Page 96 of Miss Dignified
“You are correct,” she said. “There is more to it. Wesley was Marcus’s second, and Wesley could have stopped the duel had he wanted to. I suspect Wesley made sure Marcus knew I’d been with Finchly, and Wesley may have tampered with the guns.”
“Why do you say that?”
The coachman was keeping to a walk, for which Lydia was grateful. She’d been bounced so hard for so long in the post-chaises that she had become one big bruise.
“My father was a noted marksman, and from a young age, Marcus was determined to live up to Papa’s memory. Marcus was a dead shot, and he would never have aimed to kill Finchly, and yet, Finchly was felled. The point of a duel is to satisfy honor, not commit murder.”
A short silence followed that disclosure. What would Dylan think of Marcus now, when dueling had been added to the list of a young man’s follies?
“I went on a short reconnaissance mission among Wesley’s fondest memories,” Dylan said. “Finchly did not die. He wasn’t even wounded. Wesley set up the whole thing, and Finchly now bides in in the country, hoping nobody charges him with raping an earl’s daughter.”
Fatigue of body and mind hampered Lydia’s ability to grasp the import of Dylan’s words. She understood the plain meaning, but the rest of it…
“Wesleyschemedto see me ruined and Marcus branded a murderer,” Lydia said slowly, “and he has nearly succeeded.”
“‘Schemed’ is the correct word, from telling Finchly to ply you with strong drink, to using some chicken blood to approximate the appearance of a mortal wound, to so helpfully aiding Marcus—a titleholder without an heir of the body—to buy his colors and go off to war. Wesley could not have Marcus convicted of murder, for that might see the title and wealth attainted, so he used Marcus’s sense of honor as a weapon.”
An odd combination of rage and relief seeped through Lydia’s fatigue. Marcus had no need to flee—none—but Wesley’s perfidy eclipsed all bounds.
“How do you know these things?” she asked.
“I treated Wesley to a few drinks at a club slightly above his touch. Asked the right questions, let the right silences linger. Wesley’s besetting sin is arrogance. He must above all be admired for his cleverness, and he was sadly in want of admirers. I obliged with the boon he most craved—rapt appreciation—and he went willingly into the ambush.”
Lydia did lean against Dylan then. She closed her eyes and sent up a prayer of thanks that Dylan had unraveled Wesley’s scheme before Marcus had been hounded from home shores—again.
“Thank you,” she said. “I must convey this news to Marcus, and to Mama. She knew something was amiss, and that was before Wesley was extorting jewelry from her.”
Dylan’s posture subtly changed, such that the muscle beneath Lydia’s cheek became less yielding. “With Marcus gone from sight, perhaps permanently, what else could Wesley have held over your mother’s head?”
“Me. My freedom. As long as Mama kept tossing her baubles into Wesley’s lap, he would not press his suit. He doubtless planned to get his hands on every earbob and brooch Mama owned, and only then he would have come after my settlements. He is diabolical, and I don’t know what to do about him.”
“You need not make that decision when you are exhausted,” Dylan said. “Never attempt to puzzle out strategy when fatigue clouds your mind. I will take you and your mother to Marcus in the morning, because whatever else you decide, Lord Tremont deserves to know the truth.”
Lydia didn’t know if she replied, but she did know that falling asleep tucked against Dylan’s side was a sweet, sweet pleasure. She barely recalled stumbling from the coach into his arms. He carried her through the darkened house, not to her little housekeeper’s apartment, but up to his bedroom.
He sat her on the bed, and Lydia bestirred herself to form a complete sentence. “What are you about, Captain?”
“You are at the end of your tether,” he said, slipping off her boots and untying her garters. “I know that. I know you are upset and weary and muddled and sore. I have no designs on your person, Lydia, and if you tell me to sleep in the dressing closet, I will, but I want… I wish…”
He knelt before her, his gaze unfathomable.
“Tell me, Dylan.”
“I would like to share that bed with you, to sleep with you, to hold you. Only that. I went half mad when you left, then Bronwen gave me your note. ‘Love, Lydia.’ Two words, but they restored a measure of hope to me. Tonight, you told your mother that we are dear friends, and you came home with me… I am babbling. You are consumed with worry for your brother, and I am blethering on about notes.”
He peeled down her stockings and remained kneeling before her, rolling them into a tidy little ball. A minute tremor to his fingers was Lydia’s only clue that Dylan Powell was not simply being his usual, conscientiously neat, considerate self.
Lydia had come home with Dylan intent on more than retrieving belongings that could easily have been boxed up and sent to Shropshire. He and she needed to discuss a few matters, as he’d said, but those matters would wait until morning.
“I am nearly too tired to speak coherently,” she said, “but I will happily share this bed with you, Dylan, and I will hold you too. We can speak more when we are both back on our mettle.”
He nodded. “After you have sorted out your brother’s situation, you and I will talk. But you must not disappear again, Lydia. Until Bronwen gave me your note, I thought… Well, no matter what I thought. To bed with us.”
If not for Dylan’s assistance, Lydia would have fallen asleep where she sat. He got her out of her clothes and into one of his old shirts, then helped her to wash and to take down and braid her hair. He was more considerate and efficient than any lady’s maid, and Lydia allowed herself to revel in his touch.
While he made use of the privacy screen, she climbed onto the mattress and nuzzled pillows that bore the spicy, citrusy scent she associated with Dylan. For the first time in years, she could put down a burden of worry that had grown enormous.
The bed dipped, and Dylan’s arms came around her. Then all was peace, comfort, and oblivion.
