Chapter 6

"Caroline, how… nice to see you… I thought you were away on your honeymoon. Weren't you going to Bath?" Lydia asked.

She was certain Caroline and Edward had made such plans, and glancing at Edward, it seemed she was right.

"We were," he confirmed, in a tone suggestive of his disquiet over their change of plans.

"Then why aren't you?" Philip asked.

"Because… Caroline wanted to enjoy the London Season," Edward said.

His tone was somewhat strained, as though the matter had caused an argument between them, even as Caroline smiled.

"Yes, I always think Bath is more suited to the winter season, don't you?" she asked.

Lydia did not have an opinion either way. She had been to Bath once, and it was not a place she had any desire to rush back to. It seemed an odd thing for Caroline to say—the London Season went on for months, and it was surely only right for her and her new husband to spend some time alone together…

"Oh, I see. So you thought you'd come to the Hope Ball instead," she said.

Caroline nodded. "That's right. It's been a lovely evening so far, hasn't it?"

"Very nice, yes," Lydia replied.

She never really knew what to say to her cousin. They had nothing in common, save blood. Caroline was the sort of woman who enjoyed balls and soirees, new dresses, and dancing. She rarely read a book, and the extent of her intellectual curiosity lay in playing the pianoforte and speaking French. Neither of which she did very well. She and Lydia were opposites in almost everything, and now that she was married, they had even less in common than before…

"We've danced twice. It's so much easier being married—there's no question of who one dances with," Caroline added, looking up at Edward, who could do nothing but agree.

"And what about you, Philip? Are you planning to stay in London for long?" Edward asked.

Philip nodded. "I think so, yes. I don't have anywhere else to be," he replied, glancing at Lydia, who nodded, not knowing why he looked at her in such a way, as though he was seeking her approval.

Caroline gave a strained smile. "How nice for you, Lydia."

Lydia nodded. "Yes, I suppose it is, isn't it?" she replied, having no intention of fueling speculation on her cousin's part.

Inside, the musicians had just struck up a waltz, and Edward glanced over his shoulder.

"It's another dance, Caroline. Shall we?" he asked.

Caroline nodded. "We'll see you later," she said, and then the couple went off arm in arm.

Lydia and Philip glanced at one another and smiled.

"How curious," Philip remarked.

"Edward certainly didn't look happy," Lydia replied.

It was a curious thing—Caroline had no reason to remain in London for the Season. She was a married woman. The Season no longer had the same meaning for her as it had for other young women. She did not need to parade herself or seek attention. Edward had seemed thoroughly dejected, and it seemed to Lydia as though there was something more to the matter than either of them were letting on…

"No—he loves Bath. I don't know why, but he does," Philip said.

Lydia smiled. "Oh, yes, I'd forgotten we both have a dislike for Bath. It's so boringly provincial, isn't it?"

Philip laughed. "Absolutely. But… well, if they're going to dance… oughtn't we?" he asked.

A shiver ran through Lydia at these words—this invitation. He had meant his earlier words as a question to her, and now she had no reason to refuse him, despite his admission of having two left feet—or two right feet.

"I… you want to dance with me?" she asked, somewhat taken aback by his offer.

He smiled at her and nodded. "Yes… who else did you think I meant?" he asked.

Lydia blushed. "I don't know. It's just… we're more used to wrestling, rather than dancing," she mumbled.

Philip laughed. "Perhaps we are, yes. But it doesn't mean we have to always be. Won't you dance? I'd like to," he said, holding out his hand to her.

Lydia nodded. "I will, yes," she relented, taking his proffered hand.

There was no point in overthinking the matter, though Lydia knew well enough what others would think of it—her mother, especially. But it was only a dance, and a dance meant nothing more than that. They made their way inside, where the musicians were just tuning up for the waltz. Caroline and Edward were waiting on the dance floor, alongside several dozen other couples, including Ezra and a woman Lydia had not seen before. Graham was coupled with their mother, while Derek stood watching the proceedings in the company of a clergyman whom Lydia knew to be the Bishop of Bath and Wells, his high collar forcing up the overhang of his chin and giving him the resemblance of a rolled ham.

