his mother. “I would like there to be,” he says, looking to her lovingly. “You know I care for you, Mama, but I need you to accept the woman who is to be my wife.”
The countess stills. “This marriage is not to my liking, Thomas,” she says, her eyes opening to face him. “There was a time when you heeded the advice of your elders, but now it seems you are set on ignoring my guidance.”
Thomas chuckles as he replies. “I am a grown gentleman now, Mother,” he answers. “I no longer need counsel on how to live my life.”
His mother squeezes her eyes shut tightly at his words, the saucer in her right hand shaking the teacup as she processes them. “I will try to accept your decision, but please do not expect to have my blessing.”
My heart sinks at this statement. I press my lips into a hard line, ensuring that I am unable to comment on her words.
“We would hope to gain your blessing in time,” says Thomas, standing and leaning to plant a chaste kiss on his mother’s right cheek.
She shakes her head as he stands before her. “Do not rely upon gaining it,” she remarks.
Thomas turns, and catching my eye, he offers me a comforting smile. “Lady Lydia,” he says. “Let us leave the countess to enjoy her tea in peace. I should like to have a word with you if I may?”
The butterflies in my belly flutter as I recognise the tone of authority in his voice. I rise from my chair. “Of course, My Lord,” I reply.
“Please excuse us, Mother,” says Thomas. “I will send Gregory to attend to you.”
The countess nods, saying nothing further on the matter as we turn to leave. We make our way back into the hall, and as we pass the threshold I feel Lord Markham’s hand seeking my own. I offer my right hand, flexing the digits as his fingers entwine with them. He guides me to his study in silence, pausing to allow me through the doorway before him.
Once again I find myself standing in the centre of his most private space, whilst he closes the door behind us. “Well,” he says, walking up behind me. “That could have been worse.”
He presents this as a statement, rather than a question, and in a way I am grateful, as I am quite unprepared to answer him. “Yes,” I reply simply, my voice small as I feel his hot breath against the back of my neck.
“Thank you,” he says, circling me.
I raise my head to see him in front of me. “To what do I owe the thanks, Thomas?” I ask.
He smiles, tilting his head as he assesses me. “For your kind words in the drawing room,” he answers.
“I meant every one of them,” I reply, watching him intently as he stands before me.
“I know, but still…” he says. “They were unexpected, and I appreciate your honesty.”
I blush, self-consciously playing with a loose curl of hair as he steps backward and collects a folded sheet of paper from his desk. “I received word from William and Helena today,” he says.
The sound of their names gets my attention at once, and a new wave of anxiety spasms within me. “Oh?” I remark, aiming to be casual, and yet failing at once.
Lord Markham watches my responses carefully, before reading a few lines from the letter. “We are delighted to have received news of your recent betrothal,” he reads, pausing to look at me. “We should like to join you to celebrate your wedding on the second day of November…”
His words hang in the air, and then all at once, silence falls upon the room until I can form a reply. “So, they are set to attend?” I ask, a small tremble evident in my voice.
“Yes,” replies Thomas, setting the letter back down on the desk. He strides toward me and collects my hands in his large palms as he continues. “It seemed inappropriate not to invite them. William is my oldest friend, and part of my family, but…” He hesitates, looking to me. “If you are uncomfortable, then I will gladly ride to Cranningford before next week, and deal with the matter once and for all.”
Tensing at his words, I grasp at his fingers. “No, please, Thomas!” I utter. “No more disharmony. Surely our announcement will prove to Lord Pembroke that I am not his to have.”
I blink up to him, trying to implore him with my eyes. He stares down at me, glowering at the memory the subject has awoken. “That is my hope also,” he says, pulling me into his arms. “But I do intend to reinforce the point in person.”
“At the wedding?” I whisper, almost too scared to know the answer.
&nb
sp; He chuckles. “No, Lydia,” he says softly. “I will not allow him to spoil our day. We shall relish what is ours, and enjoy our bridal tour, before heading to Cranningford for the ball. It is there that I shall have the conversation with William…”
I sigh into his shirt, unsure if it is relief or uncertainty that I am feeling. “I will leave it to you,” I murmur.
