Randolph Stubbs magically appeared on the dot of eight, seemingly out of nowhere, and grinned before kissing her hand.
‘My lady… Welcome to your new home.’ Would this strange place ever feel like home? She sincerely doubted it, but smiled anyway. It was what it was and she would try to make the best of it for the sake of her own sanity. ‘I hope you will be very happy here.’
‘Thank you. I am sure I will.’ Hoped more like. Which she hoped wasn’t doomed to be futile.
‘My wife and I are excited to be breakfasting with you. Besides…’ he cast a withering glance at the two forlorn chairs she and Owen were sat on ‘…we also thought you might appreciate being able to sit in comfort.’
The kind invitation on her first morning in this strange place touched her. ‘That would be lovely, Mr Stubbs.’
‘Oh, good gracious!’ He waved his hands in the air. ‘We have no airs and graces here! Everybody calls me Randolph and so must you. Especially as we are now family.’
‘Family? I wasn’t aware you and Owen were family.’ She had always believed Owen had no family, unless that detail was another one of his many lies. Instead of offering his arm, which in fairness she would have had to bend double to take, Randolph took her hand and tugged her quickly towards the open door and along the airy landing towards the opposite side of the house.
‘While not technically blood brothers, we are as good as brothers here…’ He thumped his small chest dramatically. ‘And that is where it counts.’
‘What he means is…’ the sound of Owen’s deep voice directly behind sent a tingle down her spine as he fell into step behind them ‘…he latched on to me a decade ago and, despite trying my damnedest to be rid of him, he remains a constant thorn in my side.’
‘I thought you had work to do?’ Randolph winked at her. ‘Obviously, you are welcome to break your fast with us if you must—but feel in no way obligated, Owen. We can manage well enough on our own. Or are you worried Gertie and I might gossip about you in your absence?’
‘I was more worried for poor Lydia’s sanity. I wouldn’t leave my worst enemy to the pair of you all alone. I hope you are braced for an ordeal, Wife.’ She was convinced Owen suddenly now used that endearment to vex her. ‘Remember, I warned you he is a menace to society.’
‘We are the perfect partnership,’ said Randolph, completely ignoring the insult, holding her hand aloft in his fingers as if she were a duchess. ‘I provide the brains, the ideas, the vision, the phenomenal good looks and he…’ He gestured behind with one stubby thumb and shrugged. ‘Well…to be honest, I am not entirely sure what Owen adds to anything. But my wife adores him and the children do not seem to mind him either.’
‘I am looking forward to meeting them, Mr Stubbs.’
‘It’s Randolph, remember—and so are they! Gertie, especially, is beside herself with excitement at finally meeting you. We so wanted to attend the wedding, but Mr Spoilsport here would have none of it. He can be very disagreeable sometimes. Have you noticed that, my lady?’
‘It’s Lydia.’ She couldn’t resist shooting the man in question a glance over her shoulder before dropping her voice to a stage whisper to his friend. ‘And, yes—I have noticed. He has quite the temper.’
‘Indeed he does—and over the daftest of things, too, Lydia.’ Randolph dropped her hand to open a door. ‘Cravats in particular vex him immensely.’
‘As do door latches and innkeepers.’
‘I am here, you know.’ Again, that voice did odd things to her insides. Tiny goose pimples sprang to attention around her neck which she sincerely hoped he couldn’t see.
‘It’s his fingers,’ said Randolph, taking her hand again. ‘He has hands the size of shovels, so I suppose it’s hardly any wonder they struggle with delicate tasks.’
They could be achingly gentle, too, she remembered, and immediately felt off-kilter as her body also remembered the heady power of just his touch.
They suddenly came to another door which Randolph threw open. ‘They are here!’ Then he stepped to one side, dragging her with him, a split second before three children stampeded past.
‘Uncle Owen!’
One was the usual size of a girl of about seven or eight. The other two, a younger boy and another blonde-haired younger still girl, were shaped like their father. All three threw themselves at Owen who engulfed them in a hug, before they clambered up his legs and he half-carried them, half-dragged them. The sight of him smothered in giggling children was disarming, especially because he clearly adored them. As he squeezed past her on the landing dragging his friend’s boisterous offspring, a beaming woman appeared.
‘Well, aren’t you a pretty thing!’
She was a few inches taller than Lydia, more generous in both hips and bust, with bouncing blonde ringlets and a lovely, welcoming smile. She was also, if Lydia was any judge, about to give birth to another boisterous offspring at any given moment.