"I'm sure it'll be fun," Philip said as the music began.

He slipped an arm around her waist, drawing her into his embrace as he took her hand in his. To her surprise, she was almost swept off her feet as together they whirled and twirled.

"I thought you had two left feet!" she exclaimed, and he laughed.

"Well… perhaps I exaggerated a little. There were dances in Oxford. I had a little practice," he admitted.

Lydia found herself caught up in the exuberance of the waltz, smiling to herself at the thought of his boast—some things never changed.

She had not imagined he could dance so well. He had lied to her, but it was a lie she now found entirely amusing. It was just the sort of thing he would do, and now she imagined him joking about the matter for weeks to come.

"You should've told me you could dance. I was nervous at the thought," Lydia exclaimed, for she had feared her toes being stepped on, or even his falling over her as they danced.

"I wanted to have my little bit of fun, that's all. I fooled you, didn't I?" he said as again he twirled her this way and that, his movements almost effortless.

Lydia, too, could dance—she had practiced often enough with her brothers. But to find herself dancing with Philip…

"Did you mean it? About staying in London, I mean? You're not going to leave, are you?" she asked.

"No, I'm not going to leave. Where would I go?" he asked.

Lydia smiled. "I… I'm glad," she said, and he smiled back at her.

"Why? Don't you want me to leave?" he asked.

Lydia blushed. "No, it's not that… I just… well, it's been nice seeing you again—as infuriating as you can be," she said, not wishing to sound sentimental.

"And it's been nice seeing you again, too," he returned.

Around them, other couples were doing the same, and Lydia caught sight of Caroline and Edward twirling together in the center of the dance floor. But to her surprise, Caroline now looked straight at her—at them.

Lydia looked away immediately, feeling uncomfortable, but now she wondered how long her cousin had been watching them, and for what reason.

"Caroline was just looking at us. Don't you think it was strange, what she said to you the other day?" Lydia asked, for she had been pondering over Caroline's words ever since.

Philip looked at her curiously. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well, she said how glad she was to be related to someone of such high esteem. Don't you think it was a strange thing to say?" Lydia asked.

Philip laughed. "She was just being… flattering, I suppose," he said.

"And I suppose you do think highly of yourself, don't you?" Lydia drawled, unable to resist teasing him.

"No… you know I don't. It doesn't matter to me, there are days when I'd far rather not be the Earl of Walford. But you and I have grown up with it. It doesn't make any difference to us," he said.

Lydia shook her head. "But she grew up with it, too—you were friends with her. It was about being related to you. She's a snob, just like my aunt. But it just seemed strange for her to make a point of it. I don't see why it matters."

She had never been impressed by rank or class. It did not matter whether a man was a prince or a pauper. What mattered was the man himself. In this, too, she and her cousin were opposites, and it had surprised Lydia when her cousin had settled for a baron, rather than pursuing a duke or even a prince.

"I suppose others see it differently. But you're right. It doesn't matter at all—not a jot," Philip replied.

They had stepped away from the throng now, and Lydia caught sight of her mother and Lady Walford watching them from the far end of the ballroom. She knew precisely what they were saying, and it would not have surprised her to find out that an arrangement had been made.

But it was not an arrangement Lydia had any intention of honoring. When Philip had left, it had been on his own terms—he had gone to school, he had not written to her, and though she would never admit as much, it had upset her. She had tried not to think of him and had succeeded in the ensuing years. But meeting him again had brought old feelings to the fore, even though she intended to maintain control, to maintain her position.

What happened next would be up to her and her alone. She was in control of her feelings, and she would not be pressured by her mother into making any kind of match.

"I'm going outside again. It's awfully stuffy in here," Lydia said, wanting to get away from the gazes of Caroline and the others.

