Chapter 7

"Ezra, I…" Lydia began, turning to her brother, who had an angry look on his face.

"What are you doing out here?" Ezra demanded, glancing at Philip, who had stepped back and was now standing with his hands behind his back, looking somewhat awkward.

"I… we were just… taking the air. It was so stuffy in there," Lydia stammered out.

Her brother glared at her. "I see… so you thought you'd come outside, the two of you, alone," he said.

Lydia blushed. She had seen nothing improper about being alone with Philip. It was no different from all those years ago, when they often found themselves alone.

"Really, Ezra, we were just…" Philip interjected, but to Lydia's astonishment, her brother seized her by the arm.

"What were you thinking? It's one thing to dance with a man, but quite another to go skulking off into the shrubbery together. I'm shocked by you actions, Lydia," Ezra hissed.

Lydia glanced back at Philip, who looked thoroughly ashamed. But there had been no impropriety between them. They had simply talked, though she knew what would have happened had Ezra not interrupted them.

"It's not like that, Ezra. Please. Don't be angry. My earring fell into the flower bed, and we came down to look for it," Lydia explained, for she was surprised at this sudden change that had come over her brother.

Ezra shook his head and pulled her away. "I've got my own reputation to think of, too, Lydia," he huffed, and then without even so much as a goodbye to Philip, he dragged her across the lawn and back towards the house.

Lydia looked back, holding Philip's gaze for as long as she could. She had wanted him to kiss her. She did not care about the possibility of scandal—there was no scandal.

"Please, Ezra, you're hurting me," Lydia complained as her brother dragged her up the steps to the terrace.

"And it'll hurt a great deal more if news of this gets out—cavorting with a man in the shrubbery, unchaperoned. Think of your reputation, Lydia, and think of mine, too, and Derek's, and Graham's, and Mother's," Ezra hissed, shaking his head as though in disbelief.

Tears welled up in Lydia's eyes, and she looked back across the garden, seeing the solitary figure of Philip standing at the far end of the lawn. Nothing improper had occurred between them. There was no scandal. They were merely rediscovering the friendship they had known and lost. It was entirely innocent, or so she told herself.

"But… I didn't mean anything by it. There was no harm in it," Lydia insisted.

Her brother shook his head. "There was every potential for harm, Lydia. You can't just… do as you please."

He led her back inside, and Lydia cast a final, forlorn, glance across the gardens, where the silvery moonlight had now replaced the golden hue of the evening sun, a gathering darkness, just as she felt, too.

Philip was gone, and she wondered if he was now hiding in the shrubbery, embarrassed to return and face the judgmental looks of her brothers. They were waiting inside for her, the last dance coming to an end.

Derek shook his head as they approached. "Did you find them in time, Ezra?" he asked.

Ezra nodded. "I did, yes, just before the kiss."

Lydia blushed. "How do you know we were going to kiss? What gives you the right to say these things?" she exclaimed.

Ezra shook his head. "Because I'm your guardian, Lydia. I knew Mother shouldn't have encouraged this. But as long as you've avoided scandal, that's all that matters."

"But there was no scandal. It's no different from how it was before. No one cared if Philip and I disappeared into the garden together, or went running off across the park without someone following us," Lydia argued, thinking back to those carefree days of their youth she and Philip had just been speaking of.

"But it is different, Lydia. You're not a child anymore. You can't claim innocence when scandal comes knocking," Derek pointed out, shaking his head.

Even Graham said the same, and it seemed she was fighting a losing battle if she expected any of her three brothers to agree with her. Their mother had been talking to Lady Walford—the two of them, it seemed, were oblivious to what had occurred in the garden—and now she approached, smiling at Lydia, who was trying hard not to cry.

Lydia hated the thought of her brothers thinking badly of her, even though she knew she had brought it on herself.

"Well, are you ready to leave?" Lady Morton asked, smiling at them.

"We certainly are," Ezra replied, glancing at Lydia, who shot him an angry look.

Lady Morton looked suddenly perturbed. "But what's happened?" she asked.

Derek shook his head. "Poor judgment, Mother. Lydia was close to compromising herself with Philip," he said.

Lydia stomped her foot angrily—it was just like Derek to take the moral high ground.

Lady Morton looked at her in astonishment. "Oh… but… what do you mean?" she exclaimed, her eyes widening with horror.

"Apparently, I'm not allowed to talk to a man outside in the garden, Mother, despite your encouragement to do so. That's what he means," Lydia scoffed, and she folded her arms and pursed her lips, her anger turning into self-righteous indignation.

How dare her brothers judge her in such a way?

"Oh, I see… but, it was no more than talking, was it?" Lady Morton asked.

Ezra turned to Lydia, fixing her with a pointed look. "Ask her. I'm sure she'll tell you the truth, Mother."

But Lydia had heard enough. There was no scandal in what she and Philip had done, and their reunion had been positively encouraged by both her mother and her brothers. Ezra was being a fool in chastising her, and it did not help to have Derek's moralizing alongside.

She glanced at Graham, hoping to find an ally, or at least the voice of reason. But even he looked shocked.

"There's nothing to tell. That's the truth. Nothing happened. Besides, you're the one who's been encouraging it, Mother," Lydia pointed out.

Lady Morton blushed. "Well… yes, but not to court a scandal, Lydia. I hoped the two of you might become friends, and then…" she trailed off, shaking her head.

Lydia was about to reply, but she caught sight of Philip slipping back into the ballroom from the terrace. He looked pale, and he hurried straight to his mother, whispering something in her ear. Lady Walford looked up at where Lydia and the others were standing, shaking her head as though she, too, believed a line had been crossed.

