Chapter Fifteen

A lady should never let emotions guide her actions.

December 25, 1817

Christmas Day

Stable yard

Lydia could hardly breathe her chest was so tight. And if it wasn’t that, the ache around her heart— in her heart—was so great she truly thought she wouldn’t be able to go on. Not today day, not any day.

She stood off to one side as the traveling coach was brought around and the horses’ harnesses, bits, and reins were inspected. The earl and his daughter stepped out of the inn and into the softly falling snow. Perhaps it was fitting that the weather had decided to turn foul again. It was a reflection of the state of her heart.

As a shiver went through her body, she pulled the folds of her cloak tightly about her, closing herself off, just as she should have done before ever becoming involved with the Earl of Greystone. But he’d been so charming and genuine and compassionate. She’d fallen for him like a ninny, and now that bit of glimmering hope had been yanked away from her, smashed into a million bits as if someone had thrown a champagne flute against the wall.

By accident, her gaze crashed into his as he and Elsbeth approached. He didn’t grin or do anything at all to give her a bit of reassurance, but his daughter seemed as upset as Lydia felt. It was obvious she’d been crying. When Lydia had left the room, the girl was awake but had refused to rise at that time.

As for the earl? He’d never returned last night, and from the looks of him, he’d slept in his clothing in the common room. Dark stubble clung to his cheeks and chin. His cravat was loosened. Wrinkles stamped his jacket beneath the greatcoat. And from the way he moved, it seemed as if he suffered a megrim, which meant he’d drunk far more than was good for him.

Not that she could blame him.

When the two of them finally reached the space where she stood, the tension between them fairly crackled and was quite thick. John took their bags and then quickly loaded them into the coach.

To her, he said, “Where is your valise?” Those were the first words he’d said to her since the conversation in the corridor last night.

“I gave it to Robert.” It hurt to say words aloud because her throat was clogged with unshed tears. “But thank you for offering.”

His nod was curt. “Please get in the coach with Elsbeth.” When he encompassed them both in his stormy, intense gaze, she bit back the urge to sob. “I intend to ride alongside the coach instead of inside of it. The fresh air will do me good.”

Elsbeth snorted. “It’s biting cold and snowing, Papa. Don’t be a nodcock.”

“Inside the coach.” With a gloved hand, he indicated the vehicle with the open door and John standing beside it. “Now.” Once his daughter did as he bid, he looked at Lydia once more, but he had been too well-schooled in hiding his emotions. “I need to be alone with my thoughts. Besides, this journey won’t be long. It is less than three hours to Dove Cottage.”

“That’s all to the good. Traveling doesn’t agree with me, and it will be lovely to settle again, at least for a day or so.” It was more than obvious she couldn’t pass the Christmastide holidays in his company any longer. The tension would prove too unbearable. Whatever had been between them over the past week and that special, cozy time at her cottage had either vanished or was buried under far too much emotion. Nothing would ever be the same. “For what it’s worth, I appreciate you offering your protection and demanding I travel with you and your daughter. It’s…” She cleared her throat and tamped on the urge to cry. “It is pleasant not to be alone on Christmas, such as it is this year.”

“It was my privilege,” he said in a choked sort of whisper. Then his Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow. Truly, he looked wretched. “About what I said last night—”

Lydia held up a hand. “Don’t. There is nothing more to say, let alone here in the stable yard.” Possibly never. “Words were said. Events unfolded. That is life.” Then, not wanting to talk any longer, she took her skirting in hand, accepted John’s assistance to climb into the coach, and more or less collapsed on the bench opposite Elsbeth.

The girl never glanced her way.

A few moments later, the steps were put up and the door closed. The sound echoed with a finality deep in her soul. She watched as Jackson mounted a horse and trotted past the window to pause by the driver’s box. Despite her heartbreak, she admitted to herself that he was quite handsome as he rode with his back ramrod straight and his top hat covering his dark hair and the hem of his greatcoat flapping.

As the vehicle lurched into motion, Elsbeth turned her tear-streaked face to Lydia. “Was anything real? When you were kind and polite to me, when you did those things with me at the cottage, was that because you truly liked me or was it naught but an act? An extension of your false persona?”

Fair enough.

Inside, she was proud of how mature the girl was and how she’d grown in the short time Lydia had been with her, but outwardly, her chin trembled, and tears filled her own eyes. “Yes, it was real. I am genuinely fond of you. That was never a lie. This last week has been one of the most memorable I have ever spent.”

Another truth.

“How could you do what you did?” the girl asked in a choked whisper. “How could you pretend to be someone else entirely, to fool everyone who trusted you, without an ounce of apparent remorse?”

