Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Lydia Russell could not cry.

She knew that she ought to. She knew that all of those in mourning around her kept giving her sideways glances and expecting at least a couple of tears to slide down her veiled cheek. But no matter how hard she tried she simply could not bring herself to cry.

It was not as if she did not love her late husband. On the contrary, she had become quite fond of the man over the years. His ruddy cheeks and gasping laugh were things that had become comfortable. Routine, even. She supposed that she ought to have seen his health conditions coming. He was a man who always loved to indulge in excess.

But, as he was the man of the house, she did not think that it was her place to attempt to police what he did. He was a good man. He provided well, was an adequate conversationalist. All things considered. Yes, Jacob, the Earl of Hillsborough was very well liked by all that knew him. Nobody could say anything bad about him. He was just forgettable in his mundaneness.

Yes, Lydia could stand here at her late husband’s gravesite and think of a great many things that she was going to miss about the man. But heartbroken? She was not.

“Will you truly use this as yet another excuse to humiliate me? Have you no shame?!” her father hissed bitterly from her side.

Lydia did not so much as turn her head to look at the bitter old man. She could only imagine what must be going through his head. Being married had been best for the fact that it had allowed her freedom to escape from her horribly smothering father. She could only presume that he was going to take this unfortunate event as a free ticket back into her life whether she wanted him there or not.

“For heaven’s sake, girl. You could at least pretend to be upset! Honestly, I should have known better than to think that you had a heart anywhere inside of that rebellious chest!” her father continued to hiss through his clenched, crooked teeth.

There would be a tongue lashing to come from him later, she already knew. Father would lecture her about how a widow ought to behave and just how long it was that she was going to be expected to wear her black dresses and veils. Father would seek to dictate every aspect of her life from here forward until such a day comes that he could attempt to profit off of her a second time through another advantageous marriage.

Having her father present was the only reason that Lydia had almost objected to having this large, fancy funeral in the heart of London. It was Jacob’s wish to be buried here, even though their home was in rural Northern England.

Furthermore, she did not wish to have to force her daughter and stepdaughter to be exposed to their grandfather for a second longer than they needed to be.

Lydia turned her focus across the way to the beautiful girls in question. They were so young to have lost their father. Being a parent was one aspect that Lydia could confidently say that Jacob truly shone at. It was a calling for him. Never once did he seem to begrudge the fact that he had no sons.

He prided himself in raising his daughters equally as princesses, and Lydia would endeavor to do the same for them going forward. Which would have to start with not allowing her father to poison them and their opinions as he did to herself and her younger sister, Katherine. “Kitty” had lived with them the moment that she had been deemed a ‘useless spinster’ by their father.

Now she stood with a supportive arm around the eldest, Margaret’s, shoulders. They stood stoically, tears streaking down their faces as the pastor finished giving the last rights. The older man moved forward; a fistful of dirt clenched in his palm which he then sprinkled over the coffin before it would be buried.

Consumed by things that needed to happen quickly after Jacob’s death. Such things that she was hardly prepared for but would have no choice but to move with haste. There would not be any time allotted for her personal grief until the more pressing matters were attended to.

But Lydia had always been that way. The benefit and welfare of others had come before her own wants and desires well before she became a mother and a wife.

Distracted, Lydia did not realize that it was her turn to say her goodbyes and sprinkle her grave dirt until it was very apparent that all the guest’s eyes were on her expectantly.

Father’s elbow found her ribs, pushing her forward with an impatient cluck of his tongue.

How could she say goodbye to everything that her life had been with Jacob?

Methodically, as if she did not have proper control of her limbs, Lydia muttered a pathetic goodbye that was barely audible and dropped the grave dirt all in one go.

Then it hit.

Like a torrent unleashed inside of her, the truth that Jacob was well and truly gone overwhelmed her. Her knees threatened to buckle as she sucked in a large gulp of air. Everything was going to be gone. The estate, her security, her comfortable future. Everything was going to be upended if she was not very, very diligent. Jacob had become her friend, and now she was going to have to face the rest of the world alone and unprotected.

Still, she could not cry.

The rest of the funeral passed in what seemed to be a blur. Lydia’s mind would not stop churning. This was a puzzle that she was going to have to solve. It was improper to stand graveside and wonder how she was going to take over the estate and which of the staff were going to leave in the transition.

