A Lover for Lydia (The Wednesday Club Book 4) Read online

  The Wednesday Club – Book Four

  A Lover for Lydia

  Sahara Kelly

  Content © 2020 Sahara Kelly

  Cover art © 2020 Sahara Kelly

  (Cover Portrait “The Glance that Enchants” by Edmund Blair Leighton;

  Currently held in a private collection;

  Image Released to the Public Domain)

  Acknowledgements

  I am proud to dedicate this, the first book completed in my new home, to all readers everywhere, not just those who favour historical romances like this one. This year has proved that books, stories, music, art and writing – the creative arts, if you will – continue to be a staple of our confused and muddled lives. To step away from the craziness and into the comfortable environment of a favourite novel has offered a much-needed escape to so many of us, myself included. So to all of you, my thanks, and my hope that you’ll still find comfort and smiles in my stories.

  Author’s Note

  This story is set on the South Coast of England, an area near where I grew up. The cliffs and the fossil hunters are well-known features of this particular part of the United Kingdom, and continue to reveal wondrous secrets from the past. It is now known as the Jurassic Coast, and is a World Heritage site.

  “Cowes Week” is an established event, bringing huge numbers of yachts and yachtsmen to the waters off the Isle of Wight, including many members of the Royal Family over the years. The Royal Yacht Britannia was a regular fixture during the Regatta until she was decommissioned, but the event goes on and now includes the current generation of Royals. A lovely instance of tradition remaining constant, and it all began with the Prince Regent’s interest in yachts and yachting two centuries ago. Sir Ronan’s yacht did not look like the sleek vessels that ply the waters of the Solent today, but the fundamental design hasn’t changed that much. A hull, sails, a tiller and the wind.

  I fondly remember a school trip to one of Dorset’s beaches, many years ago, where I discovered fossilized shells, saw odd shapes in rocks, gazed awestruck at the whorls of ammonites, and managed to get my feet wet somehow in spite of my Wellingtons. Oh and yes, it was as cold as only an English beach can be in the spring.

  There is a brief mention of a young lady named Mary Anning, in this story. She is a fascinating personality, a girl who flew in the face of all the social strictures of this particular time in the Regency, and forged a name for herself with her amazing fossil finds along this exact coastline. I heartily recommend reading about her if you are curious – her biography will fill in so many more details about this area at the time Lydia and Mowbray were tapping away with their hammers and chisels.

  Please note: Characters from the previous books in this series appear in this novel. Your enjoyment may be enhanced by reading their stories as well.

  Prologue

  Miss Lydia Davenport was being thoroughly kissed.

  Sir Anthony Calder demonstrated considerable skill at the business, and that made it most enjoyable. His mouth was firm, warm and willing, and his tongue slid smoothly between her lips and delved within. She felt a tiny ripple of pleasure run over her skin and let her hands rest on his shoulders as he continued to investigate the sensitive cavern of her mouth. Then his hands drifted lower and the thrill faded as they firmly clasped the rounded curves of her bottom.

  She drew back at once, slithering elegantly from his grasp. “Goodness, Sir Anthony. I see now why you were quite the most pursued eligible bachelor this Season. But I must return to the ballroom or there will be gossip.”

  “Would you mind that so very much, lovely Lydia?” His gaze was assessing. “We could declare a match between us. Right this minute. What do you think?” His eyes roamed over her bosom. “There is more I’d love to show you…”

  She was used to concealing the sigh that such a comment always engendered, merely smiling at him. “How kind of you to offer. But I must refuse.” He’d show her things, without a doubt. But she couldn’t see herself married to him. His kisses were delightful, but that was all. She knew delightful wasn’t enough for her.

  He shrugged. “I should have known. Your reputation for refusing gentlemen is still intact.”

  “Really?” Lydia laughed.

  “Have you ever said yes? No, of course not. Of all the proposals you’ve received—and I personally know of at least three—you’ve betrayed nothing more than a correct and charming amusement as you turned them all down.”

  “And yet here you are.”

  “Damn you, Miss Davenport.” He straightened his waistcoat. “One of these days you’ll find a man who won’t act like an idiot for your kisses.” He suddenly grinned. “I hope I’m around to watch you fall off that pedestal. Otherwise you’ll break my heart.”

