A Society which had made it clear, in any case, that they believed him guilty of killing his wife.
Instead of returning to London, Gideon had removed himself to his remote estate in Cornwall and remained here ever since.
“Read the entry for the following day,” Lydia now encouraged.
Gideon turned and read the next page.
Dear God!
I can hardly believe it. Harriet is dead and Esher burned so badly, it is feared he might not survive.
The fire ignited accidentally, it is said. It began in Esher’s study, possibly from a lit candle falling over and setting fire to carpets and curtains and then the rest of the house.
In any case, Esher House is burned to the ground. Harriet is dead. Esher is burned so badly, no one is allowed to visit him at the private infirmary where he is to be a patient for some time to come.
What would I say to him, in any case?
Your wife believed herself to be in love with me?
That she also believed the two of us were destined to be together?
That she thought Esher himself was the only thing preventing the two of us from spending the rest of our lives together?
I cannot tell a man who is on death’s door himself such arrant nonsense as that. Harriet is dead, and Esher might soon be too, and anything else regarding how the fire started is pure speculation on my part.
Under the circumstances, I feel it would be best for all concerned if I just left the past where it belongs: in the past.
“Gideon, is it possible…” Lydia paused, as if searching for the right words. “Having read what my father describes as Harriet’s faltering mental state, is it possible she might have started the fire to rid herself of an unwanted husband, but instead only succeeded in orchestrating her own death and seriously injuring you?”
Gideon had asked himself the same question many times in the past. But apart from Harriet’s aversion to him, which he had not believed to be reason enough to want to kill him, he had not thought there to be motive for her to actually want him dead.
The things Chessington had written in his journal shed a different light on that entirely.
Then why hadn’t the earl come to him and told him all these things before now?
Chessington had already answered that question: What would have been the purpose of such a conversation when Gideon was in danger of dying himself? Harriet was already dead, and without proof to the contrary, Society would believe what it wanted to about that death. Chessington admitted his own thoughts on how the fire was started were pure speculation. There was no way to prove—
“Did Harriet keep a diary?”
It took some effort for Gideon to pull his thoughts from the past and answer Lydia’s question. “I have no idea.”
“Hm.” Lydia rose and began to pace the kitchen. “I never met her, of course, but she strikes me as having been the sort of romantic ninny who kept a diary so that she might pour all of her girlish hopes and dreams into it, never realizing what a glorious and handsome husband she had in you.” She looked up at Gideon. “Did any of the things inside your London home survive the fire?”
He shrugged. “I was informed a few metal trunks were salvageable. They have been stored in the cellar of the new house after it was rebuilt. But as I left all the details of that rebuilding to my solicitor and have never so much as visited this new residence, I have no idea as to the trunks’ contents.”
Lydia gave a satisfied nod. “Then you and I need to go to London to see what is inside them.”
Gideon stood restlessly. “To what purpose? Even if we should find Harriet’s diaries and she confesses all in them, I have no intention of then taking myself about London ten years after the fact, claiming my innocence to anyone who will listen.”
Lydia chuckled. “I should not expect you to do so.” She sobered. “Nor do I need to have confirmation of the truth to believe in your innocence.”
Gideon’s haughty air didn’t lessen in the slightest. “Then why go there at all?”
“So that you know, beyond all doubt, that you did not accidentally kill your wife.”
Gideon had no idea how Lydia could know of those doubts when he had never spoken of them to her or anyone else.
But often in the years since the fire, he had wondered if he had not accidentally started it.
In those days, he liked to retire to his study after dinner in the evenings with a cigar and brandy. No matter how many times he had tried in the years since, he could never remember whether he had put out his cigar that night or if he had left it smoldering in the glass receptacle to later fall to the ground and set fire to the carpets and curtains and then the rest of the house.
“Open the letter now.” Lydia could see Gideon’s reluctance to do so. He perhaps even feared there would be something more in it which might damn him all over again.
Lydia didn’t believe that to be the case. Her father had been badly wounded at the Battle of Waterloo, and it had eventually resulted in his death, but there had been absolutely nothing wrong with his mental faculties. To the end, he had remained lucid and sensible.
She crossed the room to stand in front of Gideon. “I will not falter in my affection for you,” she promised, placing her hands against his chest for balance as she moved up on her tiptoes to place her lips gently against his.
Gideon remained rigidly unresponsive for several long seconds before his arms moved tightly about her waist, molding her body to his, as the kiss became passionate.
Lydia was both breathless and boneless by the time Gideon raised his head to rest his brow gently against hers and stare intently into her eyes. Her fingers clung to his muscular shoulders and his arms remained about her waist, both preventing her knees from buckling completely so she was able to remain standing on her feet.
“You are the most miraculous and magnificent woman I have ever met,” Gideon finally said gruffly.
She smiled. “The two of us shall not be reduced to talking arrant nonsense such as it having been destined for the two of us to meet at the will of these foreign gods.”
