“I can’t without its being an obvious ruse. Perhaps when I go into town to see Mr. Lynch, I—”
“You are going to Bath? Oh, yes, that will do quite nicely. Yes, yes, Elaine and I will accompany you. You can talk to Mr. Lynch while Elaine … oh, yes, this will do quite nicely.”
Lydia’s aunt continued to congratulate herself on her quick thinking for some minutes before turning away from the railing where they had been standing in the great hall; she was still muttering. Forgotten, or ignored, was that neither Aunt Freya nor her cousin had been invited, and, more important, that her aunt did not know when the outing was planned. Still, Lydia could hardly travel to Bath on her own—at least Aunt Freya would not complain of the discomfort all the way, as her mother was most likely to do.
With a sigh, Lydia made her way to the morning room to work on the invitations to the birthday ball. She could hear squeals of delight issuing from the drawing room. Aunt Freya was no doubt enlightening everyone about her brilliant strategy to catch Mr. Newton for Elaine.
For some reason, the thought made her peevish, and Lydia had a hard time focusing on the task at hand. She stared at the invitation list for some moments before she realized that she had written Mr. Newton’s name down … three times. Scratching off the superfluous inclusions, Lydia set about the task of writing out a few notes, but her mind wandered yet again. She wasn’t certain of where it wandered to, just that she had not finished a single invitation by the time the bell echoed through the hallways to remind everyone that dinner was imminent.
Jumping up, Lydia shook her head. “Papa would not be impressed.” She scolded the empty air. “This will not do.”
Hurrying to her room, she quickly changed into an evening gown of pale mauve that flattered her figure quite nicely. She tried not to think of the effect as being wasted or wonder if Mr. Newton would have noticed the pretty pearls that her maid was using to dress her hair. These were all distracting thoughts that had no place in her head; with an even firmer resolve, Lydia cast them aside.
Not surprisingly, the drawing room was empty when Lydia peeked in; she was a full five minutes late. She hastened down the stairs to the dining room and slipped in unnoticed. At first, it seemed odd that such a travesty could occur without great consternation, but Lydia soon learned that another topic of conversation, of much more import, was being tabled.
“A new dress, of course.” Aunt Freya was facing Cousin Elaine as she spoke.
“Can I have one, too?” Tessa gave the impression of bouncing up and down in her seat.
The two youngest often joined the family for dinner when there were no guests. Mama thought it made the evening livelier and offered the little ones a chance to observe proper etiquette. Unfortunately, manners were a little lacking this evening.
“Tessa, don’t bounce. Ladies don’t bounce.”
“Oh, but Cousin, I can hardly sit still. I am thrilled to pieces.”
Lydia smiled at this exuberance. “Are you, indeed? And to what are you referring?”
“We are all to Bath. It shall be such a lark; I have never been there before.”
“My goodness. That is exciting.” Lydia reached for her glass. “And when is this wondrous excursion to take place?”
The silence that met her words pulled Lydia’s eyes away from her glass. She frowned, looking from face to face, finally meeting her mother’s gaze. “Mama? Is something amiss?”
“Well, no. It’s just that we cannot tell you the when of our trip when you are to tell us.”
“I’m confused.”
“You are headed into Bath to see Mr. Newton … I mean, Mr. Lynch. Did you not invite us to accompany you?”
Lydia felt a surge of frustration and swallowed her ire with a shudder before replying. “No, actually, I didn’t. I have business to conduct and hadn’t planned on any frivolity. Aunt Freya thought of joining me … with Cousin Elaine.”
The silence was now filled with tension.
“You mean, we can’t go?” Tessa’s chin began to wobble.
It was one thing to foil the schemes of a matchmaking mama, it was another to disappoint an adorable nine-year-old. “A week from next Thursday,” Lydia relented. “And we’ll have to take both the coach and the landau if we are to be comfortable with all seven of us. Don’t want anyone forced to sit on the roof or, worse yet, with the coachman.”
She laughed weakly and then sighed. She wondered if she might not be better served by asking Shelley Dunbar-Ross to help with the final arrangements of the ball. Her friend did live close to the ancient Roman town and might have some insights to make the process easier.
“Can’t have the landau.”
Again, Lydia was required to swallow her irritation. She turned her gaze toward her uncle, sitting at the head of the table—in her father’s place. “I beg your pardon?” She showed her teeth in a way that only a drunken sot would call a smile.
“I’m going to visit the Major the next two Thursdays.” Uncle Arthur’s hands shook as he lifted, and spilled, his wine. Drops of red stained the crisp white cloth.
“Could you not go some other day?” Lydia was hard pressed not to mention that the landau was, in fact, hers and that he was only using it by her good graces.
“Certainly not. Told him I’d be there, and that’s what I’ll do.”
“Perhaps you could ride, leaving the carriage to us ladies.”
There was a gasp from Aunt Freya before she spoke. “No, Lydia. That will not do. Riding can be dangerous at night.”
Lydia was aware, even if Uncle Arthur was not, that Aunt Freya knew he would be in his cups upon his return.
“Fine. So be it. I shall hire an additional coach for the day.”
“Excellent solution, Lydia dear. I knew you would put family first.”
Lydia tucked into her whitefish with much more vigor than needed and wondered how she was going to rid herself of this effusive horde of females before arriving at the lawyer’s office.
*
Before journeying into Bath, Lydia made time to visit Mr. Pibsbury. She wanted not only to see how the old gentleman was faring but also to glean any tidbit of farming knowledge that might sway Mr. Lynch to her way of thinking. She was quite sure common sense would rule the day, but there was no reason not to “hedge her bets”—as her papa used to say.