“Thank you, Abigail,” Lydia said, turning and looking up gratefully at the maid. “It does my heart good to know that there are others who will look out for her in my absence.”
When the door closed behind the maid, Lydia looked at her reflection once more, delighted with the way Abigail had put up her blonde hair. Soft curls were pinned loosely about her head like a crown of delicate flowers, while here and there tiny pearls peeked out from the thin strand that wound through it. The volume of her coif gave her a stately appearance and made her thin features seem more of a lovely feature rather than the product of months of worry.
And worry she certainly should. The month of June was nearly upon her and come summer’s end, Lydia must marry. Failure to secure a husband by the end of her Season would mean the forfeit of her entire inheritance to her uncle.
Chapter 2
The early morning grey sky welcomed the three-masted vessel into the sanctuary of British waters, a gloomy but promising sight after nearly five months at sea. The 800-tonne ship had wound its way from the Far East to countless ports of call, transporting cargo along the way. It had sometimes carried filth and disease as well, a consequence of relying on various outposts for fresh water, food rations, and a reprieve from the confines of the ship’s close quarters.
Matthew Walsh, only recently become the Earl of Paxton at his father’s passing, stood at the aft of the great wooden ship, bidding adieu to his duties as the head of the Walsh Trading Company’s operations abroad… and to his freedom. His return to England would undoubtedly mean an end to his days on the sea and the return of one of the greatest oppressive shadows over his life: his own mother.
“Buck up, you’re returning home to a life of power and privilege,” his second-in-command in the company—and many including Matthew suspected, his half-brother—Charles Rodwell had said over supper and drink the last evening, a celebratory dinner for their safe passage. “There’s quite a lot of us that would give our eyeteeth to have your miserable life.”
“You’d be welcome to it if it meant I could stay at sea,” Matthew had grumbled, the last of the keg of ale making him forget himself a little. “I spent the first fifteen years of my life in that house, and it was more than enough. I hadn’t truly experienced freedom, nor truly lived, until the day they sent me off to school. Nay, I was still under my teachers’ thumbs. Not til the day I offered to expand the Company past India to the Far East.”
“And you’ve made quite a go of it,” Charles had answered, commending him. “I dare say, your name will open doors anywhere in England for the fine job you’ve done.”
“And you won’t mind taking my place here aboard the ship? I promoted you to company steward in my stead, but I don’t recall ever asking if it’s what you wanted,” Matthew said, feeling rather sheepish about ordering about an inferior.
“Well, you know, I was rather hoping the King would give me my own fleet as an Admiral in the Royal Navy… oh stop looking so sour, you know I’m only speaking in jest. I’m honored to be asked to fill in for you, especially since you know absolutely nothing about captaining a ship. I’ve done all the work so far while you’ve merely been down in your cups for the entire voyage.”
Matthew laughed. He’d never been one for strong drink, either when at work or socially, and Charles knew it. Besides, Matthew had thrown himself into the work of sailing the ship right alongside his crewmen, as he was also not one to lounge about in his finely-appointed quarters while others toiled in his name.
Now, as the ship glided ever closer and the speck of land on the horizon grew more visible, Matthew felt the familiar regret when he’d first agreed to return to England and assume his duties as Earl. The oddest sensation of manacles tightening against his wrists and chains winding around his neck made him wonder what sort of bargain he’d made.
What was the life of an Earl compared to that of a man of business, a man of the sea? There was adventure to be had far from home, and nothing but oppressive rules and customs to follow once he exchanged the swaying boards of a ship’s deck for the stately marble floors of Paxton Hall.
“We’ll reach port within the next three hours, My Lord,” a deck hand informed him. Matthew only nodded, brushing the long hair back from his eyes where the wind at his back wrapped it around his face.
My Lord. Only a short time ago, “sir” would have sufficed, and it was a term Matthew was familiar with. All of the officers were Sir to one another, and Matthew had never seen any reason to be otherwise. But that was no more.
The better part of a day had passed before the ship made port and was unloaded. The cargo was of the utmost importance, as the tea and spices alone were worth a small fortune. The silks and other fabrics were somewhat less profitable, but they helped to ensure that the Walsh Company was the one to buy from, if a shop wished to be considered fashionable.
“Ready, My Lord?” Charles asked from the doorway as Matthew packed the last of his personal effects into his trunks.
“Not in the least,” Matthew replied, his earlier feeling of dread replaced by something much nearer to anger. “Why should I give up the industry I have worked so hard for the past eight years? I have never put so much of myself into anything as I have this company.”
“You have obligations, remember? ‘Tis your duty to carry on in your father’s place,” Charles explained patiently. Matthew couldn’t help but notice the slightest catch in Charles’ voice at the word “father,” but for both of their dignity, he did not mention it.
“Besides,” Charles added brightly, “part of that obligation is to marry and sire countless little Walshs. You must carry on the family name and ensure that all of your hard work benefits your heirs rather than it falling to the Crown should something horrific happen to you.”
“Of course,” Matthew replied, grateful for the reminder. He ducked his head by way of understanding, then grinned wickedly. “Though it will be great fun to watch my mother fall to vapors when she sees that her control over my good manners has been all for naught!”
“That I should wish to see! I do not know your mother, of course, but if she was someone you would flee from, I’m certain she was quite a prize,” Charles said, laughing.
That gave Matthew a thought. He paused, then looked to Charles with an odd expression. “How would you like to be my guest at Paxton Hall for the fortnight while the ship is repaired and restocked?”
“Me? You’re serious?” Charles asked, a look of disbelief on his face.
“Quite serious. In fact, all the officers should stay with us. After all, it is the least I can do to thank the very loyal men who make the Walsh Company so profitable.”
“And the least you can do to drive your mother from the house, you mean. Let’s not bring these ruffians to a fine, noble house such as yours. There’s no telling what sort of fires they could start, especially once the rum starts flowing,” he answered jovially, returning Matthew’s impish look. “You know, I never took you for this sort of man, but I’m beginning to see a very dark side of you. It’s good to know there’s an animal lurking inside there.”
“Precisely. Eight years of being my own man for once—at the very least four years, if you count from my eventual escape from that hellish school—has made me care far less than I once did for what others expect of me,” Matthew stated firmly. “I spent the first half of my life allowing a handful of people to wield control over my every word, every thought… even the people I cared about.”
Matthew stopped short, suddenly aware of how dangerously close he’d come to divulging the one thing he’d sworn never to speak of again: Lydia.
She had wounded him greatly by ceasing her letters to him, an abrupt change that had initially caused him to fear some accident or illness had befallen her. When he managed to learn that she was, in fact, in good health but inexplicably not answering him, he’d stopped writing to her as well.
