Taming Lady Lydia

by Felicity Brandon

  Her smile grows wider as she responds. “Thank you, My Lady. If I may say so, it is such a pleasure to serve you.”

  I catch her eye in the reflection of the looking glass, and watch her work as she finishes my hair.

  Breakfast is served in the dining room, much in the same way as every other day at Markham Hall, except that today we are joined by the countess. Still, given my lifted mood since Lord Markham’s disclosure to me last evening, even the sour expression on her face cannot crush my spirit today. I enter with a smile from Gregory, and turn left to see Thomas already at his place.

  Our eyes connect, and he rises to greet me as I approach. “Good morning, Lydia,” he says, his voice warm.

  “Good morning,” I reply, offering him a wide beam. I turn to see the woman sat at the table opposite me. “Good morning, My Lady.”

  She raises her eyes to me, assessing me with her usual cold demeanour. “Lydia,” she remarks.

  I seat myself, determined not to permit her to ruin my disposition, and yet there is no denying the frosty ambience into which I have entered. My gaze passes between Thomas and his mother, and I wonder what has been discussed before I arrived. Instinctively I conclude that it must have something to do with me.

  The room remains silent for much of the proceedings. I sneak the occasional look at Thomas, his face suppressing amusement at the situation. He picks up his broadsheet, apparently examining each line with deliberate intent, as though he seeks to dismiss the countess entirely. I shift awkwardly in my seat; the ambience and my tender behind both making me equally uncomfortable. After consuming a brief breakfast, I am just finishing my morning tea, when his voice spears the silence.

  “I fancy a walk this morning before the rain begins again.” His declaration is as random as it is unexpected. In all of the weeks I have lived here, I have rarely seen Thomas take a walk. “Lydia, will you accompany me?” he asks.

  “Of course, My Lord,” I reply in a hurry, as I set down my cup.

  “I shall have Lucy meet you in the hall with your shawl, My Lady,” says Gregory from behind me.

  I turn, having quite forgotten that he was there in the first place. “Thank you, Mr. Gregory,” I say.

  As he departs, the countess rises from her place at the table. “Since it seems there is no further business for me here until the wedding, I will take my leave, Thomas.” Her voice is detached, although I hear a note of hurt in it.

  Putting down his paper, Thomas looks to her. “We have been through this, Mother,” he sighs. “You should stay here until the ceremony. You are even welcome to stay on whilst we are on our bridal tour.”

  She shakes her head as Carson rushes to pull her chair away from her. “No,” she replies firmly. “My mind is made up. You may be master of this house, Thomas, but you are not the master of me. I shall return for the service this weekend.”

  I gape at them both, watching the exchange with a growing sense of dread. “My Lady,” I say. “I thought you were going to help with the arrangements?” I ask, imploring her to remain for the sake of cordiality.

  She turns to me as she places her napkin back onto the pristine tablecloth. “It appears things are as you yourself have indicated,” she remarks. “All the plans are as they should be.”

  I nod in acknowledgement, although I confess her words are rather lost on me. Thomas rises respectfully as she leaves, and I eye him as he sits down. “Thomas?” I say. “Should you go after her?”

  “No, Lydia,” he says, wiping the corners of his mouth. “I have said everything I need to say to the countess for the time being. I suggest we let her go as she wishes.”

  My head turns back to the open doorway, half expecting to find the woman there with a quick-witted retort, but there is no one.

  “I suggest we take that fresh air now,” says Thomas, from my left. “The newspaper says a storm is brewing later today.”

  He rises and walks to my place before gesturing for me to take my leave. We walk, arm in arm, to find Lucy waiting for us with my shawl in the hallway.

  “My Lord,” Lucy says, bowing respectfully as her master approaches.

  “Ah, Lucy,” he says. “I am glad to have found you so early.”

  She eyes him with wild, frightened orbs, but says nothing as she clutches my shawl for support.

  “Do not look so intimidated,” he laughs. “I mean only to apologise for the upset last evening. The countess has located her missing piece this morning, so it seems all is well again.”

