Chapter 19

Having returned from another productive meeting with the Cruel Duke, William was walking down the townhouse's long entrance hall to reach his study when he spotted Anthony through the partially open door of the dining room.

"Where is Lydia today?" William asked, opening the door wider.

He had not seen his wife at breakfast and had assumed she was simply trying to perpetuate the aloof part of her temptress act, so he had gone about his day as usual.

The dining room was too bright, the mid-afternoon sunlight glaring off the starched white tablecloth. A few flower-filled vases and decorations adorned the table at random, hiding the stains beneath, for there was no money to buy new cloths. Not yet, anyway.

Anthony looked up from the papers, his luncheon half-eaten in front of him. "What do you mean?"

"It is not so difficult a question, is it?" William wandered over and stole an apple slice from his brother's plate.

Anthony frowned and set the papers down. "She has gone, Brother."

"Excuse me?" William stopped chewing, staring at Anthony. His heart seemed to stop too.

"She said you had instructed her to go on to Bruxton Hall ahead of you—that you would meet her there," Anthony replied, his voice suddenly anxious. "You did not, did you? Oh goodness, I should have known you would not have permitted such a thing, but she was so convincing!"

A sharp curse escaped William's lips. "Yes, you should have known." He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, bracing the other against the back of Anthony's chair. "Was she accompanied, at least?"

This cannot be happening.

It was all too reminiscent of bygone days he had tried to forget, yet, in that instant, it was like history repeating itself. A shudder ran through his chest.

"Her sister came for her," Anthony replied. "Her brother-in-law too."

William nodded, clawing back his air of unbothered calm. "Well, that is something, at least." He paused. "Indeed, it is understandable that she would want to spend some time with her sister and her friends before I arrive. I have too much to attend to here in London. Now, I shall be able to attend to everything without distractions. Why, I should say she has done me a favor."

He could not let his brother see how truly disturbed he was, nor how hard he was fighting to maintain an even temper.

"Are you quite all right, Brother?" An amused smile played on Anthony's lips. "You appear to be trying to convince yourself that you do not mind a jot, though you are not convincing me."

William sniffed. "I do not mind in the slightest. I told her she could do as she pleased, and she is in good company with the Duke and Duchess of Bruxton, as well as her sister and her sister's husband. Why should it concern me?"

"I do not know—that is what I am hoping you will tell me," Anthony replied. "Why is it concerning you?"

William had a faint inkling of why it was so concerning to him, but he would not admit it to Anthony. If he did, he would be confirming what his brother had said the previous day—that he was afraid his wife would turn out to be like his mother. And he would not allow anyone—or himself—to believe that he was afraid of anything.

So, he rolled his eyes instead. "You are far too fanciful, Anthony, and I have a mountain of correspondence to get through. If you will excuse me."

He stole another apple slice from Anthony's plate and headed out of the dining room, chewing with a vengeance. It was one thing for her to be defiant at Stonebridge or the townhouse, it was quite another for her to let her defiance take her out of his sight.

This is what you wanted…

Lydia's words came back to haunt him as he marched down the hallway to his study and slammed the door shut behind him.

"I cannot walk in this gown," Lydia whispered to her sister, who held tightly to her arm as they descended the stairs of Bruxton Hall. "I am going to trip and fall on my face."

Emma laughed. "I have you. You will not fall."

Lydia jolted as if she had trodden on a pin, for those were the exact words that Will had said to her when he had ushered her into that glorious waltz. Yet, she doubted he would want to waltz with her that evening, even if it were to be permitted.

"Do you think he will be angry with me?" she asked, chewing on her lower lip.

Emma frowned. "Your husband?"

Lydia nodded.

"It is not unusual for a wife to journey ahead of her husband, especially if there is a gathering at a friend's residence," Emma replied gently. "Silas does not want me to venture anywhere alone, but that is understandable, considering what happened to him. Still, he is an exception. Joanna and Nancy always arrive ahead of their husbands, and no one is ever angry."

It was easy to forget that things had not always been rosy for Emma and Silas. Dire events had brought the couple closer together but had undoubtedly left scars that were not yet entirely healed. Indeed, due to that recent, unpleasant history, Silas was likely more protective of his wife than most.

"I should have forewarned him," Lydia fretted, pressing a hand to her stomach to try and push away the guilty sensation that swirled there.

