Lydia and Robert followed a few paces behind, allowing an easy discourse between the two couples … not that either of the two groups were a couple.
“It is called devotion, Mr. Cassidy. The law requires such devotion.” Lydia squeezed Robert’s arm as a sign of solidarity.
“Yes.” Mr. Cassidy glanced at Robert yet again, grinned, and then faced forward.
Once past the last storefront of Pulteney Bridge, they turned to the left and headed down the hill toward the Bath Abbey church. The golden-colored Gothic tower rose above the green foliage of the park that ran alongside the river.
As they approached, it was soon apparent that Harrison’s Walk was, indeed, well peopled. A place to be seen or not, the cloudless sky and warm spring breeze were likely what had brought out the numbers more than those wanting to impress and be impressed. Still, there was no lacking in finery, and Lydia was glad to have worn her new cerulean spencer and matching gloves.
With top hats bobbing and parasols waving, Mr. Cassidy led their small party down to the water’s edge. Casual greetings from across the path, a shared guffaw or two, and Lydia found that she was quite in charity with Bath. She had always thought it to be a charming city, but she now had reason to feel comfortable with its populace. She might not have been accepted as readily, if at all, had the rumors of her curious adventure been bandied about. But that danger had passed, and she had no need to be concerned about her reception.
As she glanced about, Lydia became aware that she was under some scrutiny. Lifting her eyes to Robert’s, she raised her brows questioningly. “Is something amiss, Mr. Newton?” They were too close to others for her to be comfortable using his given name.
“Not at all, Miss Whitfield. I was just observing how flattering that color is on—”
“What-ho,” Mr. Cassidy interrupted, waving to a trio gathered next to a weeping willow. “Look, Newton. I told you as much. Come meet my new friends.” And then before Robert could even nod, the young man rushed across the grass.
Cora gasped.
Lydia dropped Robert’s arm and rushed to her friend’s side. “Cora. Cora dear, are you all right?”
“No, I’m feeling quite faint. I believe I want to go back to … back to Great Pulteney Street.” She was staring at the willow tree.
Puzzled by Cora’s heightened color, Lydia turned toward the group that Mr. Cassidy had joined. She knew them not. “I don’t understand?”
“Please, Miss Shipley.” Robert had joined her by Cora’s side. “Trust me on this. Don’t go.”
Blinking back tears, Cora turned to stare at Robert. “You knew?”
“Yes. Forgive my subterfuge. My purpose will come to light soon enough.”
“I can’t do this.”
“You don’t have to do anything, Miss Shipley, nothing at all. There. Look, they are coming to us; you do not even have to move.”
Lydia glanced over her shoulder to see that the group of two ladies and one gentleman were, indeed, approaching. And as they drew near, Lydia realized that she did know them after all. Suddenly she was filled with as much rage as Cora was filled with despair. “How could you?” she spat the question at Robert, shocked to the core by his betrayal.
There was no time for an explanation, and, frankly, Lydia did not know what Robert could have said to ease the situation. She had never been as hurt or as angry in her entire life.
*
Robert shifted so he was standing behind Miss Shipley, offering support by his presence, though not with his touch. He was afraid the poor girl might faint before the job was done. He could see by the expression on Lydia’s face that he might have played his cards a little too close to the chest. He should probably have shared his plan with her.
Miss Shipley would never have agreed to this meeting had she been aware of it, but … well, yes, he could plainly see that he should have discussed it with Lydia. Too close to the chest and, perhaps, a little high-handed.
Cassidy walked across the grass, his new friends trailing slightly until, having gained their circle, Cassidy stepped out of the way to allow both parties a full and proper look at one another. Instantly, tension filled the air, swirling around them in great clouds.
“Newton, I would like to introduce you to Lorne Granger,” Cassidy began, pretending to be ignorant of the shared distress. “And his sister, Miss Gloria Granger. The lovely lady next to him is his fiancée, Miss Tatum Brownlow. Granger, I’d like you to meet my friend Robert Newton, Miss Lydia Whitfield, and Miss Cora Shipley.”
The silence was heavy and uncomfortable as some complexions became ashen while others were inflamed. It might have lasted only a moment or two, but it felt interminable.
“We are acquainted,” Lydia finally spoke, her voice surprisingly calm. “Old schoolmates.” She lifted her cheeks.
Miss Granger lifted her cheeks as well, opening her mouth to show her teeth. Not appealing in the least. “Yes—”
“Miss Shipley? Excuse me, is that correct?”
All eyes turned toward Mr. Granger. Not a tall man, he was still a half head above that of Miss Shipley. He was only a few years older than Robert, clean-shaven but for the sharply chiseled side-whiskers, and he carried himself with authority. Granger’s mode of dress labeled him a conservative, but his mouth looked ready to smile. Had Robert been pressed, he would have guessed that the man was usually a lighthearted fellow.
“Of course, Mr. Granger.” Cora’s voice shook ever so slightly. “We know each other well enough to not be mistaken in our identity.”
“Yes, too true. But forgive me … I”—he glanced at his sister—“I understood you to have married. I was told—perhaps I misunderstood. You are to be congratulated on your engagement?”
“No.” Cora lifted her chin, her eyes flickering to Miss Granger briefly. “I’m afraid that you were misinformed. I am neither married nor engaged to be married.” She breathed deeply through her nose. “But you are … engaged.”
“Yes.”
Robert had never heard a single word laden with more distress.
*
Lydia clenched her fists behind the folds of her dress. Her jaw was equally taut, and yet she had to pretend that nothing was amiss, pretend that she was not trapped in a spiderweb of black widows, bold and deadly. At school, Gloria and Tatum had been the ringleaders of all things nasty and cruel—shaming and coercion their specialty. Yes, web spinning at its finest.
This was not where Lydia wanted to be, not where Cora should be.
Robert had a lot of explaining to do.
“I am not surprised that you were confused, Mr. Granger,” Lydia said, tiptoeing around the explosive undercurrents. “You likely heard that Miss Shipley no longer resides in the family home at Fardover.”
Mr. Granger pulled his eyes from Cora and blinked at Lydia in a dazed, confused manner that spoke of a mind befuddled with thoughts—none pleasant, if his morose expression could be used as a guide.