“I quite agree.”
They plodded on for some minutes, lost in thought, worry, and memories. Finally, they broke out of a copse and rounded what Lydia anticipated to be the last curve in the road before the Villers Manor gates. As expected, the great house was now visible beyond the fields, though half hidden by an avenue of trees down the winding drive. And yet all was not as envisaged. The manor was ablaze with light.
“Well,” Lydia sighed. “The good news would be that the Dunbar-Rosses are not abed. We will not have to rouse the house to be let in. The bad news would be that they are entertaining. I did so want to arrive quietly, didn’t want to be seen like this. Do you think we could sneak in through the service door?”
“Unless you know the servants well, they will take one look at us and turn us off for vagabonds.”
“Oh dear, that is true. I know Trenton, Shelley’s butler. She brought him with her from Tipsy, but as to the others … no, they would probably not know me.”
“Mrs. Dunbar-Ross’s butler will be at the front of the house, helping with the guests.”
Lydia nodded and turned Fanny toward the drive. “I can’t believe I’m suggesting this, but I will hide in the bushes while you speak to Trenton. If you use my name, he might be persuaded to inform Shelley that I am here or let us in through the servants’ door. What do you think?”
“I agree that you should stay to the shadows and that we should approach the front door. As to what and how I will persuade Trenton or Mrs. Dunbar-Ross remains to be seen.”
“Excellent. You can use your lawyer’s clerk countenance.”
“Not sure that I have an official aspect about me at present.”
Lydia sighed in agreement. As they approached the manor, the light shining through the windows helped illuminate their mucky glory. Though she couldn’t see Robert behind her, she knew him to look nothing like a respectable clerk or even a gentleman, for that matter. The dried blood on his neck was the most damning, giving him a thuggish aspect. And she did not look like the respectable Miss Lydia Whitfield of Roseberry Hall if the ruination of her skirts were anything to go by. Even poor Fanny was spattered with mud.
Tired and hungry and, now that she thought about it, cold … yes, chilled, right to the bone, Lydia longed for a glowing fire, a warm drink, safety, and comfort. She did not want to wait behind this bush, this … boxwood. She wanted to march through the front door and collapse in the drawing room.
But she had no choice. If she was going to protect her reputation, she had to abide while Robert tried to persuade a complete stranger to trust him. Then, Lydia smiled.
All would be well. Robert could charm anyone … including Shelley Dunbar-Ross, the most forthright of Miss Melvina’s young ladies. Yes, any minute she would be—
Lydia frowned. What was that noise? It sounded like a shriek emanating from the front door. She immediately stood, lifted her skirts, and ran.
Robert needed her.
Chapter 10
In which a conspiracy of silence is formed at the end of a most unusual day
The scene Lydia beheld on the threshold of Villers Manor was not what she had expected, though she hardly knew what to think. The shriek, for it was indeed a shrill involuntary cry, was not being issued by Trenton, or a housemaid … or even Robert, for that matter. The horrible sound was being produced by a blond female person hanging around Robert’s neck as they stood in the doorway.
Affronted by the vulgar use of her friend, Lydia marched up the steps and grabbed the arm of said person—and then stopped as soon as the lady lifted her head. “Cora? What? What are you doing here?”
“Lydia!”
Lydia stepped back to retain her balance as Cora threw herself at her. The shriek became a shout and then a laugh, and suddenly Lydia was bouncing. Cora proceeded to hop up and down for some minutes, which would have been acceptable had she not been holding on to Lydia at the time.
“I can’t believe it. You are here. I thought you killed,” Cora repeated at least twice before Lydia brought the jumping to a halt with a laugh of her own.
“Cora, dear. I am exhausted and confused, and you are not helping one iota.”
“Of course, forgive me. Come in. You must sit.” And with those words, Cora pulled Lydia past the threshold and Trenton, who had been holding the door open with a mild expression of interested disinterest.
Villers Manor was not much older than Roseberry Hall, perhaps a few decades at most, and it, too, wore its Tudor heritage with pride. Though the high stone walls of the entrance were now lined with dark wood panels, a huge traditional fireplace with a pair of stacked andirons occupied one end of the hall while a heavily carved staircase sat at the other. In a nod to comfort, a fringed Persian carpet covered the gray slate floor.
Once inside, Lydia’s gaze fell upon a dissimilar couple waiting near the staircase. Shelley had one hand to her lips and the other tightly clasped by her broad-shouldered husband. Her expression raced from dazed to euphoria and settled somewhere near jubilant. Shelley Dunbar-Ross was of a diminutive stature, but bound within her petite frame was a huge heart and ample emotions that were seldom hidden or reined in. One always knew where one stood with Shelley; prevarication was an art she had never perfected.
With a quick squeeze, Shelley dropped Edward’s hand and stepped forward to hug Lydia—without any bouncing. Finally, leaning away, Shelley held Lydia at arm’s length. She smiled and then grinned. “You don’t look your best.”
“I have had an unusual day.”
“Yes, of that there is no doubt.”
“You, on the other hand, are a marvel.” Lydia was not doing it up too brown; Shelley was dressed in an exquisite gown of apricot silk and Belgian lace. With amber at her neck and feathers in her thick auburn hair, she looked very different from the girl who had walked up the aisle a couple of months ago. “Marriage must agree with you.”
Shelley turned a flattering shade of pink and glanced over her shoulder to her husband. “I highly recommend the institution.”
Edward Dunbar-Ross looked startled, and then a slow smile spread across his face. While the tall gentleman was focused on his wife, Lydia had the opportunity to observe that wedded bliss had done the groom no harm, either. Lydia, who had previously thought Edward merely passable in countenance, was quite prepared to reassess the gentleman’s appearance. His dark hair was longer and without the former rigid styling; his eyes suggested a gentleness that hitherto was missing, and his shoulders, always broad and straight, were relaxed. Yes, there was something to be said about a love match; both parties were quite content.