Page 19 of The Trouble With Her Duke
“We should be off,” Lydia announced, smoothing her dress as she stood, noting that Annabelle waited at the door.
“I’ve prepared a basket for us, miss,” the maid said.
“How very thoughtful of you, Annabelle, thank you. We’ll have a nice repast.” Lydia hugged each of the duchesses. Then, with a last wave and farewell to Charles, she exited the dowager’s home. Settling in the carriage, she took a deep breath and glanced out the window at the cloud-laden skies, hoping they could make it to the posting inn before a deluge. To pass the time, she’d immerse herself in her new book—Emma. She’d purchased it the day she ran into the Duke of Danforth.
The sun had set when the coach arrived at The Fox and The Hen. Lydia was famished. And tired. The rain that had held off all day had finally begun to fall. While the driver and the outrider took care of their horses, Lydia and Annabelle enjoyed an early supper and found their way to their rooms for the night.
Hammond House Mayfair, London
Lydia glanced up from her book as they passed her family’s mercantile on the way to the family townhouse. The emporium that now dominated an entire block had begun as a small shop on the corner. Her grandfather had moved the shop and expanded when he married her grandmother and had continued buying the spaces around it as they grew the business. The store was known for having the latest in fabrics and other necessities and catered to both households and businesses. Modistes depended on Hammonds to bring them the latest in silks and satins.
The townhouse consisted of two homes that had been converted into one grand mansion and was large enough to house the entire family when they were in London.
“Miss Hammond,” Dickens said. “Welcome home.”
The butler had been with Lydia’s family for as long as she could remember.
“Dickens, this is Annabelle. She is visiting with us this Christmas.”
“Pleased to meet you, Annabelle,” the butler said, giving the young woman a warm smile, as he accepted their hats and coats. “Your family is in the parlor, miss. They expected you tomorrow, so this will be a surprise—a nice one!”
“Thank you, Dickens. I cannot wait to see them.”
As she approached the parlor, the familiar chorus of sounds greeted her, with chatting and children playing. Closing her eyes, she inhaled the delectable aroma of freshly baked bread wafting up from the kitchen. Their cook was a genuine artist in the kitchen and always had bread baking in the oven. Her sisters-in-law swore they could gain a stone just by inhaling it.
“Lydia, you’re home!” Her two sisters-in-law rushed up to greet her as she walked into the room. “How long will you be able to stay?”
She turned to Annabelle. “This is Annabelle. The duchess sent her with me so I wouldn’t be alone on the trip. She’s been excellent company the whole trip. And she has tremendous skill with hair.” She nudged the petite young blonde woman. “Annabelle, meet Bridget and Eliza. My wonderful sisters-in-law. Bridget is married to my second-oldest brother Miles, and Eliza is married to my third brother, Preston.”
Annabelle curtsied. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Lovely to meet you, Annabelle,” Bridget said.
“How long can you stay?” Eliza asked.
“The Duchess of Featherly’s carriage will return for us, the first of the year,” Lydia replied.
“That’s a lovely long holiday,” effused Bridget.
Lydia stared at Bridget for a moment before a smile lit up her face. “You’re with child! Congratulations!” She hugged her sister-in-law but drew back, confused, when she felt Bridget stiffen. “Is something wrong?” she whispered.
Bridget’s countenance faltered as she glanced at the children playing in the family room, and then at her husband, who was in deep conversation with her brother Preston. Broadening her smile, she shook her head.
Lydia leaned over and kissed her. “We’ll talk later. I don’t believe you.”
Bridget gave a slight nod. “I’d like that,” she murmured.
Lydia glanced about the noisy room, her frustration flaring. The children hadn’t paused in their play and the men hadn’t looked up from their conversation.
Stepping back, she grabbed Annabelle’s hand. “Let me introduce”—Good grief! I must yell to gain their attention.
Her four-year-old niece shrieked when her brother found her in what must have been her hiding place.
“You’re ‘it’, Janey!” her nephew, James, yelled, tugging his sister’s braids, and making her shriek. He nearly plowed down Eliza and Preston’s three-year-old triplets, Marley, Mark, and Mary, who were sitting on the carpet playing with some wooden farm animals and dolls. The three were talking, pulling hair, or screaming—and all at once.
Lydia couldn’t hear herself think. This will not do at all. Putting her fingers to her lips, she blew like her brothers had taught her years ago. The loud whistle brought everything to a screeching stop. The children stopped running around, pulling hair, and shrieking—whatever they were doing, they came to an abrupt halt. Annabelle dropped her bag and stood with her mouth wide open. Her brothers stopped talking and looked up, obviously surprised to see her.
“Teach me how to do that!” Bridget whispered.
