Page 12 of An Arranged Betrothal with a Contrite Duke
Lydia nodded, thinking back to her conversation with Mary.
“He is supposedly a scholar,” she said. “It would be nice if he was supportive of the idea.”
Hester nodded.
“That’s the way,” she said, wiping away Lydia’s tears. “Think positive thoughts. Something good could come out of this yet.”
Lydia nodded, smiling more genuinely at her lady’s maid.
“Thank you, Hester,” she said. “You always know how to make me feel better.”
Hester blushed, gently taking her mistress’s arm.
“Come,” she said. “Let’s finish your beautiful hair.”
Lydia nodded, following her lady’s maid back to her vanity and taking her seat. Hester worked adeptly, removing the curlers to produce tight, shining ringlets that hung beautifully all over Lydia’s head. She worked carefully with bobby pins, tucking them into clusters of ringlets so that they flowed at two different lengths down Lydia’s head and neck.
When her hair was done, Hester helped Lydia don her jewelry, including the tiara. The effect was stunning. Even in her distress, Lydia couldn't help but admire her reflection in the mirror. She looked like a princess, which helped her spirits to raise a little more.
Hester gushed over her, trying to rally her usually spirited mistress, and it worked. Lydia managed a smile as she looked at herself in the mirror. Even her very discerning mother should be very pleased with the outcome. And, with a little luck, so would her groom to be. His opinion would surely determine her mother’s pleasure with the outcome of the evening. For the first time ever, she found herself hoping for the approval of a gentleman.
The heartening effect was very short-lived, however. Eloise burst into the room, looking her daughter over carefully. Her lips were pursed, and her eyes were assessing every inch of Lydia’s countenance. Yet again, she wondered where the sweet, affectionate mother she had always known had gone. The stern, cold woman who stood before her was unfamiliar to her, and it made Lydia anxious and sick all over again.
“Come, Lydia,” she barked, sounding displeased. “The duke’s carriage has been sighted entering the drive. Now, downstairs with you, and smile!”
Lydia glanced at Hester, who quietly linked her arm through her mistress’s. Lydia gave her a grateful look, clinging tightly to her lady’s maid. Hester wouldn’t be able to stay with her. But having her company as she went downstairs would be a great comfort to her.
Lydia took a deep breath, and she and Hester followed her mother out of the room. As they descended the stairs, Lydia could hear the sound of voices coming from the entryway. Their guests must have been speaking to the butler, which meant they would be inside any moment. Her mother put her hand on her other arm, squeezing it tightly, and Lydia felt like a prisoner being led to her execution.
Lydia took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. She knew that she had to put on a brave face, no matter how she felt inside. She turned to Hester.
“Thank you, Hester,” she whispered. “I'll see you later.”
Hester curtsied.
“Good luck, milady,” she whispered back.
Lydia followed her mother, her stomach churning with nerves. As she entered the drawing room, she caught a glimpse of herself in the hallway mirror. She hardly recognized the person staring back at her. Her hair was styled into an intricate updo, and her dress was so tight she could hardly breathe. But now, her face had grown pale, and her eyes were wide with fear. She looked like a different person now, like a doll dressed up for a show, rather than the princess she saw upstairs.
“Lydia,” her father said, beaming at her. “You look absolutely lovely. The duke will be smitten, I'm sure.”
Lydia smiled weakly.
“Thank you, Father,” she said.
Her mother's face hardened, clearly not wanting her father’s warmth to make her forget herself.
“Remember, Lydia, you're representing our family tonight. Make us proud,” she said.
Lydia nodded silently, swallowing. She felt like a lamb to the slaughter. She knew what awaited her for the evening: a room full of people, all staring at her, judging her every move. She knew that the duke and his mother would be there soon, and she couldn't shake the feeling of dread that had settled in the pit of her stomach.
Chapter Six
Michael was immediately impressed with the old seaside castle. It was small, but regal, standing proudly in its sea home. The walls looked as antique and historic as the High Renaissance paintings that hung on the walls of the entryway and off shooting hallways. There were also other vases on small tables at the corners of the hallways, one of which looked to be dated as far back as the 1200s. He was in awe of the pieces that were on display as they followed the butler through the majestic home. If those pieces were so impressive, what must the rest of the earl’s collection look like?
The details of the architecture and the history embedded in the walls left him impressed by its grandeur. The intricate carvings on the walls, the chandeliers that hung from the high ceilings, and the luxurious black furnishings were all a sight to behold. He was disappointed when the butler stopped outside the door of the drawing room, where the lord and lady of the house, and their daughter were waiting.
Even inside the drawing room, there were impressive candelabras from various centuries prior. Clearly, the earl was proud to display much of his collection, using it functionally in place of more modern décor and furniture. There were figurines of animals, angels and ancient Greek gods on a small satinwood desk, cornices that looked like they were from the Renaissance era, like the paintings in the hallways, and ceiling medallions that reminded Michael of 16thcentury France. He was so lost in the wonders of Tockenham Castle that he nearly forgot why he was there. That was until, his mother gave him a firm elbow to his ribs.
