A sudden noise behind Lydia startled them both and Lydia whirled around in fear. She found Matthew standing there, a paper in his hand and a blank expression on his face. She could not have known how much of her confession he had heard, though she knew from the way he stood watching her that he had heard enough.
He looked awkwardly between the two friends and began to speak, then stopped himself. Finally, he tried again. “I, I think have come upon a solution, one that will bring no undue sadness or embarrassment to anyone.”
“Oh?” Lydia asked lightly, trying to sound eager and unruffled.
“Yes,” Matthew said again. “If the issue is the legitimacy of the marriage, then we should get married.”
Penelope looked around Lydia to stare at Matthew, trying to gauge his meaning. Shaking her head with her lack of understanding, she said, “Lord Paxton, you are already married.”
“No, I mean that we should marry here in England.” He waited for Lydia and Penelope to agree with him, but they only returned his empty expression. “If we marry here, then it is a true and legal, rightful marriage. If you are in agreement, I will send out the necessary letters.”
“How can that be? A couple could marry twice?” Lydia asked, turning in her seat to face him.
Matthew shrugged. “Yes, if there was reason to believe the first marriage was not conducted legitimately or did not meet the regulations of the Marriage Act.”
“But Lydia is not yet one-and-twenty. She would still need permission from her uncle,” Penelope argued, “and I have to believe he would be loath to grant it at this point.”
“I doubt that,” Matthew replied, “considering she has already committed the unforgiveable acts of riding in my carriage over the countryside, boarding a ship with me, sleeping in my home, and of course, marrying me in Scotland.”
Lydia giggled at the solemnity of his explanation. But he was right. Uncle Julius would have to be mad to refuse to permit a marriage after so many ruinous events had already taken place.
“I think it would be a grand idea,” Lydia agreed, feeling much relieved by a solution that had presented itself so readily. Penelope looked less convinced, but slowly she nodded.
“Agreed. There would be no question of the marriage—and any titles or inheritance—if you followed through with it here.”
“Then I shall write to your uncle at once, Lydia,” Matthew said, bowing to the ladies and leaving them to wonder at how this would all unfold.
* * *
Julius remained in his bed long after the hour at which he usually arose, mulling over the state of things. He had a plan and so far the Viscount of Lockwood was amenable to it. He knew that Lydia and Matthew had returned to Paxton Hall, and thanks to a tidbit of news from an acquaintance, he also knew that the old bat at Paxton had been forced from her home after all, despite her demands to be kept at the former house.
“I had not known Lady Lydia could be so commandeering,” Julius had said to the stable hand who’d shared the news before smiling to himself, impressed that the mouse of a girl had turned into a lion upon securing a title for herself.
But all of those details meant that Julius had a great deal of work to do before he could attempt to set anything in motion. He had so much minutia to consider before the grand event could take place.
A knock at the door jolted him from his thoughts. “Enter,” he barked more harshly than he’d intended.
“Good day, My Lord,” the butler said, entering the room with a tray. “Am I to assume that your long-standing order to rouse you if you do not come down still stands?”
“Of course, Green, thank you,” Julius said in a tired voice. As though this order would have changed without notice? Yet he appreciated the way the butler inquired every single time, as though obeying the order but also reluctant to disturb him. “What time is it?”
“It is half past the hour of noon, My Lord,” the butler replied, opening the heavy curtains and allowing the sunlight of a new day to fill the room. Julius squinted at the sudden brightness, grumbling incoherently in weak protest.
“I shall need Turval to come up in a while,” Julius said, requesting his valet so that he might tend to his dressing.
“Very good, My Lord. Your tray is here at your table, and your correspondence is included. Unless you wish to remain at rest and take your tray and newspapers in bed?” Green asked.
“Actually, that sounds rather decadent!” Julius said, smiling at the thought. “I think I’ve deserved to recline for a while and be somewhat slothful.”
“Of course, My Lord,” the butler replied, bringing the tray over and placing it across Julius’ lap after the Earl sat up against the pillows. “Only ring if there is anything else you require.”
When the butler closed the door behind himself, Julius took a sip of the hot spiced milk and flipped through a few folded notes on the tray. One was marked with handwriting he did not recognize, and holding it up to inspect it, he saw that it was from the scoundrel Lord Paxton. Its exterior was in the most formal style, addressed to The Right Honorable Julius, Earl of Bronson.
“This should prove interesting,” Julius muttered as he put down his mug, sliced open the wax seal, and unfolded the page. His lips moved hurriedly as he muttered the contents aloud to himself, his eyes widening in surprise.
“My dear Lord Bronson,
I am writing at the request of both my own sensibilities and the utter hope of your niece, Lydia, Countess of Paxton. We hope this letter finds you well and in good health.
