Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Cheltenham, England

1818

"You do realize that these ridiculous balls are a complete waste of a woman's time, right?"

Lydia Carter planted her hands on her hips and furrowed her brow. How could her younger sisters rattle on about something as trivial as the bloody Winstone ball when so many working class families around them struggled to survive?

Who cares about pompous parties when others are suffering so?

"Now, Lydia. Even you cannot deny the excitement of handsome Viscount Winstone finally returning from his travels. And just in time for the biggest event of the season hosted by the Countess Winstone herself!" Middle sister Eleanor studied her reflection in the full-length mirror as the family's seamstress hemmed her newest formal gown of silver, adorned with delicate embroidered white flowers.

Lydia huffed in reply, then paced back and forth in her white linen shift around the large dressing room. The three sisters often shared this private room for fittings and alterations.

"The return of Lord Joseph Penton has no value to me whatsoever, Eleanor. He's just another titled man with no concern for society beyond the privileged ton. Besides, we all know that his mother, the imposing countess you so admire, loves any opportunity to pretend to be queen."

The gasps that filled the room stopped Lydia's steps. She turned around to see both of her sisters' mouths agape and the seamstress wide-eyed with shock.

"Lydia! If Mama heard you speak those scandalous words, she'd have such a fit it would burst her corset strings!" Youngest sister Charlotte admonished the eldest with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. She held two jewel-encrusted necklaces in each hand and shook them for effect.

"You just helped prove my point, Charlotte. Women in society aren't allowed to have their own opinions, much less share them without the risk of ruin. Marrying a viscount would only silence me more. So why would I ever consider that fate?"

"Because the rest of us would savor the peace?" Eleanor smirked at Lydia, then winked at Charlotte.

"An excellent quip for someone with such grace and poise, Eleanor." Charlotte winked back with a smile.

"I learned from the best, dear sister."

"Oh, would the two of you stop? I wish to never waste my time explaining the plights of others to you again." Lydia pulled on her robe and stomped toward the dressing room door.

"Rest assured we share that wish, sister! And one less woman competing for Lord Penton's attention does not ruin our day!"

Charlotte's retort echoed in the hallway as Lydia left the dressing room and slammed the door behind her.

Back in her own bed chamber, Lydia's frustration only grew. But she knew what would help ease her mind, even if her sisters didn't understand the things that mattered to her the most.

Lydia tucked her long chestnut hair into a loose bun and pulled on her most comfortable country dress. It was moss green, well-worn, and didn't make anyone think the wearer might be the eldest daughter of a marquess.

While her sisters longed to stand out, Lydia preferred to blend in with the background, especially during her many walks in the beautiful landscape surrounding their country home.

A walk is just what I need to clear my head. And maybe make a difference in someone else's life.

After donning her plainest-looking cloak and bonnet, Lydia dismissed her maid for the afternoon. Walking quickly through the house, she peeked around every corner as she made her way through the floors and hallways leading to the basement steps.

Once below ground, Lydia hesitated a moment to build her confidence, then entered the vast kitchen as if she belonged there.

However, the cook's pinched face that greeted her did not reflect a sense of welcome.

"Another one of your extravagant picnics, I presume, Lady Lydia?" Mrs. Tate raised an eyebrow and continued beating a large bowl of eggs.

"Yes! Thank you, Mrs. Tate. Is the largest garden basket where it usually…"

"Right where you left it yesterday, m'lady."

"Ah, good! I'll pack it myself again, thank you."

Lydia lifted the large handled basket off the bench inside the back door, then waved at Mrs. Tate with a painted-on smile. She was always self-conscious during these visits to the kitchen and worried her true intentions would one day be discovered.

Fortunately, she could pack her basket alone. Most of the foods she sought were stored in the root cellar and the ice house behind the house.

But Lydia wasn't na?ve. She knew the cook suspected she was giving food away, though she never outright accused her of it. Perhaps Mrs. Tate secretly supported Lydia's efforts to help those in need among the tenants on their land.

Or maybe she just didn't want to risk being an accomplice by learning more.

"You sure do have a hearty appetite for such a petite young lady." Mrs. Tate wiped her hands on her apron and grinned.

Lydia smiled in return, this time with sincere gratitude. "I suppose I'm still a growing girl, Mrs. Tate. Thank you again for the wonderful food."

She grabbed a loaf of sourdough bread from the many loaves cooling on the kitchen counter, then made her way outside.

Alone with the food stores in the ice house, Lydia added a steak and ale pie, plus cheese and butter to the bread in her basket. From the root cellar, she collected onions, potatoes, carrots, and a jar of gooseberry jam.

