Chapter 4

"Wasn't it nice for you and Lydia to get reacquainted today? I had such a happy time talking to Joanna. It was as though no time at all had passed since our last meeting," the Dowager Countess of Walford said, beaming at her son across the carriage.

Philip looked up and nodded. He had been lost in thought, thinking of the very encounter his mother spoke of. It had been nice to get reacquainted with Lydia, even as a great deal of time had passed since they had last spoken. She had grown up—though it should not have come as a surprise to him. But in his mind, she was still the feisty youth who would follow the boys on their adventures, shunning any attempts to force her into a dress, and always preferring the rough games to the etiquette lessons her mother had imposed on her.

"It was, yes," he uttered, his mind still elsewhere, thinking of Lydia.

She had looked very pretty that day, dressed in a red dress with a yellow shawl, her dark blonde hair now shoulder length. She had always had a pretty face, but she had grown into her looks, appearing no longer an awkward youth but a blossoming woman. It had surprised him, for in the past, he had thought of her only as a friend.

"I think you should pursue your friendship with her, Philip. The two of you used to be close, didn't you? And why can't you be close again? There's nothing stopping either of you, is there?" his mother asked.

Philip shook his head.

His mother was right. There was nothing to prevent him and Lydia from rekindling their friendship. But he was wary. They had bickered in the past. The argument over letters from school, petty as it seemed, had driven a wedge between them. Philip readily admitted his part in their drifting apart, but encountering Lydia again had reminded him of the happy times they had shared in their youth—what seemed a lifetime ago.

At school, Philip had been caught up in new friendships and new experiences. He had neglected those friends—Lydia, in particular—with whom he had grown up, and an inevitable separation had ensued. And then there was Lydia herself. There were times he found her utterly infuriating. She teased him mercilessly, and sometimes she overstepped the mark.

He recalled an incident in their youth when she had spent an entire day laughing at him for falling off his horse, and her words had turned from humor into outright ridicule. It had upset him, and he had wanted nothing more than to get back at her…

"No, there isn't. It's just… it's been a long time," he said.

Lady Walford smiled. "Oh, Philip. Don't deny yourself a little happiness. Joanna and I were just saying what a delightful couple the two of you would make."

Philip rolled his eyes. "We haven't seen one another for seven years, Mother. We're both very different people. She has her life, I have mine. Besides, I don't think she really likes me that much. She was friendly enough, and we once got on very well. But… Oh, I don't know, it's not the same anymore."

His mother looked at him sympathetically. "But you've got to… make a match soon, Philip. There's the line to think of—an heir," she reminded him.

"But I'm not going to marry someone just because I need an heir, Mother. Or just because we were once acquainted in our youth. It's nonsense," Philip argued.

He had always been adamant about that fact—that he would not marry just anyone for the sake of continuing the line. He was still young—just twenty years old—and despite there being many women who would gladly take on the title of Countess of Walford, none of them had proved worthy of his attention.

"No, but you might get to know someone, and then… fall in love," Lady Walford countered.

Philip groaned. "Yes, that's the way it works, isn't it? But not because of my doing anything particular to make it so. I don't know what I want. And I certainly don't think Lydia wants whatever you think I might want," he said, shaking his head and sighing.

His mother looked at him sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Philip. Perhaps we were wrong to send you away to school. But your father was so insistent on your going to Eton. He wouldn't have had it any other way. I tried to persuade him, but he'd made up his mind." She shook her head sadly.

The late Earl had been a forceful man. But Philip had looked forward to going away to school, and he certainly had no regrets in having done so. Eton had made him into the man he was today, but it was his foolishness that had prevented him from writing to Lydia, and the more time passed, the more he felt a letter would not be well received, and thus, they had drifted apart. It had been his fault, of course, but time had gone on. Philip himself was a very different person from the boy who had left so many friendships behind.

"I enjoyed school. I'm glad I went there. It made me into the man I am today. I'm glad I went away," Philip said.

Lady Walford nodded. "That's just what Joanna and I were saying. But fate plays its part. And I'm sure you'll see Lydia again—if you want to. She's bound to be at a dozen balls this Season. Actually, Joanna mentioned one—the Hope Ball. It's taking place on Friday at Longmeadow—Lord and Lady Hope's home in Greenwich. I received an invitation, but I was going to decline. But if Lydia's going to be there, why don't you come, too?"

