Page 88 of Miss Dignified
“Not in the sense you mean. He sat a proper twelve inches away from me on a garden bench and told me that if the match was not to my liking, I was to refuse him. I was not to be bullied into marriage, or persuaded or herded or in any way coerced just because I was an heiress.
“English law does not allow forced marriages,” Mama went on. “John told me what my parents and all the solicitors had failed to mention. He told me that much of my money was mine—tied up in trusts, butmine—and my parents could not control it. He told me the truth, Lydia. He alone told me the truth and took my part even when that might have cost him dearly in both coin and familial accord.”
Mama dabbed at her eyes again. “I am like Marcus in some ways. Smart enough, but not quick, not confident of my conclusions. I nonetheless realized that John was the fellow I had to marry. He cared for me, he was honest, and he didnotcare about my money half so much as he valued his honor.”
“And that swept you off your feet?”
Mama smiled, a hint of mischief shining through. “He was also charming, but after his little speech in the garden, I rather swept him off his feet. You should not have to marry Wesley, and I think I know how he’s hounding Marcus from home. Do you recall a certain Lieutenant Finchly? Dapper young fellow in his regimentals, a friend of Wesley’s?”
Oh dear. “He and Wesley were more than acquaintances?”
“Purported to be, though Finchly and Marcus got into some sort of disagreement, and there was a duel. Ladies are not supposed to know of these things. I was in the deer park having a morning constitutional, and one cannot ignore the sound of gunfire at close range. Finchly fell—Marcus was handy with a gun even at that age—and the next thing I knew, Marcus was buying his colors, and Reginald was allowing it. I suspected foul play on Wesley’s part, and I always have.”
“But that was years ago,” Lydia said slowly. “Why do you think an old difference of opinion haunts Marcus after all this time?” Men dueled all the time, and titled men were practically immune from prosecution. “Did Finchly die?”
“I heard nothing to that effect at the time, and Mrs. Bloom would certainly have apprised me of such news.”
“Then why would young men acting like fools years ago be relevant?”
“I suspect this unfortunate business still matters for two reasons,” Mama said, “though it took me some time to puzzle them out. First, Wesley was Marcus’s second. Seconds are supposed to try to stop the duel, with an apology, with some appeal to reason, any honorable way they can. Marcus held the title even then, while Finchly was a commoner. Had Wesley pointed that out to Marcus, there would have been no duel. Marcus believes in codes of honor, as his papa did, and seconds are expected to know and enforce the rules.”
“And theCode Duellodoes not allow men of unequal station to duel,” Lydia said slowly. “Wesley had come down from university by then. You are right that he would have known the rules, while Marcus at that age would not. What is the second reason you suspect foul play?”
“Marcus would not have shot to kill, and yet, Finchly fell. Modern dueling pistols are more accurate than the antique variety, and your brother practiced his marksmanship incessantly. Finchly might have suffered a passing wound, but Marcus would never have intentionally taken his life.”
“You think Wesley tampered with the guns?” A risky ploy, if the intention was to see Finchly murdered, but perhaps the intention had been to seeMarcusmurdered?
“I don’t know what to think, Lydia, and as long as Marcus’s name did not appear on a casualty list, I did not have to think anything. I could plan the village fete and miss your father, and life was bearable.”
Bearable. Lydia was no longer willing to settle for a bearable life, if that meant more extortion, bullying, manipulation, and loneliness at Tremont.
“Before I left London,” Lydia said, “a man I hardly know offered to serve as my reinforcements. He was sincere, if a bit… forward. I should have been your reinforcements, Mama. I should have stopped Wesley from bothering you. I should have forced Uncle Reggie to show me the books. You have worried for Marcus in ways beyond what even any mother with a son at war must bear, and all the while…”
Mama took her hand. “All the while, you have been running this house, quietly directing a staff that could not look to me for orders. You have been preventing the worst of Reggie’s stupidity, and then I sent you off to London alone, because I did not dare… I am sorry, Lydia.”
“You owe me no apologies, Mama. Marcus and Finchly were dueling over Finchly’s behavior with me. I am nearly certain that this is all my fault.” And with that conclusion came a crushing weight of guilt. This duel had to be what Marcus had meant when he’d alluded to Lydia not understanding the particulars.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Lydia. I knew Finchly turned your head. I knew he was a rascal—all of Wesley’s friends are rascals. I also knew you were a typical young lady with a lively sense of inquisitiveness, and sooner or later, you would indulge your curiosity. Had I been more vigilant… But I wasn’t. Now you ask me to go to London, and it occurs to me that you need reinforcements too. That’s why you came here, isn’t it? Because you hoped I could convince Marcus to come home?”
Well, yes, though it was a forlorn hope in light of recent revelations. “I wanted you to see him again, even if only to say farewell. If Marcus killed a man in a duel, then we can hardly ask him to stay in England.”
Mama was quiet for a time, while Lydia’s thoughts ran riot. A duel… That explained much, but as Mama had said, it did not explain everything. How had Marcus learned of Finchly’s lapse with Lydia? Finchly would not have been stupid enough to boast of such a thing to Lydia’s own brother, would he?
The only possible conduit for that information was Wesley—again.
“To London, then,” Mama said, rising. “We will be away hours before Reginald awakens, and that means I must pack.”
“The post-chaise will be out front by seven of the clock,” Lydia said, trailing Mama to the door. “You need not bring much, though a hamper of decent food would be a very good idea.”
“To leave Tremont…” Mama regarded Lydia. “I suppose it’s past time.” She again hugged Lydia in that surprisingly firm grasp. “I always fretted over Marcus, because I know what it is to be surrounded by people who can think quickly and who seem to know how to go on. I should have fretted more over you, my dear.” She slipped through the door and was gone.
In the ensuing silence, Lydia battled an unaccountable urge to cry—yes, she had longed for maternal reinforcements. Yes, she wished in hindsight that her mother’s vigilance might have prevented that stupid interlude with Finchly. Perhaps she’d been trying to gain Mama’s notice with her outrageous behavior, but none of that signified now.
Morning would come all too soon, and the journey back to London would be wearying at best. Lydia ordered herself to bed, though she had much less success ordering herself to fall asleep.
Chapter Seventeen
“Good morning, Betty.” Dylan had come down to the kitchen after breakfast, determined to flush Lydia from her covert. “Might you direct me to Mrs. Lovelace?”