After stuffing her basket with as much food as it would hold, Lydia lugged it through the main garden and out the back gate on the other side. Every ten minutes or so during her walk through the neighboring fields, she had to set the basket down to stretch and switch arms. Yet the walk was still enjoyable despite the heavy load.

Lydia knew this area so well she was certain she could navigate it while blindfolded. However, the many trees, meadows, ponds, and mineral springs were too lovely to experience with closed eyes. Her father's land and this entire region were a natural treasure to behold.

The farms on her family's estate were also magnificent sights, with rolling fields of wheat and other crops next to green pastures where many sheep grazed.

It wasn't long before one of her favorite tenant farms came into view. But the sight of it also filled Lydia with sadness. The Musgrove family was struggling to keep their crops healthy on nutrient-depleted soil. Their requests for assistance had thus far been ignored by the Marquess of Briarwood, Lydia's father.

Unfortunately, Lydia's pleas to her father and even her older brother, William, were also denied. She'd spent several evenings over the past year interrupting their conversations in her father's study to try to influence their decisions about the farms in their care.

Her last attempt a fortnight ago had not gone well.

"Father, as you know, most farms have three fields so as to let one recover while the other two are sown. But the Musgroves only have one crop field to themselves! Can we not spare more land for their expansion? Surely our estate would benefit from every farmer's success."

Lord Briarwood had wrinkled his nose and sneered at his daughter. "A young lady has no business getting involved in these affairs! You tire me with your frivolous questions, Lydia. The Musgroves are struggling because John isn't efficient or skilled at farming. If he does not meet his quotas for the fall harvest, we will not renew his lease at the end of the year and that is final."

When Lydia had started to protest, her father slammed a ledger onto his desk with great force. "William, remove your sister from this room before I have her banned from the entire house!"

William had done as he was told and escorted Lydia out of their father's study immediately. Though her only brother was usually forgiving of Lydia's passionate speeches in the name of justice, even he had been losing patience with her relentlessness.

"Sister, you're forgetting one of the golden rules. You get more bees with honey than with vinegar. Stop pushing Father to do your bidding and realize the only movement forward will happen if he thinks it's his idea."

Lydia had grabbed her brother's hands to get him to listen to her one more time before the subject was dropped. "Please come with me to visit the Musgroves. When you see the hungry children and the father's broken spirit, you will not be so dismissive if you have a beating heart in your chest."

But William had seemed too distracted by private matters lately to concern himself with yet another tenant farmer's complaints. So, Lydia convinced herself that all men of society must be the same. Even the estate managers, like her father, seemed to care less about the challenges their tenants faced than their own social obligations.

Noblemen with political influence who turned their backs on the people they represented were not the kind of men she wanted to be around. Much less marry!

The fact that her father and brother were among those men was hard for Lydia to reconcile. Because of their lack of concern, she took it upon herself to secretly support the farmers in any way she could.

When she reached the Musgrove family cottage by late afternoon, four-year-old Elsbeth and eight-year-old Clarissa were helping their mother plant seeds in a small flower patch by the front door.

"Mama, Lydia is here!" Clarissa ran toward Lydia while Elsbeth toddled close behind. Their mother stood and waved, then hunched over for a few seconds to catch her breath. Emma Musgrove was eight months pregnant and looked as tired as she probably felt.

"Oh, Lady Lydia. Have you brought us more food? You know we don't expect that of you. I worry your father will be terribly angry if he finds out."

Lydia set her basket down in the grass and gave Clarissa and Elsbeth each a big hug. "You let me worry about my father, Mrs. Musgrove. We have much more than we need. It would just go to waste if you don't enjoy it. Please, I insist."

Mrs. Musgrove thanked Lydia for her kindness and reached for the basket. "Oh my. You filled this one to the brim! We are grateful for your generosity."

Lydia saw how much the woman struggled to hold the extra weight in her condition, so took the basket back and offered to bring it inside.

The Musgrove cottage was small and sparsely furnished, but always clean and cozy. Emma gave her girls each a small slice of bread with jam from the basket, then lit a fire in the fireplace and put a kettle on for tea.

"Please, have a seat, Lady Lydia. You must be tired from your long walk and I enjoy the company. Mr. Musgrove is in the field most of the day right now. He's been adding as much manure as he can find to the soil and comes home smelling of a barn!"

Lydia laughed. She was nestled in a creaky old rocking chair made comfortable by Emma's handmade cushions. "I'm glad for the company, too. Though I love my sisters, we don't seem to have much to talk about these days other than how different we are."