  The relief on Lucy’s face is palpable. “That is so good to hear, My Lord,” she says with a smile.

  “I am personally sorry to have seen you so upset by the allegation,” continues Thomas. “I hope you will not take it to heart?”

  “Of course not, My Lord,” she replies happily.

  “Good,” he says, taking the shawl from her arms and holding it open for me.

  I move forward and allow him to wrap it around my shoulders, before he fastens the front catch himself.

  “Lady Lydia and I will be taking a walk on the grounds now,” he advises Gregory, who, clearly interested in the conversation, has come to participate.

  “Very good, My Lord,” he says, gesturing for the footman at the entrance to open the door.

  We make our way outside, the shrill wind rushing to meet us as we descend the stone steps and pass onto the vast lawns. The horizon ahead of us is grey and swept in the mists of late autumn.

  “I am so pleased to hear that the countess’ jewellery is no longer lost,” I say simply.

  He turns to looks at me as we walk. I feel his eyes penetrating my skin. “As am I,” he says finally. “It would seem they were never really lost. In fact, I wonder if the whole story was contrived just to throw the household into disarray in the run up to the wedding…”

  I gasp out loud. Even though the same thoughts had crossed my mind, it is still shocking to hear them from Thomas’ mouth.

  “Is that why the countess feels she must leave?” I ask. “For I genuinely would not see her go.”

  He pats my gloved hand, which is interlinked around his left arm. “You are gracious, my love,” he says. “But Mother will do as she must. I hope that after a little time to contemplate these things, she may return with a level of contrition, as well as acceptance about us.”

  We press on in silence, both of us musing on his words.

  “You know,” he says after a while. “I think she is genuinely stunned by the affection we share. She had not foreseen this.”

  I smile, unable to suppress my pleasure at hearing his assessment. “Neither did I, My Lord,” I say, “but I must confess to happiness at the outcome!”

  He pauses, and I turn to face him. As I move, a gust of wind launches itself at me, and nearly forces my bonnet from my head. My hand flies to rescue it, and Thomas laughs openly at my struggle.

  Vexed at his response, I scowl at him, but he has none of it, pressing himself toward me to protect me from the elements. “I cannot wait to make you my wife, Lady Franklin,” he purrs into my face.

  I stare up to him, quite out of breath by his statement and the battle with the wind. “I look forward to becoming her…” I murmur.

  Chapter Thirty-Four: The Exchange of Vows

  The hustle and excitement of the wedding seems to push everything into acceleration. The days move forward in such a rush of planning, excitement, and nervous energy that it feels as though no time has passed at all before I am preparing to dress for my wedding ceremony.

  The skies are lit with hazy autumn sunshine as I stand at the window, taking a moment from the frenzy to wonder at how I have journeyed to this point, about to become Lady Lydia Markham. The butterflies in my belly flutter eagerly as the name processes through my mind, and I turn with a smile as Lucy enters the room.

  “My Lady,” she says, her face a constant dazzle of enthusiasm. “Your aunt is here, and has asked to see you. Shall I accompany her up?”r />
  I smile at the prospect; I have not seen Aunt Jane for some weeks. “Yes, please,” I say, securing the robe which covers my wedding gown. “I should like to see her.”

  Some moments later, it is Jane’s face which appears in my doorway. She is the closest thing I have ever had to a maternal role model, and seeing her emotion at my wedding takes me quite by surprise.

  “Lydia!” she cries, rushing forward to embrace me. “It is such wonderful news! Are you not glad that I forced your hand at becoming Lord Markham’s ward?”

  My mind flits back to our conversation of all those weeks ago, and I smile as I recall the hot-headed girl who had fought her aunt on the issue. “Yes, Aunt Jane,” I agree fondly. “I am most glad.”

  She pulls away from me, assessing my face, hands, and hair. “You do look quite beautiful, my dear,” she says warmly. “If only your father was here to see you, and to give you away.” She hesitates, emotion rising in her face. “But at least you have Wilfred to do so in his place?”

