After Owen and Randolph hastily deserted them straight after breakfast, Gertie had taken the trouble to show her around her new home and introduce her to the staff who worked there. That, and more tea, had killed at least two hours, but as her lovely new friend had three lively children to contend with and was heavily pregnant with another, it did not seem fair to occupy all her time, especially as Gertie had insisted she eat all her meals with them at least until Lydia bought a table.
Seeing as the carriage was standing idle, and Gertie had given her a list of furniture merchants to visit, she had commandeered it to begin her shopping. Only this time without the single lady’s requisite chaperon—which felt both liberating and daunting in equal measure. Liberating, because she had never had such freedom before, and daunting, because of the enormous scandal waiting for her outside.
As all the recommended merchants were in Cheapside, she was spared the ordeal of the familiar society haunts of Bond Street and St James’s, and spent a fascinating and blissfully anonymous few hours leafing through catalogues and discussing possibilities. Yet as interesting and exciting as it was to discuss the particulars of wallpapers, brocade sofas and curtain fabrics for her very own living room, her mind kept wandering back to this morning, trying and failing to put the image of the eighteen-year-old boy she had once thought the sun rose and set with, clapped in irons and covered with rats, out of her thoughts. A near-impossible task now it was seared indelibly on to her mind.
She had read about the hulks.
Everyone had.
They were notorious and a complete national scandal considered by almost everyone to be horrifically inhumane. To think of Owen stuck on one for eight whole months, yards away from the city he had always called home, didn’t bear thinking about.
But he had lived it. Survived it. What strength had that taken?
More than she possessed that was for sure. Especially as she had spent most of the afternoon between merchants diligently hiding from anyone who might possibly recognise her inside the carriage, when she could have easily walked the short distances, pathetically trying to avoid the scandal.
Not for the first time during her impromptu little outing, she found her attention drawn to the silk-lined walls of his carriage and wondering about the conditions he had suffered. Understandably, perhaps, she had focused on her outrage at his crimes for years, purposefully blotting out all thoughts about where he was and what he might be doing. He hadn’t hanged for them. That was what she consoled herself with in those grim early days when her heart had keenly mourned him. Something she had been dreading could have happened when they had caught him red-handed.
The utter relief of the verdict after the turbulent lead-up and ordeal of the trial had left her a slumped and weeping mess on her bedchamber floor moments after her outraged father had returned from the courthouse. He had been furious at the leniency shown. She had been both ridiculously grateful and disgusted at herself for still caring when Owen clearly hadn’t cared enough about her to do what he had done.
After that, she had vowed to harden her heart and refused to entertain any of the lingering and niggling concerns about his welfare, reminding herself he had made his bed. If he hadn’t stolen her mother’s jewellery, then he would not have been transported. It hadn’t worked, of course, and she had still worried about him and yearned for him regardless, right up until the day he had turned up in Mayfair again like a bad penny.
Once she had got over the shock of that reunion, when once again time shuddered to a grinding halt simply because he was there, she had hardened her foolish heart to focus on loathing him properly as she was supposed to.
But now, burdened with the fresh and unsettling knowledge of him languishing shackled and hopeless in a fetid, vermin-infested hulk for eight months, she could not help but wonder what else he had endured in the seven interminable years he had been away. What was the long and difficult story Owen had neglected to tell her? What had happened on the hulk to make him fear confined spaces? And did those horrendous conditions continue during the voyage and beyond?
All she knew about the penal colonies at the ends of the earth were what the newspapers told her. That it was a barren and desolate place which nobody in their right mind would wish to inhabit, which in turn made it the perfect place to send the very dregs of society to pay for their heinous crimes through hard work. However, if the hulks were the precursor to a worse fate, or merely a taste of what the future of a transported convict had to endure, then she suspected Owen might well have mourned being spared the hangman in those seven years away.
Which didn’t bear thinking about. Yet she couldn’t seem to stop.
‘We’re here, my lady.’ The coachman’s shout dragged her back to the present and she tentatively pulled back the comforting veil of the carriage curtain in time to see Berkeley Square as they turned into it.
Thankfully, he pulled up directly outside, which meant she only had to navigate a few feet of pavement and four white steps before she could disappear behind the safety of her father’s front door. She did both briskly, staring straight ahead in case a neighbour saw her and wanted to engage in conversation, and felt her tense muscles relax when her knock was answered promptly by the same butler who had been with the family for all the years Lydia had been alive.
‘Hello, Maybury. How are you?’
His usual cheerful smile was gone, replaced by strangely darting eyes which did not want to meet hers and a distinctly ashen face. Both made her nervous. ‘I am…well, my lady. You?’
‘Well, too.’ At this point, she would have usually continued the pleasantries inside while he relieved her of her bonnet, gloves and coat, but Maybury was yet to step aside.
‘I have come to visit my father.’ That she had to clarify her intention was a worry—one which set her pulse jumping as unease settled like too much porridge in her tummy.