‘My husband said you were a beauty!’ Gertie Stubbs enveloped her in a perfumed embrace. ‘I am so looking forward to having another woman in this house filled with infuriating men.’ Her accent wasn’t the least bit genteel and to her credit she made no attempt to make it so. ‘But listen to me carrying on! Where are my manners? Breakfast is almost ready, but in the meantime you will need tea.’
As if the heels of her boots had suddenly sprung wheels, Lydia found herself manoeuvred into a cosy sitting room and into a comfortable chair near the roaring fire. She hadn’t felt her shawl leave her body, but saw Randolph spirit it out while his wife pushed a steaming cup of tea into her hand and their children continued to climb noisily over Owen on an equally comfortable-looking sofa opposite.
‘Get off him! Let the poor man breathe!’ Gertie shooed her brood away, then hoisted him up before she beamed at him, too, and hugged him tightly. ‘We’ve missed you, Owen.’
‘I’ve missed you, too.’ Instead of entirely pulling away, he continued to hold Gertie by the shoulders as his eyes dropped to her protruding belly. ‘No sign of the latest monster, then?’
‘As if I would dare go into labour without you here.’ Gertie gently caressed her own stomach before glancing affectionately at her husband, love shining in her eyes. ‘Who would deal with Randolph? You know he gets in a frightful state every single time I go into labour… Bless him. Besides, I knew you wouldn’t want to miss the big event either, so I’ve had words with the baby and we both agreed to wait till you got back.’ She dipped her head and spoke directly to her belly. ‘You can come out now, darling. The cavalry is back.’
‘Don’t be in a hurry, little one.’ Lydia was more than a little shocked and strangely moved to see her husband’s hand affectionately pat the bump as he spoke to it. ‘I’ve probably got a mountain of catastrophes to sort out after leaving Libertas in your father’s incapable hands for so long. Give me at least a week to fix it first.’ Then he kissed Gertie noisily on the top of the head. ‘Preferably two.’
Such genuine and exuberant affection and easy camaraderie was not something Lydia was used to either witnessing or experiencing. The people of her acquaintance were never publicly affectionate. It simply wasn’t done. Obviously, she cared for her brother, but she and Justin never shared more than a polite peck on the cheek now that they were adults and her father was as cold as a dead fish. One packed to the gills in ice and frozen solid. Her mother had been a little more demonstrative in private, but she had died shortly after Lydia turned seventeen and there had been precious little since. She hadn’t realised she missed it—but seeing it now right in front of her made her feel envious of the bond Owen had with his adopted family.
Because staring at the touching scene felt voyeuristic, she stared at her tea instead, until she felt the weight of a small pair of eyes on her as Randolph’s eldest daughter edged ever closer.
* * *
‘Are you my new auntie?’
Owen held his breath as he awaited Lydia’s answer. For her sake, he wanted her to be part of his effusive and irrepressible adopted family. She was going to feel very isolated if she wasn’t and the last thing he wanted was for Gertie to ever feel awkward.
‘I am indeed.’ She beamed at the child. ‘Your Auntie Lydia. And you are…?’
‘Lottie,’ said her mother with an indulgent smile. ‘And that one there is Harry and the littlest is Eliza.’
‘I am very pleased to make your acquaintances, Lottie, Harry and Eliza.’ As she smiled at them, the shyer two came forward and hovered behind their sister while they debated whether or not to be brave.
‘Can you read, Auntie Lydia?’
‘I can.’ She reached her hand out and brushed a wayward curl out of Lottie’s eyes, which warmed Owen’s heart, before taking the proffered picture book. ‘Can you?’
‘Very well. Papa says I am a child genius.’
Instead of laughing at the child or scoffing at her claim, Lydia nodded, smiling. ‘I can tell that already. This looks like a very complicated book for a young lady of your age. Certainly a much more advanced and weighty tome than I was capable of reading at eight.’
‘I am still only seven.’
‘Only seven? Gracious! You must be a very clever and grown-up young lady indeed. Exactly as I suspected. But not so grown up as to not enjoy being read to, I hope? We aunties like to read to our nieces and nephews, you know. Alongside spoiling them rotten, of course.’
And all at once Owen felt ashamed of himself for momentarily doubting her when it had been her friendliness and lack of aristocratic disdain which had drawn him to her so completely all those years ago. Lydia had been the only family member at the Barton house who not only remembered the servants’ names, but the people behind them.
‘Can you read to us now?’ All three stared up expectantly.