Now that was crossing a line. “What makes you think I don’t have remorse or that I didn’t spend the past six years racked with shame and doubt?” When Elsbeth didn’t answer, Lydia pushed on. “Consider yourself grateful that you don’t know what it feels like to fear for your life every night when your husband comes home, most of the time in his cups.” She wasn’t angry at the girl; she was just disappointed in herself for landing in this mess to begin with. “I feared for my life, so I left, for I refused to die at the hand of a man. And I convinced myself that if I wanted a better life, a life where I felt safe, I needed to leave. The rest of the story perhaps doesn’t matter, and you don’t need to be privy to it, but suffice it to say, I was proud of what I’d made myself into after I escaped the horrors I’d lived through.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize…” Elsbeth dabbed at her tears with a handkerchief she pulled from her reticule.

“Thus, the reason for keeping secrets, which is different from lying, but perhaps not from your viewpoint. Or that of your father’s.” The ball of tears rose in her throat, and she quickly forced it back down. “How did Miss Lexington’s mother find out?”

A blush stained the girl’s cheeks. “It was her mother’s cousin-in-law. I told them we were traveling with a headmistress of a London finishing school. When I pointed you out, the cousin said she recognized you. I guess she is originally from the village where you lived, and then she told us of your history and your real name.”

“Ah.” Lydia frowned. “Bess Campbell. There is nothing at all interesting about me in that persona.” A widow, unwanted, a liar, and after the scandal got back to London, the owner of a defunct finishing school. “I suppose it was all too good to last, and I should have lowered my expectations, but why shouldn’t I finally have a happy ending?” Her voice broke then, and a few tears slipped down her cheeks.

“What happens now?” Elsbeth asked but had her face turned to the window.

“I don’t know. I can honestly say I don’t know.” Frankly, she didn’t want to contemplate that, for it would only make her more emotional. “I want you to know that—”

The girl shook her head. “If you don’t mind, I don’t want to talk anymore. I just want to sleep.” So saying, she changed positions to lay on her bench with her back toward Lydia. A cowardly way to escape, but then, who was she to judge another on how they dealt with the pain in their life?

Silence was welcome, for Lydia was very nearly a watering pot and she wasn’t good company. There was no amount of apologizing she could do to win back Elsbeth’s trust or that of her father. It was her fault everything was ruined, and perhaps she deserved whatever punishment would come her way. Besides, the chances of having a future—beyond scandal—with the earl had been naught but a dream, and a silly one at that. It was best she act cooly detached from him from this point forward.

Except, her heart was even more bruised and battered from this than it had been when she realized her husband had been a bounder.

Dove Cottage

Near Westloch

Scotland

The coach came to a stop in front of the earl’s hunting lodge around noon that day. It was a lovely building, stately like a Georgian-style mansion but with a cottage roof. Brown ivy vines and leaves clung to the front brickwork. For miles around the dwelling, all she could see were rolling hills and heavily wooded areas. The mountains in the background were quite impressive.

She and Elsbeth had slept for most of the journey, but arriving didn’t negate the fact that they were both tired, hungry, cold, and out of sorts. To say nothing of Jackson’s expression resembling a thunderstorm.

At the door, the party was met by a man and a woman she assumed was the butler and a housekeeper. They were both familiar with the earl and his daughter. Lydia stood in the background merely to observe. Not once did Jackson speak directly to her; neither did Elsbeth, and that rejection hurt all the way down into her soul.

Briefly, the earl explained that she had been traveling with them and would require a room immediately and a bath soon after, as well as clean clothing in her size if they had it. If they did not, she would make do with what she had.

At least there was that kindness.

After he issued the orders, he left her and Elsbeth in the entry hall, and heaven only knew where he took himself off to. With nothing else to do, she and the young lady went upstairs and were shown into separate rooms. A suite with double doors was at the end of the corridor where she assumed the earl would stay.

There was a flurry of activity as servants brought in a porcelain bathtub with claw feet and took care of the business of filling it with wonderfully hot water that was then scented with some sort of rose perfume. A bar of finely milled French soap of the same aroma was procured as well as a sponge, with promises that fresh clothing would arrive following her bath and perhaps tea and a nap, for dinner was served at six. Then she was left alone in the room with its cheerful fire dancing behind a metal grate.

As she sank into the water to rest her travel weary bones and emotionally wrecked soul, tears filled Lydia’s eyes. Perhaps she could walk into a nearby village and purchase a ticket on the post chaise tomorrow or the next day. She didn’t know what she would do with her life after that, but obviously current circumstances weren’t ideal. How long would it be before the gossip reached London and the parents of her students pulled their girls from the next term?

How did everything crumble so quickly?

Not able to make heads nor tails of the mess, Lydia sat in the scented water and had a good, cathartic cry. It was much needed from the events of the journey. Afterward, she oddly felt a bit better, so she washed her hair and body with the soap and waited until the water in the bath had turned cold before leaving the tub.