‘I shall see if he is in, my lady.’ He tried to shut the door on her and she only just managed to stop it with her foot.
In? What was that about?
‘We both know he hasn’t left the house in months, Maybury.’ His heart was too weak and his chest too bad. ‘What is going on?’
The darting eyes began to blink rapidly before they dropped to a spot on the step before her and his shoulders slumped. ‘We are under strict instructions to announce you, my lady…’ When his gaze finally found the courage to lift to hers, it was filled with regret. ‘It is more than my job’s worth to…’
Lydia held up her hand, fighting for calm herself, but keen not to create more of a scene than she was conscious was already being created. She did not need to see the curtains twitch all around the square to know they were. Such delicious gossip was the lifeblood of Mayfair.
‘I understand, Maybury.’ Her father was a harsh and unforgiving employer. Always had been. One day staff were there, the next gone and usually with absolutely no explanation. The butler was one of the few who had stuck it out beyond a year and doubtless the only one who had remained for over five. Heaven only knew where he drew his resilience from. ‘I am nought but a visitor now and, as such, you are quite right to follow the correct protocols. I shall wait.’
‘Very good, my lady.’ His relief was palpable as he gently closed the door.
Stood all alone on the steps, she momentarily considered rummaging in her reticule for a handkerchief to give herself something to do which might hint to the nosy neighbours she was nonplussed, before she abandoned the idea. Nobody would be fooled by it and if Papa was intent on sending them a message, then she would hold her head high while he did it. Especially as she had done absolutely nothing wrong.
One painful minute ticked by, followed by two more. Out of the corners of her eyes, she could tell more than a few people had suddenly felt the overwhelming need for some fresh air and were taking a hasty walk, yet still she stared resolutely straight ahead. The temptation to dive back into the sanctuary of Owen’s shiny carriage was overwhelming and she was on the cusp of giving in to that urge when the front door finally opened again. Only this time, there was no sign of Maybury. It was Justin who had come to greet her. And by the sight of his attire, the buttoned greatcoat, the tall beaver hat and his favourite ivory-tipped walking cane, they weren’t staying.
‘Sorry to have kept you waiting.’ His smile was feeble as he bent to kiss her cheek. ‘Shall we?’ He offered her his arm and, to save face and give credence to the charade, she took it and allowed him to lead her back to her conveyance and follow her inside—but not before he instructed her driver to take them to Hyde Park.
The coach jerked forward and they sat opposite one another smiling as if nothing whatsoever was wrong until it left Berkeley Square.
‘What is going on?’
Her brother’s face was pale, his expression distraught. ‘Our father has decided to disown you.’
‘What do you mean disown me?’ The very idea was preposterous. ‘Why would he do that?’
‘Because you married beneath you. Because you eloped and embarrassed him in front of Kelvedon. Because you married Wolfe…’
‘All three at his express instruction!’
‘I know, poppet.’ He took her hand and shook his head, huffing out an exasperated breath. ‘I’ve tried to reason with him. Lord knows I’ve tried to reason with him—but you know Papa. He’s a callous bastard who only cares about himself!’
‘But I’ve paid his debts. Saved him from eviction…’ Her head began to spin at the blatant unfairness of it all. ‘I married my enemy for him! And now I am to be disowned for simply doing my duty?’
‘I’m sure it won’t last long. You know Father…he’s all about saving face and putting on a front. As he sees it, if he had flung open the door to you and welcomed you with open arms, it might be construed as forgiveness…’
‘I have nothing to be forgiven for! Nothing!’
Always the frustrating fence sitter, her brother’s tone was placating. ‘I know that, too, poppet. But Wolfe expressly forbade him from rubbishing you publicly and had it written into the contracts, so in our father’s head, cutting you out of his life and leaving you stood on the doorstep clearly sends everyone the same message.’
‘Heaven forbid he insults the Marquess of Kelvedon!’
‘Perhaps he needs a little more time… In fact, I am sure all he needs is a little more time. You know how he likes to control things and you caught him unawares just now. He wasn’t expecting you today. None of us were. To be fair, we didn’t even know you were back from Scotland.’
‘To be fair? What did you expect? That I would stay there for ever?’ Sometimes his lack of thought mirrored their self-absorbed father’s.
‘Of course not… But you sent no message.’
‘I wasn’t aware I needed to send word to be allowed home!’
He reached for her hand and squeezed it. ‘I know it’s no excuse for his behaviour, but things haven’t been easy since you left.’
‘You don’t say. Try marrying a complete stranger!’ An outright lie, but certainly the truth as far as her brother was concerned. Owen might not be a stranger, not in the biblical sense either, but he was certainly no longer her friend either. Not that Justin had ever known she had once befriended then fallen in love with a servant. She had planned on telling her menfolk when she was old enough to marry Owen without their permission, when they were not in any position to stop her choosing her own mate even if it meant certain banishment. At sixteen, she had been prepared to sacrifice everything for him and probably would have if he hadn’t resorted to what he did. After he was arrested, and with her mother so ill and so distraught at his treachery, admitting she had been complicit in bringing a thief into the house was out of the question. ‘Things haven’t been easy for me either, Justin!’