He pulls away a fraction, once again using one finger to lift my chin. Our eyes connect, and his green orbs draw me toward him. “Then you, My Lady, are learning,” he says with a smile.
I flush, understanding his words. “Is it so unlike the Lydia you first met?” I ask.
He raises his eyebrow as he regards me. “Well,” he says. “Let me remind you of the Lydia Franklin I first met.”
I smile as he considers the memory of me. “She was full of spirit, yes, but also indulged, tardy, and sometimes downright disrespectful.”
I flinch at his words. “Was I such a devil?”
“No,” he says, smiling, leaning toward me as his lips graze my forehead. “You were no devil, my love. You were merely a young lady in need of a gentleman’s firm hand, and in me, that is what you have found.”
I swallow, musing on his statement as I blink up to him. “Yes, I have,” I sigh.
He raises his left hand and presses my head gently against his chest. “You are a part of me now, Lydia,” he breathes. “You are my everything.”
I inhale sharply at his words, grasping at his shirt. “Thomas,” I cry into the fabric. Tears burn my eyes at his emotional admission, my heart aching in the most profound way. How, I wonder, did I ever have a future without this man?
“Thank you for taking me in hand,” I whisper, drawing away from him enough to look into his absorbing gaze.
He smiles at my words. “It is my pleasure, Lydia,” he coos. “Although, not mine alone.”
As though caught in some reflex, the muscles at the apex of my thighs clench at his words, and I laugh, my voice demonstrating the nerves and arousal I feel. His eyes flash at the sound, slowly darkening in that way they do when his mind inclines toward such carnality.
“My Lord!” I admonish him in a quiet, mocking tone. “We must not! The countess?”
He nuzzles into the nape of my neck, sending a small groan from my lips. “The countess is in the drawing room,” he reminds me. “And I have you, right here…”
I exhale slowly, feeling my heart rate increasing at his words. “You do,” I murmur, once again entranced by his presence.
He presents me his most dazzling smile, before he kisses me. The caress starts slowly, his lips softly pursuing my own, before it gains in intensity. As his tongue slides inside my mouth, I find myself lost utterly to the sensations he is creating. Thomas holds me there for a long moment, before gradually withdrawing. As our mouths part, I hear his words purr over me, oozing quiet authority. “I cannot wait to have you, My Lady.”
Chapter Thirty-Two: Turmoil and Revelations
It is much later that day, when after a delicious supper, Lord Markham, his mother, and I find ourselves back in the drawing room. Nothing further on the subject of our wedding has been mentioned, and slowly, I am beginning to believe that the lady may be beginning to accept the impending marriage.
Gregory arrives, offering Thomas a drink, and providing the countess with a book which was requested, before gesturing to Lord Markham. “May I ask for a word with you in private, My Lord?” he asks humbly.
Thomas nods his head, placing his glass down and rising from the chair. “Excuse me, ladies,” he says, offering us both a small bow as the two men turn to depart.
As the door closes, I glance to the countess, who appears to be lost in her reading. For a long time, no words are exchanged, and the only noise comes from the crackling of the hearth. The countess hides behind her book, deliberately avoiding my eye-line.
I squirm, uncomfortable at the prolonged silence, feeling the weight of it pressing down upon me. I know I must say something to this lady, who—in little under one week—will become my mother-in-law. “My Lady,” I enquire, “do you plan to stay on at Markham for the week?”
I hesitate to mention the wedding directly, although I know she is well aware of the reason for my question.
She turns to me, her gaze loaded with its usual cold and unfeeling quality. “Do you wish to be rid of me so soon?”
I blanch at her words, stunned that she would draw this conclusion from my question. “No, of course not, My Lady,” I insist. “I mean only that you are most welcome to stay here until next week.”
Her lips curl in an almost vicious way as she answers me. “My girl,” she utters darkly. “You may have my son fooled, but do not think for one moment that your beguiling nature has captured me as well.”