Philip sighed again. His mother was not listening. She had become fixated on the idea of him and Lydia together, and yet there was no reason for the two of them to be so. He did not appreciate her playing matchmaker, and he did not think Lydia would appreciate her mother doing so either.

Nevertheless, he knew he was being presented with a choice—not just over an invitation to a ball, but over his future prospects, too.

"Well… yes, I suppose I could," he said.

His mother smiled. "I don't think you'll regret it, Philip. Where's the harm in getting to know her again?"

* * *

"Too late," Lydia uttered, stabbing her fork into the last sausage on the plate on the sideboard, just as Derek was about to help himself.

"That's not very Christian, Lydia," he chided, settling for the dish of deviled kidneys next to the now empty plate.

"No, I suppose it's not. But I like sausages, and Graham ate six of them before you arrived. So, if anyone's morals are to be questioned, it's his," Lydia retorted, glancing at Graham, who had just set down his knife and fork with a look of satisfaction on his face.

"More sausages, Burns," Ezra called to the butler from behind his open periodical.

"Very good, My Lord," the butler responded, executing a curt bow before hurrying out of the dining room.

Lydia sat down at the table and helped herself to a slice of toast.

Only their mother was not yet there, and it was something of a joke among the siblings to guess when she would be down. The Dowager Countess of Morton had always been a late riser, but since the death of her husband, she had taken to spending most of the morning in bed.

"Your father always had me up at the most ungodly of hours," she had once said, and it seemed she was using the excuse of widowhood to lie in…

"Are you looking forward to the ball tonight, Lydia?" Graham asked.

Lydia was about to answer, but Ezra looked at them above his periodical with a surprised look on his face.

"Is that tonight?" he asked.

Graham nodded. "That's what I just said, isn't it? Yes, tonight, in Greenwich. Had you forgotten?"

Ezra sighed. "I thought it was next week. I was looking forward to a quiet evening."

Graham laughed. "There's plenty of time for quiet evenings when you're old and gout-ridden, Brother. Why not enjoy yourself?" He turned to his sister. "I'm sure we will, won't we, Lydia?"

Lydia enjoyed balls, though she often found herself at somewhat of a disadvantage compared to other women. Her reputation was such that many men thought her difficult. She did not merely nod and agree to their opinions. She was not prim and proper like other women, and was inclined to speak her mind, even when her opinion was not called for…

"I'm looking forward to it. It's always such a grand occasion," Lydia replied.

"An occasion for moral recklessness," Derek commented as the butler entered the dining room once again with a plate full of sausages.

"Oh, Derek, what's so immoral about a dance? Didn't King David dance in front of the Ark of the Covenant?" Lydia asked.

Derek smiled and shook his head. "I think that's rather different," he replied.

Lydia raised her eyebrows. "I hardly think I'm going to bring scandal upon myself by dancing at the Hope Ball. Besides, a clergyman can dance. And you're not even a clergyman yet," she said, shaking her head.

"A clergyman shouldn't be seen dancing in his parish—it suggests favoritism," Derek replied.

Lydia and Graham exchanged glances, both of them trying hard not to laugh.

It was moments like these that she enjoyed the most. She loved her brothers, and they loved her. But as she grew up, Lydia had come to realize the ever-widening gulf between them. Ezra had inherited their father's title, Derek was to enter the Church, and Graham had all manner of opportunities open to him, not least in the military. But as for Lydia, her prospects were limited—confined to marriage and little else. She simply had to marry. She had no other choice.

"Good morning," their mother intoned, entering the dining room as the clock on the mantelpiece struck eleven.

"I win," Ezra declared, closing his periodical and rising to his feet.

"And what do you mean by that?" Lady Morton asked.

Ezra laughed. "I told the others you wouldn't be down until eleven o'clock. Derek was overly optimistic. He said ten o'clock. And Graham suggested a mid-point, agreed to by Lydia," he explained, nodding to them as he left the room.

Lady Morton smiled. "Well, I'm glad I've provided some form of entertainment to you all," she said as one of the footmen stepped forward to pour her a cup of coffee.

"We were just talking about the Hope Ball, Mother," Graham chimed in.

Lady Morton nodded. "Ah, yes. I've got high hopes for the Hope Ball," she replied, glancing at Lydia with an expectant look on her face.