  She lifted her hands, tucking in an errant fold in his cravat. “Don’t hold your breath,” she whispered, then turned and strolled away, past the curtains that had concealed them, and back toward the music that emanated from the ballroom of the Calder Mansion.

  It was one of the last events of the London season, and within a few days the exodus to the country would begin. Summer would pass with the fashionable elite reclining under trees older than anyone could recall, fishing in streams bursting with trout, enjoying alfresco picnics, and of course indulging in romance.

  Just as they did last summer, and the summer before. Lydia felt a curdle of distaste sour her stomach.

  There had to be something more. Something different. Something other than the usual flirtations, the sly hints of pleasure to be had when everyone else had retired, the scandals whispered after parties at various country homes.

  She knew she was lucky to enjoy all the benefits of the Davenport name and fortune. She and her younger brother Matthew had everything they needed, and little supervision from parents who had moved to the country a couple of years earlier.

  Sir Archibald Davenport had always suspected that his daughter was a woman with a brain far superior to his and was better able to manage her household than he was. So he and his wife had given her licence to grow into an independent young lady. Stunned, she’d found support from the parents she adored, and looked upon them with delight when they met. She rarely sought their advice, but often enjoyed their company at dinner when they were in London, as did Matthew.

  While her life was her own to command—a luxury not usually granted to young single women—sometimes that freedom lay more heavily on her shoulders than she would have initially imagined, and there were even a few times when she wished someone would just tell her what to do.

  But she clung like a limpet to her ability to live her own life and make her own choices, and ignored anyone with the temerity to suggest otherwise.

  Lydia possessed more freedom than most of her contemporaries, yet managed to do so without causing any scandal at all.

  Matthew occasionally mentioned that she might be skating on thin ice, but she simply hugged him and went on her way. He was right, the ice beneath her feet was sometimes thin, but her rigid control enabled her to skate over it gracefully. Some innate instinct kept her from breaking through into muddy waters.

  The friends she’d made at the Wednesday Club evenings were her strength and her joy. There was Lady Judith Withersby, just beginning to reveal the excitement of her first child with her husband Ragnor, and Lady Rose Linfield, a musician of rare talents unashamedly worshipped by her husband, Lord Miles.

  Rounding out the quartet was her Grace the Duchess of Maidenbrooke, previously Miss Ivy Siddington, but as of a month or so ago, elevated to the Peerage upon her marriage.

  They were a tightly knit group, friends who encouraged, cheered and st
ood up for each other, held each other in times of crisis and invariably came when needed.

  Lydia found time spent with them always brought some sunshine into her day.

  But more and more she’d found herself wondering. How would it be to love a man to distraction?

  What would it be like to crave his touch more than one’s next breath? To lie with him, skin to skin, knowing that after that one particular night there would be no more mysteries, no more questions answered only with a blush and an embarrassed smile.

  To have that first kiss explode with…with…sparkles. It was the only way Lydia could describe it to herself. Something special had to happen when she kissed the right man. And it had not happened yet.

  “Matthew, I think I’m going home,” she said, moving next to her brother as he stood listening to the music. “Millicent Chester will come with me since she lives so near and is ready to leave. You can stay if you’d like.”

  He rolled his shoulders a little under his formal coat. “I’m tired. And glad this is the last ball of the Season, to be honest. I’ll go with you.”

  “Good,” she linked her arm with his as they strolled past the ballroom and out to the foyer. “Will you come to the Wednesday Club tomorrow? It’s going to be a small final gathering. Lady Maud and Sir Laurence are travelling out of town soon, I understand. A trip to Ireland, so I hear.”

  “I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it. Because that’s not one of these damned balls. That’s fun.” He shrugged. “And it’ll give me a chance to say goodbye to everyone before I head north to Johnny Kirk’s place.”

  “I’ll miss you, but not a lot, since I’ll be with the girls at Maiden Shore. You know you’re welcome there…”

  “I do indeed. But much as I like your friends, I need to spend time with mine.”

  “I understand. Drinking, gambling and wenching is difficult with women around.”