  “All is well, Aunt,” I say reassuringly, nodding at her assertion. My cousin Wilfred, Jane’s eldest son had kindly offered to step into the shoes of my late father, the earl. “It is kind of him to do so.”

  “It is his duty!” snorts my aunt, “but yes, he is a good boy,” she admits, softening. “Now, my dear, is there any advice I can offer you about marriage?”

  I still, rather thrown by her question. “Advice?” I repeat, wondering to what she refers.

  “Yes, Lydia!” she laughs. “Remember, I was married to your uncle for many decades, so I know a thing or two about gentlemen, and how to abide them.”

  I cannot help but join her laughter, the contagious nature of it spreading through the room. “Thank you,” I reply, “but I think I know a little of these things, and I am certain that Lord Markham will be there to instruct me in anything I need to learn.”

  She cocks an eyebrow at this last comment, and for one terrible moment I fear that she is going to press me on the point, but thankfully, she does not. “Well then, my dear,” she says, kissing the side of my cheek. “Let me just say that I am most proud of the young lady you have become. I will go now, and see you at the church.”

  I nod, the emotion suddenly welling in my throat at her kind words.

  As she departs, Lucy turns to me. “Are you ready, My Lady?” she asks, barely suppressing the excitement in her voice.

  “Yes, Lucy,” I say, untying the belt at my waist. “Yes, I think I am.”

  * * *

  I find Wilfred waiting for me at the bottom of the stairwell at Markham. He is much taller and broader than I remember, but as he has been away in the military for some years, it has been a while since we have seen one another. Based on his reaction to my entrance, I think he too is surprised at how his cousin has grown.

  “Lydia!” he exclaims, smiling as he takes my hand at the bottom step. “How beautiful you look!”

  “Thank you, Wilfred,” I say, beaming at him. “And thank you for standing in for the earl.”

  He squeezes my hand, and we move forward, the cut of my gown sashaying beneath me as we walk toward the waiting carriage. Guiding me inside, Wilfred takes his place next to me, and I watch the windows of the drawing room and study as we pull away, musing on how my life has changed for the better since I arrived at Markham Hall.

  Catching the eye of my cousin, I see him smile at me reassuringly. “I am so proud to be able to honour you in this way, Lydia,” he says kindly.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, the well of emotion rising in me.

  Producing a pristine handkerchief from his pocket, he presses the fabric into my hand. “I did not intend to distress you,” he smiles guiltily.

  I shake my head, returning his smile, but find it easier to remain silent for the remainder of the short journey.

  The local parish church is a fine-looking ancient building, purportedly built before the Magna Carta. I eye the turret-style tower looming as we pull up outside, and Wilfred jumps from the carriage before me, so I can collect myself. Taking his hand, I climb down tentatively, holding my pale gown up so that I avoid stepping upon it. We are met by my aunt, Wilfred’s sister, Mary, and her small daughter, Georgina, the latter two being my maid of honour and bridesmaid.

  Aunt Jane is practically beaming as I approach on the arm of her son. “You look wonderful, my dear!” she says, embracing me lightly so as not to disturb my hair beneath my bridal bonnet.

  I smile, turning to little Georgina. “Good day to you,” I say, bobbing to offer her a small kiss.

  “Hello, Lady Lydia,” she replies politely. She looks to her mother, who takes her hand as she addresses me.

  “How lovely to see you, Lydia,” she says, presenting me with a small smile. “Mother is correct; you do look delightful. I simply adore your bonnet!”

  “Why, thank you,” I answer, instinctively touching the edge of the material at the side of my face. “Is it time?”

  Wilfred checks his timepiece and turns to me. “I believe so,” he nods, grinning. “I think we have kept Lord Markham waiting long enough.”

  The sound of his name sends the butterflies in my belly fluttering, and all at once the ground beneath my slippers begins to shift. Taking my right arm firmly, Wilfred steadies me. “Shall we?” he says calmly.

  I inhale deeply, nodding in reply, and I see him gesture to his family to go ahead of us.

