Page 87 of Miss Dignified
Mama arrived a quarter hour later, already attired for bed. “I am glad to have you home, Lydia,” she said, hovering in the bedroom doorway. “I missed you.”
Mama looked as serene and pretty as always, but Lydia had learned to observe more closely and to listen more carefully.
“You worried that, like Marcus, I might not come back. I was tempted, Mama, but because of Marcus’s situation, I betrayed the trust of a man for whom I might well have turned my back on Tremont. You are coming to London with me in the morning—I’ve already arranged for the post-chaise—and you will not go running to Reggie with what I have to tell you now.”
“Did London turn you up churlish, Lydia?”
Had Lydia not kept house for Dylan Powell, had she not seen one soldier after another grappling with the challenge of life in London, had she not seen the mean little room where Marcus bided, she might have apologized to Mama and retreated into guilt. She instead advanced on her mother, and tugged her gently into the room.
“Wesley is in London, Mama,” she said, pulling the door closed. “He’s dressed to the nines, preparing to put Marcus on a ship bound for America. I saw Marcus, and he was adamant that he will not come home. Unless I miss my guess, your jewelry has been financing Wesley’s excesses, and you never said a word to me or Uncle Reggie about what amounts to extortion. Why?”
Mama sank onto the bed. “Wesley is young. All young men overspend their allowances. I never wear much jewelry these days.”
“So you will allow an intemperate bully to inherit Papa’s title? You will meekly hand over a fortune to Wesley while he ruins Marcus’s future?”
“Marcus is doubtless doing as he thinks best, Lydia. I never wanted him to join up. Never thought he was suited to an officer’s life. He was just a boy…”
Lydia paced before the hearth, steeling herself for Mama’s tears. Mama had perfected the art of crying without turning all blotchy and sniffly.
“Marcus was older than some who bought their colors, Mama, and he came through the war safely enough. Toss his future away if you must, but please do not toss mine aside as well.” The words and the determination behind them surprised Lydia—not so long ago, she’d been contemplating marriage to Wesley as a means of saving Tremont.
Dylan Powell had determination to spare, as did, Lydia suspected, his cousins and sisters.
Mama used the sleeve of her robe to dab at her eyes. “You have adequate settlements, Lydia. You will never want for anything. Why must you be dramatic? I’m sure Marcus merely wants a little more time to sort himself out. Travel can do that for us, give us a new perspective.”
Lydia came to a halt beside the bed. “Mama, you and Papa had some good years. He was the love of your life, and you were his dearest lady. Wesley will use whatever he knows of Marcus’s situation to force me to the altar. I want what you had with Papa. If I could have even a few years of what you had with Papa…”
Lydia never would have that blessing. She’d used up that chance when she’d abused Dylan’s trust, but this argument alone might inspire Mama to act.
“I loved your father so much,” Mama said, staring at her embroidered slippers. “I ask myself, what would my John make of this situation? Reginald turning into a sot? Wesley demanding my jewelry? You forced into service in an effort to find your brother? It’s all quite… wrong.”
“For me to marry Wesley would be wrong, Mama. For Marcus to run away from home is wrong. He’s grown taller and more serious, though he’s still quoting his philosophers.”
And those philosophers had not been any defense against Wesley’s schemes. Lydia sat on the bed beside her mother, the memory of Marcus’s sad little room landing like a blow to her heart. The Earl of Tremont, reduced to that… Why? What had that bit of ancient history with Finchly to do with anything?
Lydia thought again of Dylan, who’d found Marcus for her, despite their differences.
“I liked being a housekeeper, Mama. Liked earning my own wages, liked making a contribution to a household. I cannot marry Wesley, and I cannot answer for what Wesley will do when I refuse his threats.”
Mama was quiet for a moment, and Lydia entertained the notion that her journey back to London would be solitary, so why make that journey at all?
“Do you know why I fell in love with your father?”
“He was handsome and charming?”
“He was not bad looking, true, and he had a good sense of humor, but I fell in love with him despite myself. I was an heiress—the Lovelace heiress—and thus I had offers, Lydia. My parents sorted through those offers and decided on John. He was in line for an old, respected title, and he would come into this lovely family seat.”
“But?”
“But I had danced with him exactly twice. He was so much taller than I that we were not ideal partners. He found that humorous, while I… I was mortified. Young people are easily mortified.”
Why had Lydia never heard this story before? Why had she never asked for it? “You and Papa did not get on well?”
“We did not get off on the right foot, put it that way, but then the elders started matchmaking, and neither John nor I had any say in the matter, or so I thought. The settlement negotiations were well under way when John called upon me one day.”
Lydia mentally clapped her hands over her ears, because an engaged couple was allowed significant latitude, and some things about one’s parents should remain private.
“Papa swept you off your feet?”