"Enjoy your sisters while you can. Mine live so far away now we rarely see each other anymore."

Lydia nodded as she accepted a hot cup of chamomile tea, but her thoughts didn't match her outward agreement. She wasn't sure spending more time with her sisters could bring them closer as friends these days. There were too many topics that caused their relationship strife.

Similarly, Lydia avoided certain topics during her visits at the Musgrove house, too. It was fruitless to complain with Emma about how bad things had become for the Musgroves and other farmers. The women preferred instead to focus on enjoying their time together with chats about their shared interests, like books and gardening.

Emma hadn't owned many books until Lydia started sharing ones from her family's library. Now the Musgroves had a shelf overflowing with gifted books.

"I just finished the Lady of the Lake story and adored it. Magical legends are such a fun escape from ordinary life." Emma pulled the book from the shelf and handed it to Lydia.

"Then please keep this one, too, Mrs. Musgrove! I'm so glad you enjoyed it. The King Arthur stories are some of my favorites and I have plenty more at home to read."

Emma replaced the book on her shelf and thanked Lydia for yet another gift. "You spoil us, m'lady. And please call me Emma. We are friends, are we not?"

Lydia smiled. "We are indeed, Emma. I am glad for it."

After playing with the Musgrove girls in the sun for a while, Lydia waved goodbye and promised to visit them again soon.

She had to tear her eyes away from the skinny little girls in dresses that hung loosely on their bodies. If it was the last thing she did, she would make sure these girls grew up strong and healthy and well-fed.

And somehow help more farmers across their land and beyond it along the way.

On her walks home, Lydia loved to take a slightly different route to visit a beautiful mineral spring surrounded by trees. It was a magical oasis near the edge of a meadow where every flower seemed to bloom brighter and longer.

Years ago, when she discovered it, she'd named the spring "Fairyland Spring" and spent hours there lying near the water and daydreaming about fantastical things. It was the only time and the only place where Lydia allowed her imagination to run wild.

In her younger days, she'd indulged in dreams of handsome princes and crystal castles. Now she dreamed of more practical things, like having the power to turn freshly plowed earth into a cottage full of gold.

Lydia could smell the sulfur of the Fairyland Spring long before she reached it. As soon as she passed the first clutch of oak trees, she would enter the secluded area that led to the water.

It was at this point during most visits that she would start peeling her clothes away from her body. Though Lydia knew the importance of being careful about bathing in a hot spring, this one was the perfect temperature for a quick and therapeutic dip.

She hung her cloak and bonnet on a bare branch of one of her favorite trees in the small clearing. Her windblown bun of wavy chestnut hair came loose easily before she kicked off her muddy boots, then slid her stockings off.

Soon she was down to her linen shift, which felt so freeing under the dappled sunlight slipping through the tree canopy above her head. Her anticipation to feel the hot spring water melting her cares away grew by the second as she walked around the last length of trees to where her secret oasis awaited.

When Lydia rounded the corner, she got the shock of her life.

A man was bathing in her private spring! And he was naked!

Lydia completely forgot about her own state of undress as she stomped toward the edge of the spring and shouted at the intruder who was facing away from her.

"Sir! You are trespassing on private property! I demand that you leave at once!"

The man turned around with his hazel eyes opened wide and gaped at Lydia from the water. But his shock turned to amusement within seconds and his opened mouth spread into a grin.

"Well, hello young maiden. I beg your pardon. I didn't realize anyone lived in these trees to guard this spring."

Lydia glared at the stranger, then looked away when it was impossible not to study his strong jawline and broad naked shoulders. "I'll ask you again, sir, to please leave these premises and never return."

She saw his pale tunic draped over a bush near the rest of his clothes. Still fueled by anger, Lydia grabbed the tunic and threw it toward him into the spring.

"Here. Please get dressed and go."

The naked stranger slowly stood until the water level was just below his navel. Lydia gasped but couldn't tear her eyes away from his muscular torso. She followed his fine dusting of body hair down to the clouded hint of his anatomy that was hidden below the water line.

"I'll get dressed if you do, miss. Or is it my lady? Either way, it wouldn't be proper for me to join you on the bank of any spring while you're wearing that."

The handsome stranger pointed at Lydia's clothes and kept on grinning. She finally looked down to see her shift and squealed with surprise. Full of new panic, Lydia covered herself with her arms as best she could and scolded the naked stranger once more.

"Oh, you are a beast! Stop looking at me!"

The stranger averted his eyes as Lydia stared at his physique with the strongest feeling she almost didn't recognize, like the release of a thousand butterflies in her belly and a storm between her thighs.

The awakening of desire.