She had not abandoned the townhouse out of pettiness but out of necessity. If she had remained there another evening, she knew she would be a husk of a woman, for she had not been able to sleep for more than a couple of hours in that bedchamber. Every creak and tiny sound had roused her from slumber with a start, thinking it was the adjoining door opening.

Worst of all, part of her had wanted it to be the door opening and her husband sneaking in to work his magic on her senses, sending her to paradise once more.

For her own sanity, she had needed distance. The irony was not lost on her.

"No, ignore that," Lydia decided, interrupting her own thoughts. "I would have forewarned him if he had done the decent thing and said ‘farewell' to me before venturing off to tend to his business matters. Besides, I left word with his brother—that ought to be good enough."

Emma smiled. "Certainly, it is, and if William takes umbrage with your earlier departure, I shall tell him that I coerced you. That I insisted. After all, who would attempt to quarrel with the requests of a pregnant woman?" She nudged Lydia lightly in the ribs. "Stop worrying, and enjoy yourself. A gown like that must be worn with confidence."

Lydia took a breath, relaxing at her sister's encouragement.

They continued down the stairs, and as they turned the corner, a few delighted gasps went up from the guests who were stepping into the grand entrance hall.

Lydia searched the small crowd for any sign of Will, but he was not among them. Perhaps he would not come at all, satisfied in the knowledge that she would likely look for him all night.

"Lydia, my goodness!" Joanna cheered, applauding the descent. "I was worried for a moment that I had invited a foreign princess to my ball and quite forgotten!"

Lydia blushed, snapping out her fan to cool her face. "You flatter me too much."

"Have you seen yourself?" Joanna chuckled. "It would be impossible to flatter you too much. You look… Goodness, I cannot even describe it. In all the years I have been in Society, I do not think I have ever seen a lady as beautiful as you. It is a transformation for the ages!"

A few gentlemen murmured their agreement, their eyes surveying Lydia hungrily. A few ladies were also in agreement, though the majority of the women seemed to be wearing hollow smiles that did not reach their pinched eyes. One or two mothers even turned up their noses in distaste.

"Jealousy is to be expected," Joanna whispered in Lydia's ear. "Pay no mind to it."

Remembering her lessons from Mary, Lydia straightened her posture and pulled her shoulders back, raising her chin ever so slightly. It bewildered her that anyone could be jealous of her, but even she was jealous of the character she had created—a bold and fearless woman who was not afraid to play teasing games with her husband.

A short while later, Lydia could breathe again as she stood on the periphery of the ballroom with Emma, Silas, and Joanna. She would have preferred to sit at one of the tables that surrounded the dance floor, or even on one of the chairs where the wallflowers congregated, but standing with friends and family was better than nothing.

Still, it did not prevent gentlemen from coming up to Lydia to ask if they might put their name on her dance card, and though it went against the rules, both Emma and Joanna had encouraged her to accept. And who was she to defy the instructions of other duchesses who undoubtedly knew better than her what was the right thing to do?

"It is how connections are made," Joanna explained. "And there are to be no waltzes tonight, so there is nothing scandalous to worry about."

Emma nodded. "It would be strange if you did not accept, though it is your choice. If you do not feel like dancing, you do not have to."

"You can always put their name down, and if you do not feel like dancing when they come to collect you, you can refuse," Joanna added. "There is liberty in being a married woman, Lydia, for one can almost do as one pleases. If I feel like dancing, I will. If I do not, I will not."

Lydia frowned. "And Edwin does not mind if you dance with someone who is not him?"

"Heavens no!" Joanna laughed. "He used to, but that was years ago, before he remembered how to be amongst Society and before Society remembered how to treat him with respect. Now, sometimes, I think he prefers to watch, for it builds the anticipation for when he and I dance together again."

She shot Emma a sneaky look, and not for the first time, Lydia felt as if she was on the outside of a secret society, trying her best to gain membership but, nevertheless, being turned away. Her books, such as they were, only covered so much. If nothing else, the feelings that Will had evoked inside her were enough to tell her that.

No book in her possession had ever described how her body had been transported to a realm of absolute bliss, how liquid fire had coursed through her veins, how she had bucked and writhed as if something else were in control of her, how one small, secret bud could create such a ferocious, euphoric storm, and how powerfully it had swept her away on its waves of pleasure.

Nor how much she would crave that feeling, now that she had a taste.

