Chapter 12

"Goodness, I hardly recognized you!" Jenny Hen declared as Lydia popped into the kitchens to say her farewells.

"I wanted to tell you that we are leaving now, so you will have a quiet manor at last." Lydia made to step further into the steamy room, but the ruddy-faced, cheery cook gave a yelp of alarm.

"Stay where you are! I won't be responsible for ruining that beautiful gown with a spill of something or a dusting of flour. I wouldn't forgive myself."

Lydia chuckled and retreated to the threshold. "I am not accustomed to dressing so nicely either."

"Nonsense. You always look like royalty to me." Jenny Hen washed her hands, took off her apron, and ushered Lydia out into the hallway. "I'll walk with you to the front to wave you off. Oh, that reminds me…"

She darted back into the kitchens and grabbed a wax paper parcel that had been sitting on the nearby counter.

Lydia eyed the package. "And what might that be?"

"A few of your favorites for the journey." Jenny Hen smiled. "I've taken it upon myself to put some more meat on your bones, and as you'll not be here for a while, this is the best I can do, short of sending you daily parcels. Though, I might yet do that, since I'll have no one but the staff to feed."

Lydia beamed with delight. "Thank you, Jenny."

"It's my pleasure." The cook patted the parcel. "Truth be told, I'm glad you're following him down to London. When he said he was going away, I thought he was half-mad. Would've drilled some sense into him if I'd thought he would listen, but you're doing the right thing."

"I hope so." Lydia let out a nervous breath.

For the past three-and-a-half days, she had spent most of her time writing notes on the things she had learned about seduction from her sister, Marina, and Nancy, and rehearsing what she would do in her mind.

The rest of the time, she had decided to make a good impression on the servants, getting to know them, learning their names, hoping to win them over so that they might impart some knowledge about Will that she could use to her advantage.

But Beth and Jenny Hen had become her favorites, so friendly and welcoming that she occasionally forgot that she planned to leave Stonebridge one day soon, never to return.

"Beth told me you've been teaching her to read," Jenny Hen said as they headed up the stairs to the main hallway of the western wing.

Lydia nodded shyly. "I hope you do not mind. She mentioned that you had once tried to teach her to no avail, so I should hate for you to think I am trying to usurp you."

"Why would I mind? Mercy, it'll change things for the girl if she can master it." Jenny Hen laughed. "I'm not the most patient teacher, and she was at an age when daughters don't like to listen to their mothers, so I can only thank you for doing what I couldn't."

Lydia paused. "How did you learn to read?"

"His Grace taught me when he was a young'un," Jenny replied with a fond smile. "When he was learning, he'd teach me what he'd learned. After that, I couldn't be stopped."

Those sorts of stories kept popping up over the past few days, almost every servant having a tale of Will's kindness and generosity to tell her. From buying the gardener new boots to rounding up sheep that had strayed in the middle of a storm to fixing fences with his own hands to finding alternative work for the old stablemaster after he went blind.

"I wish I could meet this duke I have heard such wonderful things about," Lydia said with a faint smile. "I believe I would like him."

Jenny Hen laughed. "He's got a hard shell, but he's one of the best people I know. I've got faith that you'll warm up to one another, though I still can't fathom what he was thinking, going off to London without you." She tutted under her breath. "I suppose he'll have had his reasons. He always does."

"You would not happen to know what they might be, would you?"

For the past few days, Lydia had hoped that Jenny, of all the servants, might reveal some secrets about Will.

But as ever, she proved to be a veritable fortress. "You'll have to ask him when you see him and give him my regards when you do."

"I will."

They had come to the main entrance, and though servants were not supposed to use those doors, Jenny led Lydia out onto the porch steps anyway.

The carriage waited up ahead, loaded with enough belongings to last a week or so, for Lydia had no idea how long she would be staying in London. Will might well send her back immediately, despite her lessons in seduction and the gown she wore.

"Well, farewell until I return," Lydia said, taking Jenny's hand and giving it a squeeze.

Jenny squeezed back. "Enjoy yourself. We'll be looking forward to you coming back, though. I hate it when the manor is quiet."

"Then it is fortunate that it constantly groans and creaks of its own volition." Lydia smiled and began to make her way down the steps to the carriage.

"Your Grace?" Jenny said, prompting Lydia to pause.

"Did I forget something?"

The cook headed down to meet her, whispering, "No one in this manor will tell a soul that you've spoken with the Dowager, so don't you be worrying about it. It's… right that you're getting to know her." She hesitated. "Of course, don't tell His Grace I said that."

"I will not if you will not," Lydia promised, confused—and not for the first time—about what had occurred between son and mother to make their relationship so frosty.

Indeed, Anthony did not seem to share Will's opinion of their mother, for Lydia had seen them walking together often and talking amiably in the past few days, which made it all the more bewildering.

Still, at least she could be safe in the knowledge that her rule bending would not make it to Will's ears. After he had broken her rule, thenshe might admit the truth. Not a moment before.