He acknowledged it with a curt nod. ‘The Marquess took your elopement badly and blamed us for not keeping a closer eye on you. Because of his strong connection to the government and his loyal friends in the Lords, Father has been worried about the repercussions. The last thing we want is to fall foul of those men.’
‘But I am his daughter. I suppose that counts for nothing in view of Lord Kelvedon’s superior connections. Better to fall out with me than an old lecher who couldn’t pay the asking price!’
‘You know how the ton works, poppet.’ He patted her hand as if she did not and she was sorely tempted to slap it away. ‘We are not yet in a financial position to alienate our allies. Then there is the press—who have been an absolute nightmare and have printed such vitriolic lies, the family has not come out of things well.’
‘By that, you mean the press have had more sympathy for me and Owen than Papa and the awful Marquess.’ Lydia had gone against her new husband’s advice and had read every story in Gertie’s comfortable parlour. While the reports of their purported ‘secret love’ were the stuff of fairy tales, not many had expressed their outright outrage at the elopement. Largely because Randolph had successfully turned Owen into St George and Kelvedon into the dragon. ‘In which case, Father’s perceived loyalty is now misplaced.’
‘He’s not going to change his mind today, Lydia. If we push him too far, too soon, he might never change his mind at all. Give it a few weeks…’
‘Weeks? Or months?’
Through the confusion came acceptance and the realisation that, while she was devastated, she wasn’t at all surprised by what had just occurred. It had been stupid to expect gratitude for her great sacrifice when her father had never thanked a soul in his life for anything as far as she was aware. All he had ever cared about was himself and his elevated position within the ranks of society.
She also knew he would happily leave her floundering in purgatory for as long as it took to completely and convincingly dissociate himself from her scandalous behaviour—never mind that it had been at his unbending insistence. She had done her duty and now she was no longer his problem. Always the inconvenience. A daughter instead of the spare he had so desperately wanted. Yet without her, dear Papa would currently be doomed and publicly shamed in court and his entire flimsy charade would have collapsed in a far bigger scandal than the one she had been ordered to cause. And to rub salt in the wound, he had the gall to publicly shame her! It beggared belief.
‘He hasn’t even sent my things, Justin!’ Anger at the injustice swiftly replaced the hurt. ‘Or am I to be left with just the clothes on my back? Does he also expect Owen to now pay for an entire new wardrobe as well as all the other frivolous debts he bailed our father out of?’
‘I shall try to get your things sent to you.’
‘Try?’ Today she had no patience for her brother’s particular brand of cautious diplomacy. ‘You’ll do more than “try”, Justin! You owe me!’ She had only agreed to sell herself in the first place to save her ineffectual elder sibling. ‘You both owe me! Treating me like this is outrageous.’ She was braced for the scandal—not a pillorying from her nearest and dearest.
‘You are right.’ Instantly, he was contrite. ‘Of course you’re right… You should have your things…’ He dropped her hand as the carriage slowed and the entrance to the park loomed. ‘I will have them packed today. I promise. Regardless of what Papa has to say about it.’ As soon as the wheels stopped, he had the latch open. ‘I’ll have it all sent to Wolfe’s club…unless you’d like it to go somewhere else?’ He didn’t even know where she lived. Did he not care or was she reading too much into things because she was angry?
‘Send it all to Libertas.’ And suddenly she was eager to get back there, too. ‘Owen and I have a set of rooms on the top floor.’ Which she had hoped her brother would visit her in. ‘It has a private entrance in the back which is concealed from the main road and quite separate from the club.’ She added that as a test, to see if he would ask anything about it or show some interest in her new living arrangements or life or at least give her hope he still wanted to be part of it.
‘Splendid.’ He squeezed her hand, clearly keen to be off. ‘This will all blow over, poppet. I promise. Then everything will be back to normal once again. You’ll see.’
Normal? For him, perhaps, but not her. But there seemed no point in voicing that when he was already staring down the road and wishing he was gone.
‘And in the meantime?’
‘We will work something out.’
Lydia nodded as he closed the door, then practically sprinted back in the direction they had come without as much as a backward glance, feeling more alone than she ever had in her life. While she sympathised with Justin—he held hardly any more sway over her father than she ever had—she couldn’t help but feel wounded by his thoughtlessness, too. He was blithely abandoning her to her fate and expecting her to cope with it all alone. It was most unlike him when they had always been so close. Although now she was a married woman, and in view of who she was married to, she supposed that did make things difficult—and Justin had never been good with anything difficult.
‘I am fine…thank you for asking.’
Her sigh misted the carriage window as she watched him disappear down Piccadilly.
‘And you and dear Papa are welcome.’