Matthew reluctantly cracked a smile, which in turn caused Lydia to laugh once again. “When did my little wife become such a hellion?” he asked.
“When circumstances beyond my control forced it of me,” she readily answered. “I suffer no man to be a half-witted ne’er do well, no matter what relation they may be to me. I do not know what my uncle is intending, but it had best not interrupt our happiness.”
Matthew nodded firmly, his countenance much improved by his wife’s uncharacteristic display of anger. He held out his hand, which Lydia took rather than merely clinging to his arm, and he laced his fingers through hers.
“Shall we get married, my dear?” Matthew asked in a serious way.
“Of course, husband,” Lydia replied, unable to stop the smile that displayed her emotions for all to see.
Chapter 29
The ceremony was surprisingly almost as perfunctory as the one they’d had in Scotland. In some way, Matthew was almost more impressed with the anvil at the smith’s shop. While the church wedding was profoundly comforting in its invoking of the Lord unto their marriage, there was something more powerful about the striking of the anvil. It was the symbol he’d clung to since that day such a short time ago, the knowledge that their marriage, though unusual, was still forged as of iron and could not be undone.
Not even by Lydia’s uncle or the Viscount of Lockwood.
It had not taken Matthew long to determine that there was something sinister afoot, some dark deed in the works. The Earl of Bronson had had no contact with either him or Lydia since the day she’d departed in the wee hours of the morn. Then to arrive as their invited guest but bring along the man she had been nearly betrothed to? That was unsettling, to say the least.
Only Matthew’s position as the Earl and reluctant host of Paxton had prevented him from losing his temper on the spot.
“Matthew, you’re making that face again,” Lydia whispered through her smile as she waved at the townspeople who lined the path from the church.
“Sorry, I wasn’t aware anyone could tell,” he whispered back.
“What do you think my uncle is planning?” she asked by turning her head towards him in a contrived yet nervous-looking display of tenderness.
Matthew flinched instead of answering, ducking when a village woman tossed a handful of flower petals towards the couple. In return, Matthew threw the traditional coins to the crowd, providing Lydia a handful to share as well. For her part, Lydia had some wrapped sweets, courtesy of Penelope’s late-night toils, to scatter before the children, who shrieked with delight.
“I know not,” he finally answered, “but I fear it is something awful.”
“Then the sooner we can speak to him about my inheritance from my father and send him on his way, the better,” Lydia said. “After all, that was the purpose in inviting him, to receive his blessing and his witness over our legal and binding marriage. That is done, there is no cause for him to hold out on the inheritance or linger more than a day or two.”
“Lydia, I care not about your inheritance,” Matthew began. Seeing the wounded look on her face, he amended his words. “If it matters to you to have what your father intended, then I will pursue it, by all means. But if it will preserve the peace and tranquility of your family to let it go by the wayside, I certainly have no need of it. As my wife, neither do you.”
“I understand,” Lydia replied, looking torn. “But if it’s all the same to you, I would prefer to possess it. I intend to save it for Elsie’s sake, lest my uncle spend through her inheritance and there is no dowry with which to find a suitable husband.”
“That does seem sound,” Matthew readily agreed. “I think we should not mention that aspect, but rather simply pursue it for your own sake so as not to accuse your uncle of being foolish with money.”
Lydia nodded, appearing grateful to Matthew for his concern and attention. He knew he was right, of course, there was no need of it for their own sake. But he was glad to see the look of relief on her face at knowing that her sister would be cared for.
That tranquil expression she wore would soon be tested.
By nightfall, Matthew noted how the household appeared to be on edge. Lydia was at sixes and sevens with her uncle and the Viscount, who insisted on appearing at the most inopportune times. Matthew had even watched from the window as Lockwood followed Lydia at a distance, watching her from behind a hedgerow as she took Elise to explore the brook. It was only due to the footman Matthew dispatched that the Viscount returned to the house, he was sure of it.
“Lockwood, there you are,” Matthew said brightly when Vincent came inside. “Did you have a pleasant stroll?”
“Um, yes. Very pleasant indeed,” Vincent said, looking away as he tried to dart around Matthew. Instead of letting him pass, Matthew moved in front of him.
What would Lydia have me do? I wish to harm this man, though I am certain that is not what she would want, Matthew thought angrily.
“How about a game of billiards?” Matthew suggested, extending his arm in the direction of the smoking room where a table awaited.
Vincent looked around as though seeking someone to assist him, but finding no one, he merely shrugged. “All right. It sounds like a great deal of fun.”
“Careful now, I’m awfully good at it,” Matthew said darkly, “though I do not play for money in my own house. I wouldn’t hear of a guest losing his shirt and having to skulk away empty-handed.”
Even Lockwood isn’t stupid enough to miss my meaning, Matthew thought, but the empty sneer on Vincent’s face gave him cause to reconsider.
“Have you played at billiards before?” Matthew asked, handing Vincent a mace. Vincent looked somewhat uncertain with this style, so he continued, “There are only three balls in this game, and you hit them so.”