Gideon grimaced. “I should have realized how seriously Harriet’s emotional state had deteriorated. Perhaps it was triggered by the loss of the baby the year before…”
“You seem determined to try to blame yourself in some way, Gideon,” Lydia chided. “You have admitted your marriage was not happy from the start, despite, as my father has already pointed out, how obviously you tried to please your wife. The loss of a baby is very sad for both of you, but it sounds to me as if it was only for the last month of her life that Harriet became so unhealthily obsessive in her likes and dislikes,” she reasoned. “I should not be surprised if there is not some form of previous madness in the family which you were not informed about before the two of you were married. I believe her mother has not appeared in Society for the past five years or more.”
“Grief for her daughter, perhaps?”
“That did not seem to bother her for the four years after her official year of mourning, when I believe she was often out and about in Society,” Lydia dismissed. “No, I believe that when we reach London, one of the things you need to do is arrange for someone to investigate the Beecher family, past and present, for similar cases of mental derangement.”
Gideon looked at her admiringly. “I am in deep danger of becoming totally enthralled by you just from listening to your clearheaded intelligence!”
Again, it wasn’t a declaration of love, but Lydia, not particularly known for her patience, was in this instance willing to wait as long as it took for Gideon to realize and acknowledge his feelings for her.
“My father’s letter,” she reminded gently.
Gideon would far rather have continued to hold Lydia in his arms and kiss her. But he could see by the stubborn expression on the face he was growing to love that Lydia would not allow herself to be distracted indefinitely. Better to get it over with quickly, like the removal of a bandage from an open wou
nd, than continue to delay the inevitable.
Besides, he believed Lydia when she assured him her affection for him would not be altered.
It was not a declaration of love, as such, but it was a warmth of emotion Gideon had not felt from another for many years.
He released Lydia to pick up the letter and break the seal before reading, with Lydia, the words written on the two thin sheets of paper.
My dear Lydia and Esher,
I am assuming that the two of you are reading this letter together. I sincerely hope that to be the case.
Lydia, Gideon Rhodes is one of the finest gentlemen I have ever known, and for many years, I have wronged him by not telling him the truth of his wife’s behavior before her death. I leave you with the responsibility of ensuring that is no longer the case.
Esher, I have entrusted my beloved daughter to you because I truly believe there is not a finer gentleman in all of England. (Do not tell Prinny that. He is sure he is the finest gentleman as ever existed!) I believe, Esher, you will also find Lydia’s straightforward approach to life helpful in discovering the full truth of the events of ten years ago.
You both now know from reading my journal of the events the month before Harriet died, and my own behavior in the years that followed. I am not proud of that reticence, and it is no excuse, but at the time, I was beset with constantly going off to war to fight against Napoleon and ensuring that my beloved and motherless Lydia was suitably cared for while I was away. In truth, I was kept so occupied by these two things that for many years, I forgot about Harriet and the circumstances of her death.
I also believed, Esher, that it was your preference to live in Cornwall because of your own severe injuries. If I am wrong about that, then I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me.
In any case, I have absolutely no doubt that my beloved Lydia will not allow your self-exile to continue.
I say self-exile, because I know from private conversations I have had with Prinny that he did not and would never have ordered you to absent yourself from Society. That he has never believed you to be involved in starting the fire which resulted in the death of your wife.
In those same conversations, Prinny has assured me that he will welcome you back into Society whenever you choose to return to London. He goes further inasmuch as he tells me he will make a point of showing a partiality for your friendship to any and all who care to observe that preference.
So, to conclude, my dears…
Lydia, you are the heart of me, and never doubt for a moment that your mother and I will always love you and approve of your choices.
Esher, do not let past hurts influence your decisions for the future. And you do still have a long future ahead of you. Choose wisely as to what you do with it.
To both of you, I say it is my dearest wish that you will find the happiness you deserve, either singly or together.
My love, always,
Michael Montague.
Gideon read the letter again, and then again.
Not only had Chessington ensured that Gideon could return to London Society and the old friendship he had once shared with the Prince Regent, but it also seemed that Chessington had deliberately and purposefully entrusted Lydia’s guardianship to him in the hope that the two of them might be a comfort to each other.
In the final paragraph, it was almost as if Chessington was giving his blessing from the grave on any friendship he and Lydia found together.
And Lydia, Gideon noted with a sinking heart, had not spoken a single word since reading her father’s letter.
Chapter Thirteen
“Does it feel strange to be back in London after all this time?” Lydia prompted as the ducal coach traveled over the cobbled streets of the capital.
Gideon turned from gazing out the window. “I believe the lingering smog and smells are worse than they were ten years ago.”
Lydia noticed he hadn’t actually answered her question. She, on the other hand, had found the journey back to London even longer than the journey to Cornwall had been three weeks ago.