  “Good luck, my dear,” coos Aunt Jane, before she turns and walks the short twisting path which leads to the entrance of the church.

  “Come, Georgina,” says Mary, taking her daughter by the hand and following her mother up the slight slope ahead of us. Once they are a few strides in front, Wilfred moves next to me, guiding me forward.

  We pass up the slope, each step slow and deliberate. I turn to the left, my eyes surveying the graveyard. I think of my father, wishing fleetingly that he could have been here in place of Wilfred. Turning back to my cousin, I see his face is resolute, as though getting me to the head of the altar is his life’s mission. A few yards beyond us, I see Georgina turn and wave as Mary leads her into the building. Despite my nervous energy, the innocent act makes me smile, and I feel my anxiety begin to dissipate. By the time we make it inside the church, I feel more certain and reassured. I am about to become Lady Thomas Markham! The thought, just a month ago, would have been open to ridicule, and yet now, it is about to become truth.

  Turning right toward the altar, I hear the keys of the church organ begin, and every member of the congregation rises to greet us. The sensation should be overwhelming, as every pair of eyes drills into us, and yet all I can feel is joy about what is transpiring. As Mary and Georgina complete their walk up the aisle, Wilfred leads me forward. I keep my eyes forward and my breathing as steady as I can, but I feel just about fit to burst with excitement. This is really happening! It is then that I see him. Standing at the front of the church, the gentleman whom I have come here to marry turns to see his bride.

  As he looks over his left shoulder, our eyes connect, and my heart begins to pound with new vigour. His are green, and shining with enthusiasm at the sight of me. I cast my eyes over him, absorbing the sheer masculine appeal of his presence. He looks fabulous in his dark tail coat and white breeches, a red cravat tied at his neck. Beside him stands another tall gentleman, Thomas’ choice of best man, George Audley. Whilst we have never met, Thomas has shared his various correspondences with George, and told me how they were educated together. I suspect that William Pembroke might have been his first consideration, but in light of recent events, I must confess I am not sorry to see George at his side instead.

  I reach the altar, at which point Wilfred presents me to my future husband, before falling back to the pew behind me. Thomas offers me a ravishing smile as he takes my arm. “You look enchanting,” he whispers, and just the sound of his voice makes me giddy.

  We move forward to join the clergyman who waits to marry us. The w
hole experience takes on a rather dreamlike quality, as we exchange vows in the presence of so many guests. It is not until Thomas speaks that I am compelled back to the amazing reality.

  He turns to me, taking my left hand and pressing the gold band against my fourth finger. “With this ring,” he says, gazing into my eyes, “I thee wed. With my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

  I barely catch my breath as he concludes, sliding the metal onto my finger, but as we are finally declared man and wife, I scarcely hear the applause of the congregation. My whole focus is on the man beside me; my husband, who now leans over me smiling. “Now I am permitted to kiss my wife,” he murmurs, and all at once his lips are on me, claiming me in the most sweet and sensual way. The connection is brief, acknowledging the presence of our audience, and yet it holds such promise. As he draws away, he winks at me, and I know that I am blushing.

  The day is swept away in a wave of excitement and ceremony. The reception is held back at Markham Hall, and once the wedding breakfast is over and the beautiful cake has been cut, we try to speak to as many guests as possible, to thank them for attending. At this time, I notice my new husband greeting Lord and Lady Pembroke, so, excusing myself from my current conversation, I make my way over to join them.

  “Ah, here is the beautiful bride!” It is Lord William’s voice which greets me, and I recoil inwardly at the gleeful expression on his face. As I walk besides Thomas, his hand finds mine at once, and he squeezes it, eyeing me with a reassuring gaze.

  “Congratulations, Lady Lydia,” purrs Lady Helena, moving toward me to plant a chaste kiss on my cheek.

  “Thank you both,” I say, gripping Thomas’ hand. “It is lovely of you to join us!”

  “It was, of course, our pleasure,” replies Lord William, bowing low and nearly spilling the wineglass in his left hand. “Although, I might have expected to have been asked as groomsman, old chap?”