A ride down the fine streets of Paris led to recollections of a long ride down the dusty country road. A sumptuous meal in a restaurant near the Seine reminded Lydia of their supper at Roseberry. Stranger still was that when Cora talked of Mr. Granger with significant affection, Lydia thought of Robert. She was hard pressed to understand that association. Perhaps it was that both gentlemen possessed brown eyes.
However, once through the gates of her estate, Lydia had no choice but to think and deal with an entirely different subject. Her family members—their censure and criticism. There would be no avoiding it. They would not be best pleased that Lydia had done something so untoward as to leave without them and then stay away on an unplanned visit. She would have to be vigilant in her conversation, instilling just the right amount of ennui to discourage questions.
The idea that Lydia would do something of a spontaneous nature was so absurd that she was certain there would be an excessive amount of doubt. She was right, but not in the manner she expected.
Mama couldn’t believe that the Dunbar-Rosses had ridden all that way with her puss, just to see her safely home. Yes, they were the most considerate of couples. Aunt Freya could not believe that Lydia had thought nothing of depriving Elaine of her outing. This harping was whispered in Lydia’s ear even as the others were greeted with great aplomb and offers of refreshment.
Ivy couldn’t believe that Shelley had brought Lydia and Cora gowns from Paris … and not brought one for her. Elaine could not believe that Lydia was so forgetful as to leave her bonnet behind in Pepney, while laughing in such a manner as to contradict her own words. And Tessa couldn’t believe that Lydia hadn’t missed her. So Lydia assured the girl that she had. Uncle Arthur was not present to cast doubt or complain at any length; Lydia had not missed him at all.
Feeling that the worst of it was over, Lydia waited and watched as the company traipsed up to the drawing room for the proffered refreshment before the Dunbar-Rosses returned to the road. She intended to speak to Shodster, to make sure all the mail and any messages passed through her first over the next week. She had no idea how the villains had intended to call for their ransom, but a threatening note was a possibility. It might have been sent on its way before her escape. If so, it could provide a clue or two—and it needed to stay out of the wrong hands … any but hers.
However, when Lydia turned, she found the great hall held three persons, not two.
“Mama? Did you not want to see to your company?” Lydia sighed, knowing she was about to get an earful.
As expected, Lydia’s mother squared her shoulders, pursed her lips for some moments, and then glared before opening her mouth to speak. “That was inconsiderate of you, Lydia. I would not think it possible. It was quite untoward—you disappeared. And before you ask, yes, I received the knowledge of your return this morning but not until this morning. Why was I not apprised of this jaunt, this surprise visit yesterday? It is not like you, Lydia. Too impulsive by far. What really happened?”
Lydia caught her breath, wishing that she could explain. Had her father been alive, she would have run to him and shared the burden. Would her mother be able to help without complicating the situation even more with histrionics? Lydia lifted her lips into a halfhearted smile. Perhaps she might tell the one parent she had left.
“I thought there might have been an accident. That you were lying dead on the road.”
“No, Mama. Nothing like that.”
“Nothing short of death or injury is excusable, Lydia. I was that worried. And you are not dead and as best I can tell not injured. Although … is that a scratch on your chin?”
“Not injured or dead, Mama.” Lydia ignored the chin query. “I had a bit of an adventure—” She wanted to start slowly, a calm pace to allow her mother to digest the information in small pieces. But rather than create an awareness that she was about to impart what had happened, the words fanned her mother’s indignation.
“An adventure? Lydia Whitfield, I believe even your father would have been disappointed in you today. I was ready to have a fit. Can you imagine? And had I suffered an apoplexy, it would have been on your shoulders.” Before Lydia could say another word, her mother took hold of her skirts, lifting them high and her chin higher. “I hope you are satisfied.” She stalked to the stairs and climbed them with exaggerated grace. She did not look down.
Standing and staring after her mother for some minutes, Lydia swallowed her disappointment. Why was it that she and her mother never seemed to understand each other? There was no doubt that her mother wished to know what had occurred, and Lydia had wanted to explain. And yet they had not found a manner to answer either of these wishes.
Perhaps this was the better way. Her mother was annoyed; however long that lasted, it was a familiar reaction, easier to deal with—a normal situation. Yes, an inconsiderate daughter would not overly tax her nerves—an abducted daughter who had escaped certain ruin was an entirely different concern.
“Might I suggest, miss, that you inform your mother that Mr. Dunbar-Ross did come by last eve?” Shodster had soundlessly approached to allow a soft conversation—though still at a respectable distance. “She need not know there was no message. You could imply that I didn’t think the news worthy of disturbing her rest.”
Lydia sighed. “I appreciate your offer, Shodster. But I would not see you in discord with Mama. I am well used to her frustration. It will pass soon enough.” Then turning to face her butler, Lydia noticed a gray tinge to his coloring and deep circles under his eyes. “Are you all right, Shodster? You do not look up to snuff.”
Shodster was not a young man, though likely a decade away from retirement, of medium height and build and an unremarkable appearance—other than styling his silver hair in a way that it winged out over his ears. He was quiet and calm, a trusted and reliable man who had been with the family since before Lydia was born.
“Yes, Miss Whitfield, I am fine. Though I did have some difficulty sleeping last night. My own fault, as I stayed up past the usual hour, waiting for Mr. Kemble’s return.” Likely seeing Lydia’s brow folding, he hurried on. “I was fairly certain that something was amiss. Expected Mr. Kemble to explain but … when he did return, he was in no state to elucidate. Until Mr. Dunbar-Ross’s message this morning, I thought you might be … in difficulty.”
It was Shodster’s attempt to underplay his disquiet that Lydia found most touching. Her mother had not been the only one troubled by her absence. “Thank you, Shodster, for your concern. I was in some difficulty, as you surmised. However, with Mr. Newton’s help, I was able to escape.”
“Escape?” Shodster swallowed visibly.
“Yes, there was an abduction yesterday. I know that sounds excessive, but I know not what else to call it—seized, taken, nabbed … they all smack of melodrama—”