The Marchioness looked somewhat flustered, as if recalling the details for the first time.
“And yet you permit these relentless gossips to talk about our Lydia in such a horrible way, all without saying a single word in her defense?” Penelope continued, accusing her mother now as her anger grew. “The mother I have known you to be all these years is a sham. It is as if I do not even know you.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” the Marchioness asked angrily, pressing a hand to her heart.
“You took in Lydia for a time when she was motherless at only ten years old! All these years without a mother to guide her, you were the one who taught her all the things a girl should know,” Penelope cried, coming closer. “It was you who taught her about becoming a young woman, and I know that because we were both at your knee for all these little talks and private discussions. Every ounce of womanly knowledge and wisdom that I have gleaned from you was shared with Lydia at the same time. If there is anyone here to blame for her behavior and her actions, you might consider picking up a looking glass!”
Penelope walked over to the table behind her mother and snatched up her letter triumphantly, then stormed towards the doorway. She looked back at where her mother stood in the drawing room and said, “And if I should follow in Lydia’s ‘vulgar’ footsteps someday, it will only be for revenge upon you and your proud nature. On your head be it for not speaking up for my friend when she needed you the most.”
* * *
The rain continued on throughout the rest of the day and into the night. As rivulets snaked their way down the window glass outside, Matthew lay on the floor once again, staring into the low flickering flames of the fireplace. Behind him, Lydia slept soundly, though his mind raced with worries.
A fine lot I’ve brought down on us, Matthew thought, feeling empty inside.Father was right, I’d be the ruination of us all. Your greatest fear has come to pass, and I’m only glad that you were not here to see it.
“Elsie,” Lydia mumbled softly, a hint of alarm in the way she spoke. Matthew turned to look at her, ensuring she was still asleep.
“Shhhhh,” Matthew said softly, “it’s all right. Elsie’s fine.”
There was a faint murmur of reply as Lydia slept on, her fretful sleep soothed until she wore a peaceful smile on her face. Matthew watched her sleep, at first feeling like a scoundrel for catching her unaware and spying on her in such a way, but then his heart softened somewhat.
Would it truly be so bad to be this woman’s husband? She was, after all, a dear friend for the first many years of his life. She was caring but unafraid to speak her mind, characteristics that Matthew himself treasured. She was also beautiful but unassumingly so, as though she cared not to impress others with her looks when it was her heart and her countenance that mattered.
Impossible, Matthew thought bitterly, still watching Lydia sleep.I know nothing of being a worthy husband, one who is kind and devoted. Look how I’ve already hurt and harmed this person whom I at least claim to adore.
Still, the more he watched her sleep, the more Matthew felt an inexplicable pull, as though he were trying to drown himself in the waves but some invisible cord around his middle kept pulling him back. He envisioned Lydia holding the other end, refusing to let him go no matter how he tried to sever the tie.
“I love you, Lydia,” Matthew whispered in the darkened room. “I do not even know why, nor do I understand it. Most of all, I do not know what to do about it.”
With a remorseful sigh, Matthew turned back towards the fire and settled his head against his rolled-up coat, intent on trying to sleep. Behind him, Lydia suddenly opened her eyes and stared at his silhouette in the hazy dusk of the room.
Hours later, they were both awakened by the brilliant rays of the morning sun shining through the window. After two days of gloom, it was a welcome sight that did them both much good.
“I should think we can depart rather soon,” Matthew said once they had eaten. “The roads should be dry enough in the miles ahead, and we’ll reach the border shortly after midday if all goes well. I don’t suspect we will have time to begin our journey home this evening, though. We may have to find a room this evening, then set out again for Paxton Hall the following day. But fear not, you’ll see Elsie again in no time.”
“I understand,” Lydia answered, though her tone seemed somehow hollow. Matthew looked at her intently, but could not determine what she may have been feeling.
“Lydia,” he said tenderly, coming to stand before her and looking down at her, “are you having second thoughts? Because if so, no matter what it takes, you do not have to do this.”
“No, no, I’m all right,” Lydia answered, but Matthew could sense she was only putting on a brave face. She looked up and saw the skeptical expression on Matthew’s face, and smiled. “Truly, I’m ready. Let’s go.”
Wordlessly, Matthew followed Lydia down the stairs and outside to where their carriage stood in front of the inn. With the appearance of the welcoming sun, the streets were busier than Lydia had remembered upon their arrival. Vendors opened their stalls in the streets while push carts slowly rolled around corners and into the road. Horses pulled wagons loaded down with a variety of wares while people milled about.
“We must have caught them on market day,” Matthew said pleasantly. Lydia only nodded, then climbed into the carriage and sat down. He shook his head but followed suit, and soon they were off.
Matthew noted how Lydia sat very primly, not at all like the comfortable companion she’d appeared to be during their foul-weather imprisonment. He ventured to ask, “Is something the matter?”
“No, not at all,” she answered, looking out the carriage window.
“Are you not concerned with what might have prompted me to ask you such a question?” Matthew teased nervously.
“No, I assumed that it meant—much like your question earlier—that you were the one having doubts about proceeding,” Lydia admitted quietly. “I thought perhaps it might be best if I did not speak too much or make too much noise until we are safely wed, lest you remember that I’m here and decided to call it off.”
Matthew turned in the seat to look at her, but Lydia was still watching the trees outside the window. Her expression was passive, as though already accepting of whatever might befall her next.
“Lydia, look at me,” Matthew implored her. She turned to face him, her face still empty of any discernable emotion. “Lydia, I am not backing out. I will look after you, I give you my word.”
“I know, you’ve told me so,” she answered meekly. “But I cannot help but think you might come to your senses and run away at any moment. After all, you do not wish to get married, least of all to me.”