"But you've only just come in," Philip pointed out as she took his hand in hers.

"Why? What's the matter? Are you afraid I'll throw you in a rose bush?" she asked, and Philip laughed.

They made their way back out onto the terrace. It was quieter now, and dusk was settling over the gardens. The moon had appeared in the sky, a faint outline against the setting sun, and a star was twinkling to its right.

"Venus," Philip murmured, pointing upwards.

"I know, I've read lots of books on astronomy," Lydia said.

Philip had a habit of "explaining" things to her. It had always been the same—a desire to impart his knowledge to others, even though Lydia usually knew the fact before it was uttered.

"I'm sorry, I know you hate my telling you things," he said.

Lydia shook her head. "I don't, no, but I knew that already. I love to look up at the stars—the vastness of it all. It makes one feel so… small."

"But what about the world inside your head? Isn't the mind an infinite wonder?" Philip asked. "When I feel overawed by what's above me, I think of the world inside me. Then I don't feel quite so small."

Lydia smiled. "Yes, that's a rather wonderful way of thinking about it," she said, still gazing up at the sky above, where further stars were now appearing in the gathering darkness.

They were standing on the terrace, looking down at the gardens below. Dusk was gathering, and Lydia leaned over, trying to get a better view of the flower beds below. But as she did so, one of her earrings dropped—a peal earring she had inherited from her grandmother.

"Oh, your earring," Philip said as the two of them peered over the parapet.

"I've simply got to find it!" Lydia exclaimed.

The two of them hurried down the steps of the terrace and onto the lawn.

"Look, here it is," Philip called, stooping down.

Lydia went to look, letting out an exasperated exclamation as he held up a small stone.

"That's not it… there it is," she said, spotting the stray earring on the grass.

They retrieved it, and Lydia replaced it on her ear, glancing across the lawn towards the shrubbery at the far end, and remembering the many times she and Philip had hidden in such places on days gone by.

"It's lovely in the evenings, when it's cool, isn't it? There's such a delightful fragrance in the air," she murmured.

Philip nodded. "There is, yes. Do you remember when we used to hide outside from your nanny? She'd search all over for us. We'd be hiding in the shrubbery, long after the moon had come up. I used to say to you…"

"Don't make a sound, or we'll have to go to bed," Lydia finished, laughing at the memory.

She could still feel her heart beating fast as the two of them lay hidden in the shrubbery as her nanny searched for them, uttering ever more dire threats. But in Philip's company, Lydia had always been a rebel, and only her brothers would find them, scolding them as they were dragged back to the house.

"We had such happy times, didn't we?" Philip said, turning to her and smiling.

Her heart skipped a beat as she gazed up at him in the moonlight. He was a man now, the awkwardness of youth replaced by the handsome looks of one who had found his place in the world. He had always had a self-assuredness about him, perhaps even arrogance, but it was a trait Lydia found as alluring as infuriating, despite her fierce independence.

In so many ways, they were kindred spirits, each possessed of qualities the other admired. They had known such happiness in the past, a friendship with true depth and meaning. There was a chance of that same happiness again.

Philip slipped his hand into hers as he looked down at her with a smile.

"We did, yes. The happiest. It all seems like a dream now," she murmured softly.

"Childhood often does—such carefree days, when nothing really mattered at all," he replied.

Lydia nodded. She had been blessed by a happy childhood, and in his company, it had been made ever more so. So many memories now surfaced—so many adventures coming to the fore.

"But it does matter—the memory of it. Clinging to that memory," she said.

Philip edged a little closer, leaning down as though he was about to kiss her.

She was surprised, but she did not pull away. It seemed natural for them to share this moment, even after so long…

"But what about the future?" he asked as she gripped his hand a little tighter.

"I… don't know," she said, closing her eyes as she waited for his lips to press against hers.

"Lydia? Are you out here?" a voice echoed across the gardens, and she stepped back.

It was Ezra, and as she turned around, she found him walking towards them.