The carriage came to a standstill outside the resplendent white pillars of the Opera House, but Lydia did not emerge immediately. Her heart was racing, her nerves a violent force that had her trembling from head to toe. It was almost as terrifying as debuting again. In a way, she supposed she was—making her first grand entrance into Society, unaccompanied, as the Duchess of Stonebridge.

"If you cannot do it, or he is not there, you know where to find us," Emma said, putting her arms around Lydia. "I am sorry we cannot attend with you, but I fear I would embarrass you by ejecting all of those delicious cakes that the cook packed for us."

Silas nodded, resting a gentle hand on his wife's back. "My offer still stands, Lydia."

"Thank you, but I think it would be less appropriate to enter with a gentleman who is not my husband than it would be to enter alone," Lydia replied, putting on a brave face.

There was one stark difference between being an unwed woman of the ton and being a married one, and that was the lack of need for a chaperone. She had never really done anything by herself when it came to gatherings and events, but the prospect of shocking Will strengthened her resolve.

If you thought you could just leave and I would accept it, you do not know who you have married. But you are about to find out.

"You look… ethereal, Lydia," Emma said, choked up.

Silas smiled. "The Duke of Stonebridge clearly does not know how fortunate he is, but he shall this evening. Any man who marries a Bennet woman is destined for great things."

"They do not always realize it immediately, of course," Emma teased, flashing an adoring smile at her husband. A moment later, she seemed to remember that her sister's situation was not her own and whispered, "He will undoubtedly regret losing you, but I look forward to your day of true freedom. And if you need somewhere safe, or any further help, come to us."

Lydia pressed a kiss to her sister's cheek. "Go home and cease your worrying. It cannot be good for the baby, and I fear I am delaying your rest. I will be quite well. If nothing else, I will get to enjoy the opera." She paused. "And I will see you soon to let you know how I fared."

With that, she knocked on the door to let the footman know she was ready.

The young man barely remembered to offer his hand to help her down, his eyes wide and his mouth falling open. He also seemed to have forgotten that he had already seen her when they had departed Stonebridge.

"Have a… lovely evening, Your Grace," he struggled to say, letting go.

Lydia flashed him a bright smile. "I hope to."

With no husband at her side, she took a steadying breath and made her way up the wide marble steps of the Opera House. Other ladies flowed upward in streams of jeweled color, holding onto the arms of husbands, brothers, and fathers.

She was barely halfway up when she heard the first whispers.

"Who is that?" someone gasped.

"Is she from the Royal Court?"

"Cecilia, do you know her?"

"Why is she alone? It cannot be safe for such a lady to be unescorted. Do you think I ought to offer my hand?"

"My goodness, that gown! Where do you think she had it made? Shall I ask?"

"Such exquisite beading. I have not seen its like since I was young."

Lydia fought the urge to smile as she continued toward the main doors of the Opera House, where a crowd was mingling before they were called to their seats.

But as Lydia stepped through, it was as if the curtains had been drawn back and the performance had already begun. Gasps and hushed muttering rippled around the foyer, many of the clustered groups falling silent mid-sentence, their shock contorting their faces.

There was still noise babbling away, but to Lydia, it felt as if everyone had gone completely quiet. And their stares were louder than their whispers.

Furtively, she searched the crowd for any sign of Will. She had arrived rather late in the hope that she would not bump into him until he was already in his private box.

Breathing a sigh of relief when she did not find him anywhere, she approached the box office. "Excuse me."

The man standing there made no attempt to hide his dumbfounded stare. He blinked and shook his head, snapping out of it. "Uh… yes, Mademoiselle, how may I help you?"

"I have no ticket, but I think my husband is here this evening," she said in the soft, sultry voice she had been practicing. "I was wondering if you might be able to do something to secure me a seat."

His throat bobbed. "Who is your husband, Madame?"

"The Duke of Stonebridge."

His eyes bulged in a panic. "Apologies, Your Grace. I did not know. Please, forgive my ignorance for referring to you improperly."

"There is nothing to forgive." She flashed a bright smile. "I am new to the title, so even I have trouble remembering."

His expression relaxed into a smile of his own. "His Grace is already situated in his private box. Number four, up the staircase. No need for a ticket." He shouted back over his shoulder, "John, might you take my place while I escort Her Grace to her box?"

A younger man came to replace the first, who let himself out of a side door.

"This way," he said, and Lydia followed, flushing beneath the gaze of so many who were wondering aloud who she was.

Up the staircase and along a curving hallway furnished with a rich red carpet, the enormity of what she was about to do hit her nerves with a mighty blow. Part of her had, perhaps, hoped that her husband would not be in attendance or that she would be denied entry. But as her guide halted and said, "Here we are," she realized she had passed the point of no return.

After four days of researching seduction, listening to Mary's endless tales of how to handle a man, heeding Emma's advice about flirtation and how to win a husband's affections, then one entire morning of primping and preening, she was about to see her husband again.

The man from the box office knocked and then opened the door, gesturing for her to step inside.

"I already said I did not want anything," came Will's voice from beyond.

With a breath, Lydia breezed in, her head held high. "What a pity, for it seems someone has ordered you your wife."