It could be possible to take care of business. Before she knew it, she was standing in the parlor of her father’s home with her sister. Both of her daughters had chosen to rest for the afternoon, as their emotions were wearing on them. It was for the best, in her opinion. The transition was going to be the hardest on them both. It would be her mission to keep them from feeling too unsettled in the interim.

“Nothing good happens when you get that look on your face, sister.” Kitty said softly. It was rare to hear her younger sister speak loudly. She was far more reserved and shy. In fact, Lydia was fairly certain that the only person other than her daughters that her sister spoke to at all was herself.

“I am not sure what you mean by that.” Lydia sighed and sank down onto the settee beside her sister. She pulled Kitty into her arms and hugged her tightly. It was a gesture that likely made herself feel better than it actually helped her sister at all.

“I mean that every time that I have ever seen you make that face where you seem so lost in thought, usually I have to break up a fight within the next twenty-four hours, sister.” Kitty sighed and gently started to push Lydia’s arms off of her.

Lydia did not budge. “There is much to be done, and if I am going to be picking a fight with anybody, it will be father. Surely you know that.”

Kitty nodded. “That is what I hope to avoid, yes.”

“Why? Somebody needs to reason with him. It is not as if the man is capable of listening to reason. The whole carriage ride home while the girls were crying because they lost their own father, he was making uncomfortable noises and muttering about ‘womanly emotions’. Tell me, just how do you think staying in the same house with that man is going to end?” Lydia said.

“You know, most will expect you to move back into father’s home. It would be expected of all of us, actually.”

None of them wished for that outcome. If Lydia could prevent such a thing, then she was going to do it.

“How are you going to avoid such a thing, sister? It is only a matter of time before he starts to find marriages for us both all over again.” Kitty’s voice seemed to shrink at that. Inside Kitty’s chest beat a very soft heart.

The sort that could not endure a marriage of convenience as Lydia had. Kitty needed romance and tenderness. She needed to be cared for and swept off of her feet and would not be able to settle for anything less. Something that father would never and could never understand.

“I have rights as a widow you know.” Lydia finally released Kitty and smoothed her skirts down over her thighs.

“It will be a great deal more difficult without Jacob, of course. However, I am still entitled to a third of his estate. I might not own the property myself, but it is not as if he had a named next of kin that I will have to worry about. Nobody should come sniffing around the grounds looking for pieces to sell off. There are still a great many fulfilling things that we can do on our own. Nothing much has to change.”

At least, she hoped that it would not have to change.

“And if some distant cousin steps into the picture? Or, heaven forbid, our father decides that he wishes to assert himself in our lives once more? I do not… Lydia, you cannot let him force me to move back home. I do not think that I could endure living under the same roof as him again.” Kitty added softly.

Lydia could hear the tears in her voice despite the way that her sister refused to make eye contact with her.

She had spent the majority of her life under the thumb of men, and she had no intention of doing so any longer. She had done as she was supposed to. Jacob had allowed her to run the house as she saw fit with little intervention and for that, she would be forever grateful as it had allowed her to cultivate the skills that she was going to need going forward.

Furthermore, she wished to keep herself and her little family in their own home and not one of father’s other estates. He had not yet voiced such desires to send her there, but no doubt it was coming. Already, she was dreading the conversation that they were going to have over dinner.

“My husband had no brothers, and I have to hope that finding an heir will be difficult. We could have weeks before the solicitor finds anyone. Even then, if they are anything like Jacob then they should be honorable enough to allow us all to continue to live there.” Lydia continued, patting her sister’s hand in hopes that the gesture would bring her some semblance of comfort.

As if on cue, her father’s housekeeper entered the room to make an announcement. The solicitor had arrived, led into the drawing room moments after the announcement and accompanied by their father.

Something constricted in Lydia’s throat as nerves bubbled in her stomach. The older man stood behind the solicitor with narrowed eyes. No doubt he had demanded to read the letter clutched in the solicitor’s hands and had been denied. Under other circumstances, Lydia might have gloated about such a thing.

Instead, she somberly extended her hand for the letter.

When she read the contents, she wished that she had not.

Fury gripped her entire body so tightly that she nearly felt smothered by the anger. She crumpled the letter in her fist, and slammed it straight down on the table, causing everybody in the room to jump.

“That bastard! ”