"I don't know what she was thinking," Ezra said.

"She wasn't thinking," Derek huffed.

"Stop talking about me as though I'm not here—as though I'm just a problem to be resolved. I don't want to talk to any of you!" Lydia exclaimed, folding her arms, and turning away as tears rolled down her cheeks.

Lady Morton put her hand on her daughter's arm.

"Please, Lydia, don't be upset. These things happen. You've been lucky, and I'm sure nothing will come of it," she said.

But Lydia had heard enough. She wanted to go home, and she had no intention of speaking to any of them for the rest of the evening.

The other guests were now departing, and she watched as Philip and his mother beat a hasty retreat. Lord and Lady Hope were standing at the doors of the ballroom, saying their goodbyes, and as Lydia, her brothers, and her mother joined the queue, Caroline and Edward approached them.

"I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to talk further, Lydia. You and Philip seemed… otherwise engaged," Caroline said.

"We were just talking. It's been such a long time since we last saw one another," Lydia replied defensively, glancing at Ezra, whose face was now set in a permanent scowl.

She knew nothing scandalous had occurred between her and Philip. But she knew, too, the difference between truth and perception. Among the ton, what mattered was perception, rather than truth, and if it was suggested she and Philip had behaved with anything less than the strict morality expected of them, her reputation would be ruined. In this, at least, she understood Ezra's reaction, even though it seemed somewhat harsh.

"Oh, I see. And the two of you are getting along well, are you? Wouldn't it be strange if two cousins married two cousins?" Caroline asked, glancing at Edward, who nodded.

He still looked somewhat despondent over their lack of a honeymoon, but now he forced a smile to his face and let out a hollow laugh.

"Yes… though you'd certainly have chosen the richer of the two," he muttered.

Caroline's expression suddenly turned sour, and she shot him an annoyed look. "Yes… well, I'm sure Lydia can make up her mind about that. Will you pursue the match, Lydia?"

Lydia did not know what to say. She did not know what was expected of her—by her family or anyone else. The simple yet surprising pleasure of reacquaintance had turned into something far more complicated. Had Caroline seen her and Philip together in the garden?

Lydia knew she should not have found herself alone with him. But in the past, they had spent so much time alone, and no one had ever questioned them back then. It seemed she had been right to fear encountering Philip at the wedding, but not for the reasons she had previously had…

"I… It's very early to think of such things, Caroline. We barely know one another anymore," Lydia replied, for her opinion of her mother's intentions had not changed.

But despite her words, Lydia had been surprised at how easy it was to get reacquainted with Philip. It was as though no time at all had passed since their last encounter, and even after all these years, the spark of friendship had remained.

But there was more to it than that. Had she made a terrible mistake, or had she been about to do something she had desired, albeit without realizing so? Had she really wanted to kiss him?

Their encounter had made her life all the more difficult, and raised questions she had not wanted to raise. There was something wholly disconcerting about finding herself attracted to him—the friendship they had once had turned into something else. But in her heart, and in all honesty, Lydia had been glad to have almost kissed him—a strange feeling, but the truth nonetheless.

"No, I suppose not. Well, I do hope you'll continue to… get reacquainted," Caroline relented, nodding to them, before she led Edward away.

"I don't think I'll ever understand her," Graham muttered under his breath.

Lydia ignored him, and she refused to speak to any of them as they left the ballroom, thanking Lord and Lady Hope for their kind hospitality.

"The years go by, don't they? I don't know how many more of these balls we'll manage. But we live in hope," Lady Hope said, laughing at her own joke.

Outside, Graham handed Lydia into their carriage, and she sat with her arms folded, looking resolutely out the window in silence. She was glad it was dark, for she did not want her mother or brothers to see the tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Well, wasn't that a pleasant evening?" Lady Morton piped up, trying, it seemed, to lighten the mood.

"It could've ended in disaster, Mother," Ezra replied.

Lydia glanced at him and scowled. "But it didn't, did it? And even if we'd… nothing happened," she snapped, angered by the injustice of what her brother was saying.

"But, Lydia, you've got to understand—" Lady Morton began to argue, but Lydia interrupted her.

"I do understand, Mother. I understand very well. You're the one who's been encouraging all this. You and Lady Walford. But now, thanks to Ezra, I doubt Philip will want anything more to do with me. And if the apparent scandal gets out, there'll be nothing else we can do to quash it."

Lydia was bored with the ton and its expectations. She had never been the sort of woman to keep quiet and look pretty, and now she felt the full force of such injustice in the behavior of her brothers. Ezra cared only for his reputation, and she could not help but feel a sense of betrayal over his actions.

"Oh, Lydia, don't say such things!" her mother exclaimed.

Lydia only shrugged and shook her head. "But it's true, Mother. It was entirely innocent, but because of other people's assumptions, something has to be made of it."

"Come now, Lydia, don't be like that. You've avoided a scandal. And Philip needs to realize that, too," Derek said.

Lydia turned to him, her face illuminated by the silvery moonlight filtering through the carriage window. "There was no scandal. You want me to be just like Caroline, or all the others. It was always the same. I couldn't ever be like you, could I? The three of you—you make your own decisions, you follow your hearts. You don't have to think about your behavior, about how it looks, or whether it might cause a scandal. But I do, and I'm tired of it. But it doesn't matter now. You've spoiled it for me. You've spoiled everything—a perfectly pleasant rekindling of friendship, spoiled!" she almost screamed, glaring at them each in turn.

"Come now, Lydia, please," her mother pleaded.

But Lydia now refused to speak to any of them, going straight to bed when they arrived home, and not appearing for breakfast until late the next morning.