The statement shocks me into silence, and I sit staring at her as she turns the page of the book on her lap. As she reads, I consider her words, and the anger at her implication begins to surface. “I do not know why you think so little of me,” I say, “but I can assure you, it is not my intention to fool anyone.”
The countess pierces me with her glare, before laughing. The sound is cold, and sends a shiver through me. “I am sure that you know Thomas is well-regarded, and could have his choice of ladies. He has courted a number of pretty young things, and it had been my hope that he would make a future with one in particular.”
I gape at her words, envy stirring again at the mention of these previous admirers. I wonder if it is the mysterious Lady Brooks to whom she specifically refers?
“I think I will stay on,” she says almost whimsically. “I still have a few days to change Lord Markham’s mind about this betrothal.”
Her boldness is startling, yet again rousing the old indignation within me. “I am sorry you feel this way,” I say, rising from my chair. “But I am not going to stay here to listen to your insinuations.”
I stalk away, feeling every inch the sulky child, and yet completely unable to accept the words of the countess. As I approach the door, I hear her call from behind me, “I am surprised that Thomas has not sought to control that petulant streak in you.”
I pause, resting my head against the wooden frame, as though I need to catch my breath. “I do not know what you mean,” I say, swallowing down the irritation that I feel.
Her laugh reverberates around the room again. “If that is the truth, my dear, then you soon will!”
I inhale deeply, turning the handle and dashing from the room. Pausing in the hallway, I am aware that I am flushed and a little breathless with annoyance. Reflexively it is Thomas that I want. I seek his reassurance, and if I am honest, I think I want to tell him about the conversation with his mother, and confess the way I am feeling. Not to do so seems like an untruth, and I know that he would be disappointed by my dishonesty.
Moving forward, I muse on where he may now be. If he and Gregory had wanted to talk in private, my best guess is that they would choose to do so in the study. I glance in the direction of the study door, considering whether I should interrupt. My eyes flutter across the hallway to the library instead, and I decide to wait there instead until I hear them depart the study.
Pacing toward the library door, I am stopped in my tracks by the voices I hear coming from inside the room. There are a number of tones coming from beyond the door, and reflexively I draw closer, reminding myself of the very first night here when I had stumbled across the library in the middle of the night. I am just about to knock, when I hear the sound of a woman. Straining harder, I soon identify it as Lucy’s voice.
I pause, prickled by the idea that my maid is inside the library. Over the last few weeks, we have become quite close, and she has proven to be a loyal friend to me, so why might she be summoned to the library without my knowledge? All at once I hear the sound of Gregory, and then the softer, dulcet tones of Thomas. My heart jumps at once, as slowly I come to understand what may well be about to transpire in the library. I press my h
ead against the door frame, mimicking my actions on the first night, and I listen. The voices are a little muffled, although I can just about make out their words:
“Lucy, do you have anything to say in response to Mr. Gregory’s accusation?”
I recognise the sound immediately as the voice of Thomas.
“My Lord,” Lucy replies, her voice strained. “I always work hard, and do my best for yourself and Lady Lydia.”
My belly twists at the desperation in her voice.
“I agree,” replies Thomas, his voice calm and soothing. “Lady Lydia and I have had no complaints regarding your work, and yet Mr. Gregory has brought me this complaint.”
“Please, Lord Markham,” pleads Lucy. “I have never stolen from you, and I never will!”
My brow furrows in confusion. Theft—Gregory has accused Lucy of theft? It is all too much. Coupled with the residual anger I feel after my discussion with the countess, I am close to my limit of endurance. I hear Lucy sob from the next room, and in that moment, I can bear no more. My hand is on the door handle before I even have time to think, and all at once I find myself pressing it open and stepping inside the library.
The scene which awaits me is laid out exactly as I had imagined it from behind the door. Gregory stands in the centre of the room, hands behind his back. In front of him are Lucy and Thomas. They stand facing each other, her hands drawn up as though she is begging him. At the sound of the door, all three of them turn to see my entrance.
“Lydia?” Thomas’ voice registers both the surprise and irritation he obviously feels at my arrival. “What is the meaning of this interruption?”
Taming Lady Lydia Page 26