Chapter 14

"Are you all right, Lydia? You seem rather quiet," Philip noted as they sat in the carriage.

Lydia had been looking out the window, but now she looked up at him and nodded. "I'm all right, yes. It's just… well, I was thinking… perhaps we should delay our honeymoon—if we're to have one."

Philip looked at her in surprise. "Are you fearful of it being like Caroline and Edward's honeymoon? You don't want to stay in London for the rest of the Season, do you?" he asked.

Lydia shook her head. "No, it's not that," she said, even though she knew her reasoning sounded foolish.

She had been thinking more about the bolting horse, and about her cousin, and about jealousy, and about a myriad of other things she might fear in marrying Philip. It seemed ridiculous to think Caroline wanted to enact some form of revenge against her, and yet she could not rid herself of the thought—of the possibility.

"Then what is it? I want you to be happy, Lydia. I want us both to be happy. But if there's something troubling you, please tell me," he said.

"Not now. Later. I'd just prefer to stay in London for now. To get used to being married. It's going to be a change for us both. A big change," Lydia replied.

Philip nodded. She wondered what he really thought, what he really wanted. Surely he could not be content with marrying her for the sake of a mere kiss—a kiss that did not even really occur. It was extraordinary to think what that moment had led to, even as now there could be no hiding from it. They were married. Lydia was now the Countess of Walford, having all the privileges and responsibilities accompanying her new title. It seemed extraordinary, and yet it was the truth, too.

"I know it is. But we'll make the best of it. We were friends in the past, and I'm certain we can be friends again. Don't you think?" he said, and Lydia nodded.

She wanted it to work, for their marriage to be more than a mere convenience, and yet still she held back from the possibility of it being so. Lydia did not know what she wanted, but now she had no choice but to accept what was. They sat in silence for the rest of the journey.

Philip's London house was a grand dwelling on a fashionable street, flanked by colonnades and tall windows, built of white marble, with large black doors at the top of a flight of steps, through which Philip now ushered her. Lydia had been there as a child on many occasions, but now it felt different than before—no longer a place she might look forward to coming to, but a place that could well turn into a prison…

"What are the… sleeping arrangements?" Lydia asked, for she had had most of her things sent over the previous day and was wondering where they were put.

Were they to share a bedroom, or have connected rooms? What level of intimacy was expected of her?

"There's a bedroom opposite my own. I thought… well, it's unoccupied, and a pleasant set of rooms. There's a sitting room, too," Philip said, nodding towards two maids waiting at the bottom of the stairs. "They'll show you upstairs. I'll see you at dinner."

Lydia nodded. She had not known what to expect, but the arrangement sounded fair, and she was glad to think she would have her own sitting room to retreat to.

"I'll see you later," Lydia returned.

Philip nodded. "Lydia, I… You're very welcome here. I hope you know that. I'm glad you're here."

Lydia smiled. "Thank you," she replied, before following the maids upstairs.

The bedroom was comfortably furnished, and the sitting room was well-appointed. The two rooms looked out over the gardens at the back of the house, and the maids had already unpacked most of her belongings.

"There's just the question of what dress you'll wear tonight, My Lady," one of them said.

Lydia chose a blue dress for the evening, along with a yellow shawl. Dinner was at eight o'clock, and having lain down to rest for an hour, she summoned the maid to help her wash and dress.

"Have you worked for His Lordship for long?" she asked as she sat at the dressing table for the maid to comb her hair.

"Since he was a child, My Lady. I was the Dowager Countess's lady's maid, but now I'm to be your lady's maid," Catherine replied.

Lydia nodded. She was curious to know more about Philip, though as for how to go about asking such questions, she was uncertain.

"Do you find him a fair employer?" Lydia asked.

The maid nodded. "Yes, My Lady. I've always enjoyed working for His Lordship."

Lydia smiled. "I'm glad to hear it. Tell me… did his cousin ever visit? Lord Westborough, I mean."

Catherine thought for a moment. "Sometimes, My Lady, yes. I think there was some rivalry between them in their younger days, but later, they got on well. I suppose it can't be easy, knowing you're the one who missed out on the title because of an accident of birth," she said.

Lydia's curiosity was piqued. "What do you mean?" she asked.

