“I will not say anything about the abduction. It is between us. No one need know—”
“Cora was screaming when the coach pulled away. She will have turned to Mr. Lynch, who will have sent for a constable. And then dearest Mama will have arrived to create a terrible scene. Scandalous gossip will spread like wildfire—growing larger with each telling. Like Pandora’s box, the evil will not be contained.” Lydia gulped, stared at the starlit sky for a moment, and then continued. “So, you see, no birthday ball and no marriage to Barley … Lord Aldershot.” It was strange that her last pronouncement did not upset her as much as the first.
“You can speak to Lord Aldershot, assure him that nothing happened.”
“Nothing happened?”
“Nothing that would prevent your marriage.”
“Appearances mean a great deal to Barley. And as appalling speculation will follow me around for the rest of my days, he will wash his hands of me no matter what did or didn’t happen—of that I am certain.”
“He will hardly put his happiness aside to bow to the expectations of society.”
“He might not if we held each other in deep affection, but such is not the case. While I am fond of Barley—”
“Fond?”
“No, you are right. Fond is too strong. I was resigned to marrying Barley—Robert, stop frowning. It is not such a hum, the boot is quite on the other leg.” Spying a large boulder off to the side of the road, Lydia pointed—gestured; ladies don’t point. “Do you mind if we rest for a bit?” she asked, plunking down on the rock before he could reply. Fortunately, it had a large surface, and there was room for them both. Fanny did not complain, nibbling instead at the edging grass.
“I have never been a romantic sort, Robert. Always thought it a luxury I could ill afford.”
“I beg to differ—your affection for family and friends is very evident.”
“I refer not to my capacity to love. That, I believe, is intact. However, unlike most young ladies of our society, I have not wasted hours imagining an ideal husband. There was no reason; my father had an agreement with Lord Aldershot, and I have not met anyone who might sway me from his course.”
“Not Mr. Chilton?” There was no hiding the amusement in Robert’s voice.
“Exactly. There are Mr. Chiltons aplenty in this world, but no … who would be the epitome of manly virtue—Sir Lancelot or Adonis? No, Lancelot was not honorable, and Adonis was beautiful to look at but not husband material.”
“Are you saying there are no gentlemen of husband material in your vicinity?”
“Exactly. So you see the problem.”
“Indeed, you need to get out more. Too sheltered by half.”
Lydia laughed. The world was falling down around her, and yet she laughed. Or at least she did for a moment, and then she lapsed into silence … with an occasional gulp. She refused to allow the tears to fall. If she did, they might not stop for a very long time.
*
Robert dug into his breast pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. It looked clean. Well, fairly clean … but then it was hard to see in the weak moonlight. Probably just as well. Passing the cloth to Lydia, he fought an overwhelming urge to take her in his arms. He had come to the realization that Lydia was right; not about husbands—he was certain that Lord Aldershot was not her best match. No, Robert’s realization was that Lydia was, indeed, facing a changed future—though not necessarily a bleak one.
“I’m quite certain that Mr. Drury will no longer be a problem.”
She laughed again, though Robert could tell it was through tears. “Yes, he will be out from under my roof before you can say guilt by association.”
“What about your uncle?”
“No, he is being paid by the estate until I’m one and twenty. He’ll probably stay, more’s the pity.” She sighed deeply. “If I had been the son my father wanted, it would not matter—”
“I am glad you are not a man, Lydia. I quite enjoy your company just as it is.”
“Thank you, Robert.”
He could hear a smile in her tone.
“You will come to visit me, won’t you? Even if the world forsakes me.”
“Of course. Though I refuse to talk of ribbons and gewgaws to make up for your lack of womanly society.”
The idea of offering Lydia his hand, as an alternative to spinsterhood, was on the tip of Robert’s tongue. Such a proposal was one that might be expected of any gentleman in circumstances such as these … the lack of chaperone circumstances, not the abduction/jumping from a barn circumstances. Still, Robert wasn’t certain how Lydia would perceive such an offer. And if he were honest, he wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about the idea, either.… Though the thought of being riveted to Lydia was by no means abhorrent—quite the opposite.
It was a strange position to be in. Logic allowed that he would one day marry, and yet it was not something that had enticed him: too busy by half—yes, too busy demonstrating his superior qualities as a clerk to secure an apprenticeship. All things in order—career first, marriage second. It wasn’t until meeting Miss Lydia Whitfield that Robert began to reflect on when that second step might take place.
While Lydia was a wealthy young woman with an acceptable lineage and an excellent reputation, her marriage prospects were far higher than Robert Newton, third son of the Earl of Wissett. There was no possibility of a romantic association at all. The vast differences in their situations would label him a fortune hunter at best, a kept man at worst, should he put his oar in the water. Even their newly formed friendship was a little untoward, but it had been born on a very unusual day.
And yet, it was not a gentlemanly inclination that was bringing the subject of marriage to the forefront of Robert’s mind. No, indeed.
Robert was acutely aware of Lydia’s proximity; her lower limbs were mere inches from his. With every breath, she shifted slightly, and they brushed together in a delicious, delicate touch of which he was acutely aware.… With a mental shake, Robert concentrated on the hard, cold surface on which they were sitting. Lumpy, uncomfortable … rough … and, umm, scratchy, inflexible …
“Perhaps we might talk of muslin and silk, then.”
“Only if required. I am not well versed in—” Robert shifted slightly, trying to put a little distance between them—to allow for clarity of thought—then changed his mind and shifted back. He quite liked the distraction.
“Robert?”
“Yes, Lydia.”
“What are we sitting on?”
“A rock?”
“No, indeed. I believe it might be a wall. Are there any headstones behind us? There, what is that shape?”
Robert swiveled and jumped down from what was now apparently a wall. Taking a few hesitant steps, he groped and discovered—a headstone. Off to the left … and right … there were others. “Yes, it would appear that we are among the dead. But worry not—”