“Oh.”
The sound from the street faded into the background, and Lydia let the words spill out.
“I have decided not to marry Lord Aldershot. We do not suit. I would ride roughshod over him without intending to. I don’t care about joining our estates. Nor about being Lady Aldershot. I … I…” She had run through all her reasons, except, of course, the most important one. “I … I … wrote him yesterday to request an interview.”
Robert swallowed and took in a deep breath. “Is that his reply?”
“Reply?”
“Yes, the letter in your hand.”
Lydia frowned and lifted her arm. “Oh. No. Well, I don’t think so. The writing is vaguely familiar but not his, I don’t believe.” She broke the wax seal.
With a gasp, Lydia froze—immobilized by fear and fury. Instantly, Robert was at her side, and though it wasn’t necessary, Lydia leaned against him for support—just for a moment.
The sound of footsteps in the upper hall brought Lydia out of her trancelike state, and she straightened, away from the safety and security of Robert. She dropped onto the nearest seat and felt, rather than saw, Robert move to behind her chair. When she lifted the letter to reread it; she knew he could see it, too.
Fool,
You ignored my warning. It was little enough to ask, a mere four hundred pounds. And yet you spurned me.
I had no choice. My lips moved, and your secret is told. Little voices behind your back.
Such a sordid tale. A night with your lover, your lawyer. A night of passion.
Now, he will pay, too. Watch as his world crumbles; his career is forfeit. All because you love money best.
But I can find it in my heart to still these little voices. Calm the flood of rumors. Save his career. All is not lost—yet. But there is a cost.
One thousand pounds.
Put the money in a box—addressed to Tommy Goode. Leave it under the fifth pew from the front on the right side of the Abbey church. No tricks.
I will be watching. You have three days.
“No,” Robert said, stepping in front of Lydia, leaning down to look straight into her face. “Don’t even think of it.”
“Robert … your career. I can’t have you lose something you cherish because of lies.”
“Lydia, a thousand pounds! It is a fortune.”
“I can ask Mr. Selleck about the barns—which repairs can be held off. Ivy’s pony will have to wait. Yes, and if the birthday gowns are muslin, not silk—it can be done. Of course, I will have to get approval from Mr. Lynch and Uncle Arthur. What can we tell them? What can I tell them?”
“No. No, Lydia, it is the principle. People like this … this monster cannot win out. And you know the threats and demands will never end if you give in.”
“I have to consider it.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Mr. Newton, what an exquisite pleasure,” squealed a voice from the parlor doorway. “Your timing is impeccable, as always—we have just arrived. Are you well, Cousin? You do not look your best. If you need to rest, I can entertain Mr. Newton.” Elaine swayed from side to side, arms clasped behind her back, thrusting certain parts of her person forward. “You must apprise me of Bath’s entertainments, Mr. Newton—the theater, assemblies … Oh, yes, we have much to talk about.”
Robert straightened. “Thank you, Miss Kemble. Lovely to see you, too. Miss Whitfield has accepted my invitation for a little exercise—a stroll along Harrison’s Walk.”
“No.” Lydia shook her head and chewed at her lip. “I think I need to rest, as Elaine suggested. I have a sudden headache; please forgive me for canceling. But … perhaps we can continue our discussion tomorrow? I will have had time to consider your point of view and will let you know what I have decided.”
“Very good.” Robert bowed to both ladies and headed to the entrance hall. He turned back at the threshold, catching Lydia’s look. He held it for some minutes but remained mute. Then he nodded, turned, and bid Shodster farewell.
“That was badly done, Lydia. I could have taken Mr. Newton up on his offer of a walk to the park, if you had not sent him away so quickly.” And then, as if only just realizing that the conversation she had overheard was slightly irregular, she frowned and stepped closer. “Are you still working on your marriage contract? Really, Lydia, you should not be so particular. Poor Lord Aldershot, he will not know whether he’s coming or going.”
“Too true, Cousin. Now, if you will excuse me, I will lie down for a bit.”
Lydia fled to the sanctity of her room and stayed there the rest of the day. She rose the next morning determined. She would speak to Mr. Lynch and Uncle Arthur. She would pay the blackmail this time. She would not see Robert’s career ruined! When the threat was uttered again—and she was certain it would be renewed—she would be ready. She would have already contacted Mr. Warner—and would simply not let the Runner leave until this fiend was caught.
But until then, she had to make Robert understand.
*
On edge, Lydia waited in the drawing room with the family—most of the family. Uncle Arthur had already found an excuse to visit the nearest club—something about old friends and acquaintances. Lydia had not paid much attention at breakfast; she had been lost to her thoughts.
Even now, as the others chatted around her, Lydia sat in the corner, book in hand, watching the clock as the afternoon rolled around to the hour for callers. It seemed as if the clock had forgotten how to tell time as the hands barely moved.
At last, there was a knock at the door. However, Shodster did not usher Robert into their midst but Mavis and Mrs. Caudle. Lydia stood and dipped, but she was not best pleased.
Mrs. Caudle settled herself with the matrons, while Mavis joined Lydia by the window.
“Welcome to Bath,” Lydia said quietly to Mavis, lifting her cheeks and making an effort not to sigh.
“Oh, thank you,” Mrs. Caudle called from across the room. “We are so pleased with these turn of events, aren’t we, dearest Mavis?”
Mavis nodded kindly to her mother. “Oh, yes, what could be better than a few days in the city, shopping.” Her expression brightened. “We are so looking forward to the ball that we made a special trip to buy a turban for Mama and shoe roses for me.” And as she spoke, Mavis pulled a paper from her reticule. “So kind of you to include us.” She passed the note to Lydia.
Again, Mrs. Caudle joined in their conversation from across the room. “Yes, quick, Mavis. We must be one of the first to accept your invitation.”
Lydia glanced at her mother and allowed her to correct the rector’s wife. “Not the first, Mrs. Caudle, but one of the most welcome.” It was a lovely fiction—well executed. It had the ring of truth if not the weight.
“That is wonderful to learn. I did so hope that the rumors would not deter your guests. I, for one, must say I do not believe a single word of it.” Mrs. Caudle nodded.