‘Let the poor dear have her breakfast first, children.’ Gertie spirited them away. ‘And then perhaps you can have a story.’
With perfect timing, Slugger appeared at the door with his customary scowl. ‘Food’s in. Best get it down you before it goes cold.’
As was typical, breakfast was a chaotic affair. The children always ate their first meal of the day with the adults, which inevitably meant more mess and noise than his new wife was used to. Although to her credit, she took it all in her stride and in remarkably good spirits, even cutting up Harry’s sausage for him while his mother saw to Eliza and Randolph waxed lyrical, enjoying playing the host and making everyone laugh—usually at Owen’s expense.
* * *
Once the meal was done, Gertie insisted on prolonging his agony by having another cup of tea in the living room so they could discuss the best furniture merchants for Lydia to visit before she embarked upon the decorating. A task which had been a hasty stroke of genius on his part. He was ridiculously relieved to have given her something substantial to occupy herself with while he worked out how they could politely co-exist without him descending into lunacy and inevitably being committed to Bedlam where he probably belonged.
‘The pair of you must still be exhausted.’ Gertie was pouring tea out of the best teapot. ‘Slugger said you arrived in the small hours.’
‘It was nearly three.’ Lydia took the cup and slanted Owen a chastising glance over the rim. ‘And we had started out at barely eight that morning.’
‘Oh, Owen!’ Gertie was appalled. ‘What were you thinking? Your poor wife must have been in agony after all that time in the carriage.’
‘It’s a very comfortable carriage.’ The best defence he could think of without admitting he couldn’t bear the thought of another night at an inn. ‘I’ll wager her suffering was nothing compared to mine. It rained all the way home and I was soaked to the skin.’
‘You could have ridden in the carriage.’ Lydia couldn’t resist the dig. ‘I repeatedly suggested it.’
‘Somebody had to keep an eye out for footpads.’
Gertie rolled her eyes at the flimsy excuse. ‘You wouldn’t have needed to keep an eye out for them if you’d avoided travelling at night in the first place! Where was your common sense? And you did it in a downpour to boot, you silly man. You’re lucky you haven’t caught your death of cold!’
‘Or more likely pneumonia, Gertie.’ Lydia was clearly enjoying her new ally. ‘It rained solidly for three days and it was freezing, yet he stubbornly sat in the saddle for all of it.’
‘It would take more than a drop of rain to beat me. I have the constitution of an ox.’
‘That he does.’ For the first time this morning, Randolph came to his defence. ‘Owen is never ill. Besides, Lydia, hell would have to freeze over before he ever rode in a carriage. He hates confined spaces.’
Owen was going to strangle his friend! In case Randolph felt the urge to embellish, he shot him a subtle warning look, not at all happy with the uncomfortable turn the conversation had suddenly taken.
‘He does?’
‘He’s been funny about them since The Portland.’
‘The Portland?’
‘The prison hulk I met him on.’ Owen was now shooting daggers at his oblivious friend. So was his wife. But Randolph neglected to notice either in his eagerness to tell another convoluted story to the suddenly rapt Lydia. ‘We spent eight months on the thing before we were shipped off. Dreadful place it was—and probably still is. It’s still anchored in the Thames by Woolwich.’ Randolph shuddered and Lydia blinked back at him, appalled.
Owen, on the other hand, felt his heart begin to race.
‘No matter what time of the day, it was always dark and constantly damp. Rats everywhere. Especially at night. The blighters would walk all over you as you lay in your bed.’ Their sharp-pinned claws would scratch the skin, the chains around his ankles preventing him from kicking them off. ‘And those bunks were a disgrace…’ Like a coffin. The lid nailed in place. Unable to escape for hours on end. ‘I frankly struggled with the size of them! Poor Owen is nearly twice my height and probably thrice my width. You just can’t chain a man of six foot three to a bunk that’s barely five foot ten! It’s inhuman!’
Lydia’s eyes sought Owen’s—he could feel them boring into the top of his head as he resolutely stared into his cup and tried not to appear thoroughly traumatised by the unwelcome memories which were being dredged up.
‘Owen hated the chains…’
Because he couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. The stagnant air had choked him then, just as it was choking him now. The constant rocking of the hulk had made him sick. And the chains had robbed him of all power. Rendered him helpless and entirely at the mercy of others.
‘Randolph, dearest…’ Gertie must have seen his discomfort because she was shooting her blabber-mouthed husband daggers. ‘Don’t you and Owen have work to do?’