The maid blushed. "Well, I don't want to speak out of turn, My Lady. But His Lordship had always been the heir. It's the Baron—Lord Westborough—who was second in line. If something were to happen to His Lordship, God forbid, then Lord Westborough would inherit everything. Unless there is an heir," she explained.

"I see. Thank you, Catherine," Lydia said as she rose to her feet.

She had been curious to know more about Philip's relationship with his cousin, but she had not appreciated the line of inheritance, or what it meant. But it was obvious, of course. Edward was the one who had lost out. An accident of birth now ensured his lowly status, just as an accident of birth ensured all the privileges Philip, and Lydia, now enjoyed. If she and Philip had a child, that child would be the heir, and Lydia could only imagine how that would make Edward feel.

Ambition…

But Caroline surely knew the same—that Philip's death would mean her husband's rise, and her own. It was an absurd thought, but not one without substance. As Lydia went downstairs for dinner, her mind was filled with that realization. She did not want to believe it was true, and she certainly had no evidence to prove it. But Caroline's jealousy was clear, and if she had ambitions—as Lydia knew she did—the possibility of the horse's bolting not being an accident was very real…

"What a pretty dress you've chosen," Philip complimented as Lydia entered the drawing room, to find him standing by the window.

As a child, she had never entered the drawing room. It had been his father's domain—a place where those older and wiser in years discussed important matters. Children were not allowed. The room was comfortably furnished in the oriental style, with large, intricately patterned rugs on the floor, and the walls decorated with hangs and exotic prints.

Lydia looked around her with interest, but seeing Philip standing there, in his father's place, reminded her of just how much had changed. They had both grown up, and she knew Philip had changed. He no longer had anything to prove. His position was certain, and Lydia could only admire him for the way he had assumed his father's position and duties. It was not easy to be the heir—she had seen that for herself in Ezra, and now she saw the same in her husband.

"I wanted to make an effort. We have to look as though… well, you understand," she replied.

He smiled. "I do," he said, offering her a glass of sherry.

She stood with him at the window, the two of them looking out over the garden. Lydia did not know how to broach the subject of her fears over Caroline. It seemed a strange way to begin a conversation—telling him she suspected the horse he had saved her from was meant to kill him.

"I've been thinking about what happened the other day. With the horse, I mean," she began.

Philip looked at her curiously. "It was a tragic accident. I felt sorry for the stable hand—goodness knows what happened to him when his master discovered what had happened. And the trainers, too. A bolting horse is hardly going to be a good runner when it comes to racing."

Lydia blushed. She felt foolish for not having told him sooner. Would he even believe her now?

"I… I don't think it was an accident. I didn't want to worry you back then, but the horse had a cut on its leg. Someone wanted to make it bolt—it was deliberate." She sighed.

Philip stared at her in astonishment. "Really? But that's impossible. Why would they do such a thing?" he exclaimed.

Lydia hardly dared say why she thought so. It seemed incredible, and yet it was the truth as she saw it—someone acting on the orders of her cousin or Edward had caused the horse to bolt in their direction, hoping to cause a fatal accident, and thus allowing Edward to inherit the title and the estate. To put it in such stark terms made it seem incredible, and Lydia even began to doubt herself once again.

"So that your cousin could inherit the title before there was a chance for you… for us to produce an heir," Lydia replied.

Philip stared at her in astonishment. "Oh, really, Lydia, come now. You can't possibly think that. No, it's too far-fetched. Edward and I get on well—for now, at least. There was some rivalry between us in our youth, but that's all forgotten now. No, don't be ridiculous. Perhaps the horse was nicked when it was being brushed—these things happen. It was an accident," he insisted.

Lydia shook her head. She was not a fool, nor would she be dismissed. She had seen the look on Caroline's face. She knew of her cousin's jealousy, and she knew her to be ambitious, even to the point of losing her common sense.

"But it makes sense, doesn't it? Think about it, Philip. If something happened to you, it would be Edward who would inherit the title. Isn't that correct?" she asked.

Philip nodded. "That's right, yes," he relented.

"Well then, it's perfectly reasonable then—though terrible, I admit. You saw him and Caroline together. She was angry, Philip. I know her, and her mother. She's so… jealous," Lydia said.