Lydia did not understand what her mother meant by this, though she had a feeling it had something to do with Philip…

"Is that so?" she asked.

Lady Morton nodded. "Yes, Lydia. You and Philip. Lucy and I were talking about it at the wedding. It's the perfect opportunity for the two of you to further get reacquainted. Now, I'm not saying you have to enter a courtship immediately?—"

"Mother, please… you're taking the matter too far," Lydia interjected. "In fact, there's no matter to progress. We met again after seven years. I've barely given him a second thought since he went off to school and never wrote to me. Besides, even if I was interested in him, that doesn't mean he's interested in me, does it?" she pointed out, glancing at Derek, who rolled his eyes.

Lydia did not believe there could be any merit in forcing the matter. She and Philip had a conversation, that was all. Nothing was implied by it. There was no cause for matrimonial celebration. The very idea of it was ridiculous, as though conversing with a man was an immediate call for wedding bells. Certainly, Philip was an attractive man, but so were many other men, too.

"Am I? Oh, but don't you want to get reacquainted with him better?" Lady Morton asked.

Lydia sighed. She would be only too glad to get reacquainted with Philip, but she was not about to read more into the matter than was the case. She was glad to have met him again, and her previous feelings towards him—feelings of anger, if she was being entirely honest—had abated. But as for anything else…

"I did, Mother. We had a very pleasant conversation at the wedding. I'll be glad to see him again, but I hardly think anything's going to come of it. Nor do I wish for it," she replied.

"Do you want something to come of it?" Lady Morton persisted, ignoring her daughter's final words.

Lydia sighed. It was a question she was not about to entertain. The answer seemed pointless to speculate over. Her mother was being her usual overbearing self.

The very idea of a match with Philip was preposterous. He had changed—he had grown up—but in some ways, he had not. There was still a sense of arrogance about him—the swagger she had always found so infuriating.

Lydia did not need her mother to play matchmaker—not now, not ever.

"Mother, please, it's hardly a topic for the breakfast table. It was one encounter, that's all. I'm sure he's forgotten it, as will I," she replied.

"It's nearly luncheon," Derek announced, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece.

"I just want you to be happy, Lydia. We all do, don't we?" Lady Morton said, glancing at Derek and Graham, both of whom nodded.

"We do, yes," Derek affirmed.

Lydia sighed. "And I will be, I'm sure. But… just not immediately. It was very nice to encounter Philip again after all these years. I was… nervous about the prospect, I'll admit. But we had a pleasant conversation, though he can still be infuriating at times. I'd be pleased to see him again, but on my terms, and not yours," she replied.

But as the hour for their departure to the ball approached, Lydia found herself thinking more and more about what a second encounter with Philip would bring. A week ago, she had dreaded the very prospect of seeing him again, but now, having found herself in his company, she was curious to know more about the kind of man he had become.

Yes, he could be irritating and full of himself, at times. But he represented a link to the past, a nostalgic image of childhood—another life, long since forgotten. There would be no harm in their getting reacquainted, she told herself—though it would be on her terms and no one else's.

"Shall I interrupt the two of you again? If it looks like things are getting awkward," Graham said as he helped her into their carriage that evening.

Lydia looked at him and laughed. "Was that what you did at the wedding? Did you think I needed rescuing?" she asked.

He blushed. "It was Ezra's idea," he whispered.

Lydia shook her head. "I think I need to get used to not having my brothers always charging in and saving me. Besides, there was nothing awkward about it. He was… pleasant enough," she said, thinking back to the conversation she and Philip had enjoyed—and she had enjoyed it

Graham nodded. "All right, you're on your own then. I won't do anything—not if you don't want me to. I know I joke around, Lydia, but you really do mean a great deal to me—to us all. We just want you to be happy."

Lydia nodded, patting his arm, and smiling. "I'm very fortunate to have three elder brothers, all of whom take my welfare very seriously, indeed. But when it comes to affairs of the heart, I'd prefer not to have the rest of you interfering. I can make my own decisions."

Graham nodded. "I'm sure you can. But we still worry about you," he replied.

"And I'm grateful to you for doing so. But I really don't know what I want," Lydia said, for she had not set her sights on anyone, and despite what her mother had said, she had every intention of keeping her options open…