As Mr. Beckett talked, Matthew’s thoughts wandered back to Lydia. What he wouldn’t give to run back to the harbor and leap into the waves after the ship. He would swim back to her himself if he could only erase the mournful expression she’d worn when he’d departed.
She was so angry with me, but I cannot understand why, he thought bitterly.This is precisely why I am not fit to be a husband!
“Very well then, My Lord,” Mr. Beckett said cheerfully, interrupting Matthew’s longing, “I’ll have this order drawn up at once and sent over to your offices. And uh, My Lord… about our conversation earlier… you can count on me.”
“I know I can, Mr. Beckett. That is the entire reason I even sat down to discuss your orders today,” Matthew said not unkindly. “If I could not, we would not be meeting.”
Matthew rose to leave, nodded curtly to the shop owner, and left in the direction of his next appointment. As he walked along the rows of shops and storefronts, various goods caught his eye. Things he would not have noticed so much before—bonnets and lace and whatnot—now drew his attention, causing him to envision Lydia’s look of joy when he presented them to her after his trip.
“For one you claim not to have wanted to marry,” he grumbled under his breath as he stopped to look at a display of parasols, “you are certainly spending much of your day lost in thought to her.”
Matthew walked on, dodging between the carts and conveyances of the village’s busy industries. Being situated on the river, such as it was, it was the ideal spot to permit shops to sell certain goods that would be far more costly in London. Intrigued by the idea forming in his mind for opening a warehouse here, Matthew stopped short.
But who would run it?he wondered.Am I considering opening a venture here at home? This is all Lydia’s doing!
“Enough,” Matthew said to himself, ignoring the strange looks from passersby when they spied him carrying on an important conversation with no one, “I must leave at once. The longer I tarry here, the more likely it is that I would be snared in Lydia’s beguiling web.”
* * *
With no small amount of intrigue, Lydia succeeded in making her way off the ship and finding a waiting carriage with the help of the ship’s captain. She gave the driver the name of the house, Paxton Hall, then rested against the seat of the carriage for only a moment before a new worry crept over her.
What will the servants think of me? What if they will not even permit me to enter as Lord Paxton is not with me?Lydia envisioned the argument with the butler, her meek protests as he forbade her to even step foot on the grounds of the estate.
Lydia was glad of the lengthy carriage ride to Paxton Hall as it gave her a chance to settle her nerves. Too soon, though, they arrived at the immense house and Lydia once again felt as though iron bands were wrapped around her chest, preventing her from catching her breath.
“If you’ll wait here, My Lady, I’ll announce you to your butler,” the driver said, giving her pause. Lydia wondered in a panic how he might know that she was not expected, then realized the captain must have informed the driver when he secured the carriage.
I can only hope that means he will wait to see if I am permitted to stay,Lydia thought fearfully. Being forced from the house would be humiliating enough, but to have to go on foot in search of a place to stay the night would be more than she could bear.
“Thank you, sir,” she replied as the driver climbed the steps and rang the bell. The door opened at once, and a suitably attired footman stepped out to speak with him. He looked over to the carriage and Lydia wished to shrink into the cushion of the seat, but then he nodded firmly and followed the driver to the carriage.
“Good day, My Lady,” the footman said after opening the door and retrieving the step for her. “Mr. Williams, the butler, will greet you.”
No sooner had Lydia emerged from the carriage than the butler came out of the house, followed by no less than thirty servants by Lydia’s hurried count. Williams came forward and bowed low, then smiled adoringly at her.
“Good day, My Lady. Welcome to Paxton Hall,” the old man said with a genuine warmth. “Lord Paxton had informed us of your impending arrival. May I introduce the staff?”
“Certainly, thank you, Williams,” Lydia replied, attempting to sound sure of herself.
The butler began with the row of servants, giving due honor to the positions of respect. The housekeeper, Lord Paxton’s valet, the head housemaid and first footman, and so on in succession all bowed or curtseyed as they greeted Lydia cheerfully.
“Thank you all for the cordial welcome, it is my honor to be here and reside at Paxton Hall,” Lydia said when she had greeted them.
“If you will come this way, My Lady, I will show you the house,” Williams said, bowing again. Lydia looked back at the carriage, but the butler added, “Mr. Roberts and Mr. Carrigan will see to your things.”
Lydia followed the butler past the line of servants and up the steps to the house. She entered behind him and was immediately swept away by the grandeur within. While her childhood home at Bronson Manor had been beautiful and spacious, this home dwarfed her uncle’s house by several times.
She couldn’t help but gape at the portraits that covered much of the walls, interspersed with classical paintings. Planters and oversized vases of flowers covered many of the level tables, sometimes obscuring another portrait or a doorway.
As Williams led her through each room on the main floor, giving its history and function and interesting points, Lydia began to wonder how she wouldn’t get lost as she sought to move throughout. The sheer size was overwhelming, as was the opulence.
“His Lordship has not indicated which chambers you might prefer, My Lady, so as we view the rooms, please inform me of your choice,” Williams said formally. “If you have preferences as to location, light, or facing direction, I can make some recommendations as we reach them.”
“Thank you, Williams. But I’m sure any room you suggest will be ideal,” Lydia replied. The butler smiled at her deference to his knowledge of the house, and for the first time since her world upended, Lydia felt as though everything might turn out for the best.
Until the Countess of Paxton emerged from her chambers and stood atop the staircase, glaring down at her.
“And what have we here?” the Dowager Countess said, looking down her sharp nose at Lydia. “If it isn’t the little upstart, come to ruin my son.”
