“Lydia, I fear we are not starting out as I’d hoped,” Matthew began, watching her blank expression.
“How do you mean?” she asked blandly.
“I cannot help but get the impression you are unhappy… most likely, with me,” Matthew answered, floundering for the words. “I must admit that our starting out has been the most terrible of circumstances, but I know that we can grow to accept one another. For now, though,I do not know what to do to remedy what has been done.”
“I know not either, My Lord,” Lydia responded dejectedly.
“It would help if you would stop referring to me by my title as though you were a housemaid and resume calling me Matthew,” he snapped. Lydia did not lift her chin but looked up at him angrily from beneath her brow, giving her a menacing look that Matthew recognized at once. “I see. Yes, my tone might have something to do with your countenance.”
“Of course it does,” she replied, looking away again. “I signed on to be your sham of a wife, not your enemy.”
“Lydia, please understand, you are not a ‘sham’ at anything. So far as I’m concerned and anyone else who may know us, youaremy wife,” Matthew insisted. “Even according to the law, you are my real and fully entitled wife.”
“I do understand,” she replied, finally looking at him. “It is only you who continues to forget.”
“What does that mean?” Matthew demanded, perplexed.
“You are the one who plays the doting friend one moment, then the moody stranger another,” Lydia explained, her anger growing with every word. “It is you who say you want nothing from me and wish to never see England again, then it is you who whispers, ‘I love you,’ in the dark when you think I cannot hear.”
Matthew blanched, sitting back in his chair. “I did not know you heard that.”
“But I did,” Lydia fired back, “only to be pushed away again when the wind in your head shifted. It’s ‘You are the Lady Paxton, this is to be your home,’ one moment, then ‘I don’t wish to see you again,’ the next. Quite frankly, Matthew, I cannot keep up nor do I wish to.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, his expression turning to one of concern.
“I mean only that you need not fear my affections. Because you won’t have them.” Lydia speared a bit of meat and ate it, recoiling from the taste almost immediately. Still, she chewed thoughtfully to avoid having to speak further.
Matthew watched her quietly with a pained expression on his face, but Lydia refused to give him the satisfaction of reading any emotions on her part. He finally nodded slowly and said, “We will be at port soon. I will send word whenever I next come to London.”
* * *
After Matthew disembarked, Lydia moped alone in her quarters as the ship carried on towards London. She was determined that her spirits should lift once she was settled in her new home, but until then, her fears of isolation and social shunning kept her fretting nervously in her room.
“My Lady?” the captain of the vessel called through the door. “I need to inform you of a situation with the ship.”
On the other side of the door, Lydia trembled. What did she possibly know about ships and their “situations?” She hesitated as she opened the door only a crack, enough to speak to the fatherly-looking captain.
“Yes sir?” Lydia asked.
“Our crewman has spotted a stranded vessel in the waters up ahead. We are bound by both duty and honor to offer assistance if they prove to be in need.” The captain looked uncomfortable, and Lydia could not think why. Seeing her reluctance, he added, “As your husband is not aboard and we do not know who this crew is, I need to advise you to lock the doors to the quarters and not venture out until I inform you myself that it is safe to do so. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir,” Lydia said, her fear growing.
“Do not worry, My Lady. I am certain everything is all right,” the captain assured her, but she noted how his smile did not quite reach his kindly brown eyes. “But do keep to your room, just to be safe.”
For a long time, nothing seemed to happen while Lydia waited in fear. That feeling gave way to consternation as she fervently wished Matthew were here.
“He’d probably throw me over the side for the fish to feast on,” she muttered, then at once she felt a pang of guilt. Matthew, while seemingly at odds with her, had not once done anything to bring her harm. In fact, she realized, it was quite the opposite. “He did buy an entire ship,” she said, still speaking quietly to herself while peering out through the curtains covering the small window embedded in the door.
Soon, as Lydia pinched the edge of the curtain to move it aside, a small cluster of bedraggled but grateful men walked past in a file. They did not look the sort who could cause her any harm, but Lydia thought to be careful. She had been instructed to remain in her quarters, and that was what she intended to do.
Just as she was about to move away from the door and sit for a while, one final man strode past. He was at once familiar to her, and Lydia felt a stabbing pain as she tried to breathe. It was not possible, there was no way he could be here.
“Uncle Julius,” Lydia whispered breathlessly. “He’s come looking for me.”
* * *
Julius sneered as he looked around inside the cramped quarters with its low ceiling and six bunks mounted along the walls. He clutched his bag to his chest as though vagabonds might steal it out of his arms, then ducked his head to enter through the small door below deck.