She had seen it on Caroline's face, that look of jealousy. Before their betrothal, there had been no question about it. But now…

"But… I just don't understand. Why would she be like that? Why would she want it badly enough to—oh, I can't accept it, Lydia. I know you were upset about the horse. It was horrible. But I really think it's preposterous to suggest it was our cousins who orchestrated the accident. Do you really believe they're involved in some kind of… murderous plot against me?" Philip asked incredulously.

Lydia sighed. She was beginning to wish she had not mentioned the matter. He was right. It was all too far-fetched. But despite telling herself as much, she could not help but feel as though there was something there. It made sense, as awful as it was.

"I know it's horrible, Philip, but there's something in it. I'm certain of it. I don't know if I've got everything right, but the facts fit the circumstances. If something were to happen to you—to us—Caroline would become the next Countess of Walford. All her dreams and ambitions would come true. I'm not saying it's Edward who's the mind behind such wickedness. Perhaps she's forcing him to do it," Lydia persisted.

Philip shook his head. "No, Lydia, that's enough. It's been a long day. A lot has happened in the past few weeks. Neither of us are where we expected to be. Let's just have dinner and then… go to bed."

Lydia took his hand in hers. "Please, at least promise me you'll be careful—that we'll be careful. I can't bear it if something happens to you. I really can't," she begged.

Philip nodded, a smile playing on his lips. "Can't I be trusted to look after myself?" he teased.

Lydia sighed. "Don't say it like that, Philip. I know you can. It's just… all of this… it's so… strange."

Philip turned to her and put his hands on her arms, giving her what was perhaps meant to be a reassuring look. "I know it is. I'm sorry, Lydia. It wasn't supposed to be like this, was it? I know things won't be easy at first, but we'll get used to it. Try to put these thoughts out of your mind, though. You'll only upset yourself. I doubt we'll have anything to do with my cousin and Caroline. It's not like we're going to see them regularly. We needn't stay in London if you don't want to. Why don't we go on a honeymoon, like I suggested? It would be good for you—for us both," he suggested.

Lydia sighed. She was worried at the thought of going somewhere, in case something happened. She knew she was being irrational, but the incident with the horse had scared her. She was fearful of something happening to Philip—of something happening to them both.

"I'll think about it," she acquiesced, just as the butler came to announce that dinner was ready.

But Lydia was not hungry. It had been such a strange day—getting married, leaving her old life behind, and realizing the possibility of a lethal threat. She toyed with her food, trying to put the matter out of her mind. But try as she might, she could not rid herself of her fear as to what was to come next. Danger could present itself in many forms—a sabotaged carriage wheel, a servant paid to put poison in the tea, a shadow in the night…

"Lydia, are you all right?" Philip queried.

Lydia looked up at him, realizing she had been swirling her spoon in her pudding aimlessly. "I… oh, yes. I'm sorry. My mind's elsewhere," she admitted.

Philip shook his head and sighed. "You should go to bed. I'd only be talking at you if you remain at the table."

Lydia felt guilty. She knew this arrangement—this marriage—was not his choice. At least he had not asked to marry herbecause he loved her. Ezra has forced his hand—perhaps he had even threatened him. And now they had no choice but to make the best of it, and to live together as husband and wife—whatever such a life would be like.

"I'm sorry, Philip. I'm sure I'll feel better in the morning," Lydia said as she rose from the table.

He did the same, nodding to her as she threw her napkin aside. She had barely eaten a mouthful, but she was glad to get ouf of the dining room and find refuge in her bedroom, locking the door behind her.

"Are you sure there's nothing you need, My Lady?" Catherine had asked her, but Lydia had dismissed her.

She was beginning to trust no one, finding everything surrounding her suspicious. Fear gripped her, and as she readied herself for bed, she wondered what could be done to alleviate those fears.

Should I confront her?

But the very thought was simply ridiculous.

Lydia had no evidence against her cousin. There had been no threat, not even open hostility. Caroline and Edward had been a model of civility. But behind the fa?ade, Lydia had sensed a deepening resentment. Jealousy was the worst of traits. It festered, simmering beneath the surface, ready to boil over without a moment's notice.

Lydia would never have suspected her cousin of such wickedness in the past, but now the idea was firmly planted in her mind, and the possibility of what it could mean had taken root.

As she pulled the blanket around her that night, she remained fearful. The horse had come out of nowhere, and she felt certain the next attempt would be far better executed…

But will he believe me by then?

She closed her eyes, praying Philip would take this threat seriously.