*
It was not in Lydia’s nature to sit around—or stand around or pace around—unoccupied whilst waiting for Robert to devise a clever plan. No, she would not let Providence, or Barley, end the life of the man she loved. Just partaking in a duel could cost Robert his career. So let him be clever, let him arrange, and solicit, and whatever else he had in mind. She was going to the source of the problem, the person who would be holding the other pistol. She was going to talk to Manfred Barley.
And avoid her mother.
It took Hugh the rest of the afternoon to find the hotel at which Barley had hidden his sorry self and report back to Lydia. That the villain had spurned York House was not unexpected, as it was one of Bath’s most expensive hotels, but he had also rejected the Christopher and the Pelican, picking the less genteel White Hare. His economic situation could not have been more obvious.
Lydia walked to Stall Street—actually, it was more of a march, as poor Jane could hardly keep up. The maid was forced to sprint sporadically just to stay at her side. Cora would have been the more logical choice of companion on this errand, but Lydia was quite certain that Cora would have tried to calm her down.
Lydia did not want to be calm. She wanted to be angry and articulate. She wanted to decimate Barley and disembowel his challenge. Not one to condone violence, Lydia found her palms itching to slap his face, each side!
The stout, dirty-aproned innkeeper of the White Hare opened his private parlor with a smarmy grin, gestured her in, and offered Lydia a drink while she waited. She would have none of it, and she paced the length of the room as soon as he left to summon Lord Aldershot. Jane stayed in the hallway next to the open door, out of the way.
Surprisingly, it didn’t take long. The reason was soon apparent.
“Mavis,” he said with great excitement, until he was through the threshold and saw who was standing in the center of the room. “Oh, Lydia. I was not expecting you.” He turned as if he were going to leave.
In a flash, Lydia stood in the way of his exit. “We need to talk.”
Shifting first to one side and then the other, Barley tried to step around, but Lydia would not allow it. “We need to talk,” she repeated.
With a huff, one part sigh and one part anger, Barley drew himself up to his full height. “No, we do not. I will not marry you, and that is all there is to it.”
“Apparently this is going to come as a bit of a shock, Lord Aldershot, but I haven’t wanted to marry you, either, for quite some time.” It wasn’t all that long.… It just seemed like forever.
“Really?” His expression relaxed. “Oh, that is excellent. We thought your note was going to be another demand to set a date. You are so overbearing, Miss Whitfield, ordering me about—oh, may I call you Miss Whitfield again? Wonderful. Mavis will be so pleased. She was wrong.…” His brow furrowed. “Dear, dear, she does not like to be wrong. I think I’ll just say that I was mistaken; she doesn’t mind if I am not correct.” His smile returned. “Yes, that will do.”
“If control was the difficulty between us, Lord Aldershot, I believe you have gone from the frying pan into the fire.”
“No,” he said too quickly. “Mavis simply knows her own mind, but she does not order me about.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “If you had been clearer on the purpose of your summons, we would not have sent that last threat.… Lawks, that would not have done, either. I am sorely lacking in funds—”
“Not enough blunt to keep your light-skirt happy? She wants your title but my money.”
“Miss Whitfield! Really! You cannot use such a term—and certainly not in reference to Miss Caudle.”
“The truth is the truth.”
“What a terrible thing to say about a gentleman’s daughter. Our feelings for each other, our deep, abiding love, cannot be so labeled. You make it sound sordid. Fie and for shame, Miss Whitfield, fie and for shame. You are besmirching a timeless love. We are meant to be together for all eternity in poverty or luxury.”
Lydia stared at Manfred Barley in disbelief; these were not his words. She could hear Mavis Caudle behind every syllable. “If that were so, then why did you not simply tell me that you had reconsidered? Whence came the suggestion of kidnapping and blackmail?”
“Mavis, of course. She pointed out that the wealth of Roseberry Hall has been carried on the back of Wilder Hill Park for generations. She is the more clever of us two, but I quite agree. Your wealth should be my legacy.”
“Really. Here I thought the Whitfield fortune was derived from sugar, excellent management, and restraint.”
“Exactly. It isn’t right that someone of such plebeian heritage should have so much more than those of us with ancient ties to the aristocracy.”
“You are being manipulated.”
“I am not.”
“That is wonderful. For as much as I enjoy listening to blathering nonsense, I am not here to discuss the folly of uniting our estates but the challenge that you issued a few hours ago. If, as you say, you are not buckling under the machinations of your hussy, then you will have no problem canceling the duel.”
“Well, I can’t do that.”
“Oh, and why not?”
“You are supposed to offer me some generous amount so that I will not go ahead with the challenge.”
“Ah, so that was the purpose.… It keeps coming back to money. Miss Caudle is nothing if not consistent.”
“Well … Mavis thought that we should double the request.”
“Two thousand pounds. Fine. Done. Call off the duel.”
“She’ll want the money first.”
“Barley, you know that I cannot collect two thousand pounds in”—Lydia glanced around for a clock, of which there was none, then speculated—“fourteen hours. Banks are no longer open, and arrangements would have to be made with Mr. Lynch and Uncle Arthur. I do not have access to such a sizable amount of money.”
He winced. “Yes, I thought it might prove difficult. Mayhap a letter would do. Yes, I might be able to persuade Mavis with a promissory note.”
“Persuade her? Barley, do you not realize that Mavis is pulling your strings? You are her puppet. She has dragged you from the straight path and pushed you down the slippery slope of vice. Have you not fathomed yet that you can be arrested for what you have done!”
“No one will speak of the duel. It’s an unwritten rule.”
“Not for the duel, Barley. For arranging my kidnapping and trying to extort money from me. Call it blackmail, call it fraud, it is all illegal.”
“But I am a baron.”
“It is still illegal, Barley.”
“What is going on?” A new voice echoed throughout the room.
Lydia whirled around to find herself nose to nose with Mavis Caudle. “Ah, speak of the devil, and here you are.” She lifted her cheeks in a semblance of a smile.