Elsie was quiet for a moment, so long that Lydia looked at her from the corner of her eyes. The girl was not mute again, that faraway expression that replaced her words not taking hold over her.
“Mama and Papa,” Elsie finally whispered. Her hands began to shake, and Lydia pressed them firmly to comfort her.
“You hear… Mama and Papa? You mean they actually speak to you?” Lydia asked, her heart racing. Was her sister afflicted with some sort of illness? Or had the grief of losing their father almost a year ago caused some malady?
“I think it’s them,” Elsie admitted sheepishly. “When I hear them talking, I go to find them. They hear me best when I stand in the attic.”
Lydia smiled patiently, trying to think of what to say. She finally said, “The next time they call out to you, would you do something for me? Would you come and fetch me? Only so that I might speak to them too, I mean. I miss them so.”
“Are you sure you’re not having fun at me?” Elsie asked, looking sad once again. “I’m not sure I should tell you, after all, they said only I should hear them.”
“Ah, but remember, it is not wise to keep secrets from those who love you and care about you,” Lydia reminded her cautiously. “If ever anyone says you must not tell, you should probably still inform me. All right?” Elsie nodded slowly, but Lydia pressed on. “Promise me?”
“I promise,” her little sister answered.
“There’s a good girl. Now I must finish getting ready to go out, but I will leave word with your governess that you are to have a second helping of cake tonight. But only if you eat all your dinner. How does that sound?”
“It sounds wonderful, thank you, Lydia!” Elsie cried, but her eager face clouded over once more. “Won’t Uncle be cross with us if I have too many sweets?”
“I will worry about Uncle, you need only worry about eating all of your carrots. And no feeding them to the dogs this time, hmmm?” Lydia gave her sister another knowing look then kissed her softly on the cheek. “Hurry along, I must dress now. In the morning, I shall tell you all about the party over breakfast before you start your lessons.”
Elsie bade Lydia goodnight and ran along to find her governess, leaving Lydia to force back tears of grief. What was to become of Elsie once Lydia married and moved away from their uncle’s home at Bronson Manor? It had been their home until their father’s horrible accident, but now that Father’s brother was their guardian, this place had slowly come to feel like a stranger’s abode.
But once Lydia completed her second Season and a suitable match had been made, she would leave Bronson—and Elsie—behind. It was unthinkable at the moment, and it would have put a damper on her evening if not for the thought of seeing Vincent again.
Ah, Vincent. He was everything Lydia could have crafted for herself in a potential husband. He was attentive and handsome, a proper gentleman at all times, and even enjoyed some sporting pursuits in his leisure hours. While his attentions were hardly the fodder of the romantic poets, he was a solid man who would make a fine husband.
“So what if he’s not the sort of man one dreams about in the dark?” Lydia asked her reflection. “Love of that sort is only fiction, the stuff of storybooks. True happiness in marriage comes from finding one whom you are agreeable with, compatible in most ways. And that is Vincent, to the letter.”
Lydia frowned at her own lie, knowing how her heart longed for romance in the way that a fish longed for the open sea. She wanted adventure and joy and the kind of love that made one’s breath catch in their chest when they heard someone utter their true love’s name.
She’d had enough grief and hurt to last two lifetimes—first with the death of her mother to childbed fever once Elsie was born and then her dear father so recently. For now, though, those thoughts were pushed from her mind. She was done feeling such sadness and would seek only happiness from here on.
A knock at the door made Lydia forget her thoughts of love. She bade her maid enter and smiled when Abigail entered with her gown. The woman, only a few years older than Lydia but far more worldly due to her station, held out the gown for Lydia’s approval.
“Thank you, Abigail, it looks lovely,” Lydia said as Abigail laid the freshly pressed gown out on the bed to let it lie flat. “If you could only help me with my hair, I believe I’m nearly ready.”
“Of course, My Lady,” Abigail answered, coming to stand behind Lydia at her dressing table. “I would have been here sooner, but I heard you and your sister talking. I thought it best to leave you two to chat.”
“Thank you, that was kind of you. I do worry about her so,” Lydia replied, wincing slightly when Abigail worked out a tangle in her long hair. “She seems so lost now, and with me hoping to marry someday soon, I worry about leaving her alone in this house.”
“Never fear, My Lady. She will have all of us to look after her. We’ll spoil the little dear rotten, we will!” Abigail replied happily. “I’ve never known such a sweet child, one who would give up her own place at the table if she thought someone else was doing without. And always pondering on things, walking about the house or the grounds with that look on her face as though she’s muddling over some deep thought. She’s what we call an old soul, you know.”
“Old soul? What do you mean?” Lydia said, somewhat alarmed at the term.
“I don’t know much how to explain it, they’re only those who’ve been with us on this earth before.” Abigail continued brushing out Lydia’s hair as though it was the most normal statement in the world.
“What? What makes you say that?” Lydia asked a little more sharply than she’d intended. Noting the look of apology on Abigail’s face, Lydia shook her head. “I apologize, Abigail, I’ve only just now had a very strange conversation with my sister and it has left me feeling rather odd. She spoke of hearing people’s voices in the house. Can you imagine?”
“Voices, My Lady?” Abigail asked, looking put off by the statement. “That’s something she might better keep to herself, if you know what I mean. There’s some have been sent off to hospitals for that sort of thing, and I don’t mean the good kind.”
“True,” Lydia acknowledged, her worry for her little sister increasing. “It’s so difficult to explain things like propriety to her when she is in such a sorrowful state. She’s only now beginning to talk to me more and tell me what she’s thinking. I despise the thought of correcting her, scaring her into behaving differently.”
“That’s because you’re a saintly young lady,” the maid replied, beaming shyly. “You care far more about the needs of others than your own happiness. I’ve seen it for myself, you know, if that’s not too forward of me to say.”
“No, it’s quite all right,” Lydia answered, “though I’m hardly worth such high praise. I shall certainly try to live up to that view you have of me though!”
“There now, all done. And you look as beautiful as ever! You’ll be the envy of every young lady at the ball,” Abigail announced. “I’ll hurry and fetch you a small tray to tide you over until dinner tonight. And never fear… I shall go and sneak Lady Elsie a biscuit or two, just so she knows she has those she can rely on here.”