Because of that short length of time between the two journeys, Charlotte had begged to be allowed not to accompany them. Leaving only Lydia and Gideon to travel alone together in the black lacquered Esher carriage, their maid and valet in a second coach which had traveled ahead of them on this last leg of the journey.
For his part, Gideon had sent word on ahead to his solicitor to instruct the custodial servants of Esher House to open up and air the rooms in preparation for the arrival of the duke and his ward.
He had also, he informed her during the same conversation, asked that same solicitor to look into the Beecher family.
Another letter had been sent to the Prince Regent informing him of the day of Esher’s expected arrival in London.
Before leaving Cornwall, he had also instructed that every vestige of pink be removed from Lydia’s bedchamber in their absence!
The atmosphere inside the Esher carriage during the lengthy journey had been cordial if slightly stilted. As if neither Gideon nor Lydia wished to disturb even that level of harmony.
Lydia had been too stunned that night a week ago, after reading her father’s letter, to know what to say to Gideon.
She was pleased for him, of course, in that her father appeared to have arranged for his return to Society and for the previous friendship he had enjoyed with Prinny to continue, whenever or if he chose to do so.
No, it was the final paragraph of her father’s letter which caused Lydia’s current feelings of discomfort.
She had no doubt that she and Gideon had grown fond of each other in the almost three weeks they had known each other. That she felt more than fondness toward him. But she did not want Gideon to feel in any way obligated to return those deeper feelings or do anything about them if he did.
Consequently, immediately after reading her father’s journal and letter, she had excused herself as being tired and needing to retire to her bedchamber. Despite their earlier intimacy, Gideon had not argued the point.
They had continued in that strained way for the two days of preparing for their journey to London. Their only private conversation during that time had been Gideon’s suggestion that Lydia need not accompany him if she did not wish to do so. An offer she had refused.
As a consequence, the week of travel to London had been spent mainly in silence, the two of them behaving toward each other more like acquaintances than lovers. It was the same at the coaching inns they stayed at overnight on the way. They would eat a polite dinner together before retiring to the night to their respective bedchambers.
“They appear to have done a wonderful job in restoring Esher House to its previous grandeur,” Gideon approved as he stepped down from the ducal carriage outside his rebuilt home.
Lydia had obviously not seen the original house, but the huge white town house that stood on the plot, built in the architecture of the day, was very pleasing to the eye.
The inside was equally as magnificent, with marble floors and pillars and a high domed ceiling above the entrance hall, with several doors leading off into a number of beautifully furnished salons. There was a gallery above them on the second floor, with hallways leading to the bedchambers and other private rooms.
It was, in fact, a home fit for a duke.
And Lydia’s only interest, now that they had arrived, was to go down to the cellar and open up the trunks salvaged from the fire to see if Harriet had kept a diary, if it had survived. Not because Lydia needed to see further proof of Gideon’s innocence, but because she believed he did. Harriet’s diary might help to alleviate the last feelings of guilt he carried with him.
“Several letters have arrived for you in the past few days, Your Grace,” the butler informed Gideon. “I have placed them in your study.”
Gideon was not familiar with this new butler, the previous servants of Esher House having either retired from service or moved on to another household. This fellow seemed likeable
enough, though. “Could you bring refreshment there for myself and Lady Lydia?” he requested as he handed over his cloak and hat.
“Certainly, Your Grace.”
Gideon nodded abruptly, determinedly putting aside any feelings of reluctance to enter the room where apparently the fire had been started ten years ago. He reminded himself that, despite being built almost in replica, this was not the same house nor would it be the same study.
He waited only long enough for Lydia to hand her bonnet and cloak to the butler before striding off down the hallway toward his study.
It was not the same room.
Whereas the old study had been of all dark mahogany wood and blue furnishings, the walls of this study were covered in pale oak panels. The Aubusson carpet on the polished wood floor was of autumn colors, ranging from gold to russet to brown. The curtains were of the same warm russet color. The desk was also made of oak and ornately carved, with a brown leather chair behind it.
Two letters sat upon the leather desktop waiting to be read.
Gideon ignored them and instead turned to face Lydia. He was at once amazed at how the new colors in his study complemented the color of her hair and the pale brown gown she was wearing. It was as if the room had been fashioned to flatter her.
Making Gideon even more aware of his ignorance regarding the pink of Lydia’s bedchamber at the house in Cornwall. Hopefully, that would have changed by the time they returned.
By the time we return.
It was Gideon’s dearest wish that they would both return to Cornwall once their business in London was settled.
He wished even more for them to return as more than guardian and ward.
He was not sure as to the reason for it, but there had been a strained politeness between the two of them since the reading of Chessington’s journal and letter, despite Lydia’s assurance that its contents would not alter her feelings for him. Several times, Gideon had attempted to surmount that politeness, but to no avail.
Wayward (Regency Scandal 3) Page 10