Lydia sobbed softly. She wanted to ask her mother why she was being so cold to her, but her mouth wouldn’t form the words.
After a minute, the countess clicked her tongue and moved to the door.
“I expect your hair to be as stylish and nice as possible,” she said. “And for you to be wearing one of those three dresses I chose.” She started out the door, but she turned on her heel and narrowed her eyes at her daughter. “And I expect you to be nice to Lord Strawbridge. Whether you like it or not.”
Lydia swallowed and nodded. Her stomach burned with bile, but she forced it to stay down.
“Yes, Mother,” she whispered.
The countess nodded firmly.
“Good,” she said. “Now, I must see to it that the wedding invitations for the Tolland’s gets delivered as soon as possible.”
The countess turned once more to leave, but Lydia was suddenly stricken with an idea.
“Mother,” she called.
The countess turned to look at her suspiciously.
“Yes?” she asked.
Lydia offered her mother an apologetic smile.
“I am sorry that I have been so ill,” she said. “But perhaps, some fresh air would do me some good. I could deliver the invitation personally if you like.”
The countess looked her daughter over, clearly trying to decide if Lydia could be searching for a way to weasel out of dinner. She must have found no reason to think so, at least immediately, however, as she finally nodded slowly.
“Very well,” she said. “But you must be back early this afternoon. You will need time to bathe, dress and have your hairstyle well before the duke and his mother are to arrive.”
Lydia nodded, eager to agree to anything that would appease her mother.
“Of course,” she said. “I promise I will be.”
The countess nodded again, pulling the invitation from her pocket. She handed it to her daughter, then walked away without another word. Lydia had to choke back tears as she watched her mother disappear from sight. She waited a moment longer to follow her mother. She had the countess’s permission to leave. But she didn’t want her mother to see how quickly she ran from their home.
She hurried out the front door of Tockenham Castle and ran down the short, winding driveway. She reached the road and didn’t stop running until she reached the main road into London. Then, she slowed, and only noticed that tears were streaming down her cheeks when she reached up to brush strands of her hair out of her face.
She stopped to wipe her face with her handkerchief, then continued toward the Tolland estate. She knew she should try to collect herself before she reached her friend’s home. She was in terrible distress, and she planned to tell Mary what was happening. But she didn’t want to show up looking as though she was heading to a funeral. Even though she felt like she was: the funeral of her future plans and dreams.
But Lydia couldn’t stop her heart from sinking as she walked through the streets, the wedding invitation clutched tightly in her hand. She couldn't bear the thought of marrying the duke, a man she had never met before. But her mother was determined to go through with the match, and Lydia felt powerless to stop it. She had thought she could count on her mother to get her father to see sense. But that morning had proven to her that that would not be the case.
As she approached the Tolland family's estate, Lydia tried once more to shake off her worries and focus on the task at hand. She put on a smile and knocked, curtseying at the butler when he answered the door. The Tolland family lived in a large townhouse on the outskirts of town. Lydia had known Mary and James Tolland since they were children, and she and Mary had always been the best of friends. She was grateful for the distraction from her impending nuptials. Though she was dreading seeing James. How would he take the news of her arranged betrothal?
As Lydia followed the butler through the beige, floral decorated halls of Tolland Estate, she heard the muffled voice of Lady Tolland. She was bustling about the house, speaking to servants as she went about her daily tasks. Lydia’s stomach clenched. Not because she didn’t like Mary’s mother. But she suddenly envisioned herself doing the same things. She would soon be a nobleman’s wife, after all.
The butler led her to the pink parlor, where Mary sat sipping tea. Mary spotted her before the butler announced her arrival, and she leapt from her seat and flew into Lydia’s arms.
“Lydia, darling,” she said, kissing Lydia’s cheeks. “Where on earth have you been?”
Lydia tried to smile and answer to her friend. But her lip quivered, and Mary took notice at once.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, taking Lydia by the hand. “Come. Sit with me and tell me what’s troubling you.”
Lydia sighed, shaking her head as the two women sat down.
“I cannot believe what’s become of my life,” she blurted, hastily putting the invitation to the wedding in her friend’s hand.
Mary patted her hand gently.