"Very well," Lydia said, for even if Will did not appear, he would undoubtedly hear of her exploits. And, as she had been assured by Mary, several days ago, nothing stirred up a man's wildest desires than hearing that she had been in the company of another man.

I almost got him to agree to my demand the other night, I am certain of it. A few more nudges, and I shall have him where I want him.

If she thought back, she could just about envision the moment that temptation had nearly overwhelmed him, the last time she had seen him. There had been such hunger in his eyes that it had been as frightening as it was exciting. But she had misjudged his restraint—she would leave nothing to chance, next time.

By the time an hour had passed, still with no sign of Will arriving, she had a full dance card and knew that the first gentleman on it would soon come to collect her for their agreed set.

Agitated, Lydia's gaze kept returning to the ornate, gilded ballroom doors, waiting for her husband to make his entrance. He was not the sort of gentleman to be early, but nor was he the sort to be unfashionably late. And he was becoming very late, indeed.

"Stop looking," a voice commanded as something was placed in her hand.

Lydia stared down to find her fingers wrapped around the stem of a punch glass and a familiar face at her side. "Mary! Goodness, you startled me."

"The flush in your cheeks will be useful," was all Mary said by way of apology. "Do not show any gentleman that you are eager, dearie. Not even my son."

"Why? Rather, why not?" Lydia fumbled, for she had thought she was supposed to appear eager.

In truth, the rules of seduction appeared to be a never-ending list of contradictions that was on the verge of making her head explode—be coy but not too coy, be flirtatious but not too flirtatious, be available to him but always be distant, show your figure but conceal everything, touch him often but do not let him touch you.

Mary shook her head like a disappointed governess. "My sweet girl, I had such high hopes for you." She paused. "If he has chosen to arrive late, you must show that you do not care in the slightest. Barely acknowledge him. Make him come to you. And no matter what you do, never let him win. If you let him win even once, he will take it all and leave."

"Take it all? Take all of what?" Lydia fidgeted with her capped sleeves, feeling rather like someone who had been hurled into the sea, with no notion of how to swim.

Mary shook her head again, but rather than answer in any useful fashion, she took that moment to wander off, heading toward an older gentleman like a magpie to silver. As she was making her way in his direction, attempting to catch his eye, another gentleman stepped into her path.

"Your Grace," the man said, dipping his head, "it has been a long while since I have seen you. If I may, I should like to have a word with you."

Mary glared at him. "I think not."

Before he could say anything more, she had moved on, leaving him staring after her like a forlorn puppy.

"Who is that?" Lydia asked, looking at Joanna and Emma. "A spurned lover or a lover who did the spurning?"

To her surprise, it was Silas who answered. "The Viscount Whiston. A widower. Never remarried. He has not been seen in Society for some time. A year or so, if I am not mistaken. Perhaps less. Has excellent vineyards and is a sage man of business."

"Silas, how on earth do you know all of that?" Emma chuckled. "You are not becoming a gossipmonger, are you?"

Silas smiled. "I am afraid it is nothing as salacious as that. There are many gentlemen who wish to have him join them as an investor, but they have not been able to correspond with him. One or two even went to his country seat, but he would not open the gates to them."

"How peculiar," Joanna remarked, glancing at Lydia. "You do not think your mother-in-law threatened him, do you?"

Lydia shrugged. "At this point, I believe my mother-in-law is capable of anything. She is… rather impressive, really."

Even now, Mary was drawing the gaze of many a gentleman, young and old alike. It was the way she held herself and the way she moved through a crowd as if she knew everyone else would part for her. Not to mention the provocative gown she wore—garnet red with a scandalous neckline, a ribbon tied too low to highlight her narrow waist, and a frill of red lace instead of sleeves—with a confidence that Lydia was struggling to emulate. People simply could not look away from the Dowager, as if they were looking upon something truly special.

At that moment, a gentleman approached. Lydia had already forgotten his name, but according to her dance card, he was the Earl of Gorsley.

He bowed low and elegantly, his hair fair where Will's was dark. And his eyes, when he raised them to her, were a crystalline blue. "I have come to claim my dance, Your Grace," he said in a rich, pleasant voice.

"Let us hope it is a lively one," Lydia replied, putting her hand in his.

As her dance partner led her to the dance floor, she could feel everyone staring, and for a moment, she wondered if she was not about to make a very grave mistake.