By five o’clock, she’d had a nap, enjoyed tea and sliced meats, cheese, and bread, then sorted through her meager possessions—wherein the housekeeper insisted on taking away the muddy clothing and seeing it laundered—and then was assisted into a beautiful green satin gown by a maid who also did her hair, even though Lydia said she wasn’t going down to dinner.

To be fair, the gown was gorgeous in a bright vibrant green with capped sleeves and a full skirt. New underclothes had somehow been procured, and though she was wildly grateful for them, she couldn’t help but wonder where they’d come from. Yes, the gown brought her a modicum of joy as did having her hair styled, her heart continued to ache. She didn’t belong here, apparently didn’t belong anywhere except her dull beginnings where there’d been no hope.

Not long after her toilette was complete, a faint knock sounded on the door. Flutters of excitement went through her belly, but when the door opened, Elsbeth came in and cold disappointment flooded her being.

“What do you want?” she asked, and if there was more annoyance in her tone, she couldn’t help it. “I don’t particularly wish to talk to anyone right now.”

“I imagine you don’t,” the girl said in a soft voice as she approached the winged-back chair where Lydia sat with a book in hand. “Will you come down for dinner? It’s Christmas. We should all be together. Especially after what happened.” Sadness shadowed her eyes, and a frown tugged at the corners of her mouth, but in a gown of white taffeta lined with white rabbit fur, she was the embodiment of winter.

“I don’t think so. We are not a family. After everything, I rather think your father doesn’t wish to see me in any capacity.” Her chest ached to say the words aloud, but there was nothing for it.

A half-stifled sob issued from Elsbeth. “I’m dreadfully sorry, Lydia. I didn’t think the rumor was real and I certainly didn’t think Papa would react so strongly to it, for he admires you.”

If that had once been true, it wasn’t now. “Don’t worry about it. Eventually, lies will catch up to a person. I knew that but had to proceed out of necessity.” If she were honest, she was tired of having to live her whole life in a lie. It didn’t matter that her husband was dead, and she didn’t need to keep hiding, but the fact that she’d created a persona and history for herself still stood, and with that bit of fiction, she’d opened the finishing school.

Would she lose it all anyway after her hard work and sacrifices?

Elsbeth sighed. “I shouldn’t have told Papa what I’d found out. I should have come to you first and talked it over.”

“You are maturing into a lovely young lady. I know you’ll use this as a learning tool in the future.” The ache around Lydia’s heart intensified, for she would never know what became of the girl, nor would she be able to see her grow further.

“I don’t know how mature I am. When you and Papa were spending so much time together, I thought he liked being with you more than he did with me.” Emotion made her voice higher than usual. “I’m afraid I was a bit jealous, and in that moment, I wanted to destroy you, so when Miss Lexington and her mother’s cousin said such horrid things about you…”

Ah, so that was what precipitated it. “Please, don’t trouble yourself about it any longer. I was living on borrowed time anyway.”

“How can you be so accepting of this? You will lose everything, even your good name because of what I did.”

“A good name only in pretend, hmm?” Lydia shrugged, but talking about it helped. “We all make choices in life, some good and some bad, but all of them have consequences. We can’t escape that.”

“You are so wise and… mother-like. I miss that so much, and now…” The delicate tendons in her throat worked with a hard swallow. Tears sprang into Elsbeth’s eyes. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re lovely and I told Papa so. I also told him he’d be a nodcock not to see how good you two are together.”

“While I thank you for that, I rather think there’s more involved in a romance than just that.” She offered a wobbly smile. “I’m certain your father will find someone who gets on with him equally well, and who is a lady to boot.”

All the things she was not.

A tear fell to the girl’s cheek. “Do you hate me? I have ruined everything.”

With her heart threatening to explode from pain and love, Lydia shook her head. She set down her book. “Of course not. We all make mistakes. Mine was lying and pretending. Yours was not discerning whether to indulge in gossip or not without thinking it through. But we are not our mistakes, Elsbeth. There is always an opportunity to rise above them.”

Could she once the scandal of everything hit London?

The younger woman sniffled. “I truly enjoy your company. I hope Papa realizes… Well, I just hope he won’t act the arse or fall back on old habits. He needs someone like you in his life.” Briefly, Elsbeth grabbed one of Lydia’s hands and squeezed her fingers. “Please don’t leave us. Everyone else has, and I think we both want someone to be there…” Her voice broke and she stepped away. “Well, I should go down for dinner.”

“Right.” Lydia nodded. “I’ll ring for a tray, but I hope you enjoy yourself. Happy Christmas, Elsbeth.”

“Oh.” Another few tears fell to the girl’s cheeks. “Happy Christmas, Lydia.”

Once she left, Lydia was once more alone with her torturous thoughts.

Why the deuce had she let herself fall in love with the earl? It was a stupid thing to do, especially after the mess of her marriage. One would think that at this age she’d be more sensible, but there was nothing sensible or logical about love.

It just… was.