  He chuckled. “It’s so pleasant to have an understanding sister.”

  Lydia hid her grin since Miss Chester was waiting, and she was one who worshipped propriety, the type who firmly believed a lady shouldn’t show too much emotion, whether happy or sad.

  She irritated Lydia, but she knew it wasn’t the girl’s fault, so she tolerated it, nodding to the maid who accompanied Millicent and accepting her wrap from a servant. “I’m glad we are able to share a carriage, Miss Chester. So convenient, don’t you think?”

  And with that scrupulously polite and meaningless observation, Miss Lydia Davenport closed the door on another formal London season.

  Nobody knew that she had made a plan for her summer.

  A plan which involved a daring and risky adventure that might change her life completely—or ruin it.

  Lydia was going to take a lover.

  There was only one flaw in her plan. She had no idea who it would be.

  Chapter One

  “Oh, that must be it.” Lady Rose Linfield hung out of the travelling carriage window, her hand to her bonnet, and shouted back over her shoulder to the others inside.

  In an instant the vehicle sprouted more heads as Lady Judith Withersby, Miss Lydia Davenport and the Duchess of Maidenbrooke all leaned out the windows as well.

  Lydia laughed aloud as the tang of sea air bit into her eyes and the wind threatened to rip her bonnet from her head.

  There, basking in the sunshine, was the loveliest country estate, surrounded on three sides by forest and field, and on the fourth by the glittering waves of the ocean. Offshore, the hilly terrain of an island could be seen, and the excitement of being so close to their journey’s end was palpable among the young women.

  “It looks wonderful,” said Judith, sitting back in her seat.

  “Doesn’t it, though?” grinned Rose, easing down again next to her.

  “It’s rather big,” observed Ivy nervously. “I am so glad Woodleigh is on his way. I depend on that man like the Regent depends on his dinner.”

  Lydia joined in the laughter. “Everything will be wonderful, dear Ivy. I’m convinced of it. This is the best summer treat I can imagine. Can we get to the beach from the house, do you think?”

  Ivy shook her head. “Haven’t a clue. I know Colly loves the place, which is why we decided to come down this summer. I know there have been some particularly infamous summer parties there, over the years. But that is the sum total of my knowledge of Maiden Shore.”

  “It’s going to be such fun exploring,” commented Rose. “I haven’t been to the ocean in ages and I just realised I missed it.”

  “It’s the smell,” said Judith. “I’m finding it quite invigorating.”

  Lydia glanced at her, pleased at the observation. A young woman in the early months of her first pregnancy might be expected to wilt or rest or require delicate care. But not Judith, who hadn’t felt sick at all, and had declared herself ready to spend some time in the fresh air of the south coast.

  “You shall nap when we get there.” Ivy laid a hand on her friend’s. “Then we shall all explore to our hearts’ content.”

  “I wouldn’t say no to a nap myself,” said Rose. “I didn’t get much sleep last night…” She raised an eyebrow at her friends, “and not for the reason you’re thinking. It was the people in the room next door.”

  “Oh?” Ivy’s gaze joined the others turning to Rose.

  “Squeaky bed springs,” she replied.

  A moment of silence ensued as all the occupants considered that statement.

  Judith smirked. “Annoyed it wasn’t yours?”

  Rose rolled her eyes and laughed. “Miles would have broken ‘em.”

  “Braggart,” giggled Ivy.

  Lydia held back a sigh. This was the sort of conversation she longed to join. The others never made her feel excluded or in any way lacking. She was every bit as much a part of their lives as they were a vital and crucial part of hers. That, she knew, would never change.

  But when it came to husbands and marital bliss? Well, there she was definitely on the outside looking in.

  As her friends chattered on, Lydia’s eyes drifted to the sea and her thoughts drifted to the matter of marriage. There had been offers, of course. Being attractive and with a solid dowry, it would have been little short of a miracle had she not attracted any suitors. She had just concluded her third season, and she was well aware that should she not marry soon, rumours would begin pertaining to her status and within no time at all she’d be declared “on the shelf”, a cruel appellation for those ladies who remained unwed at the ripe old age of twenty-two or so.

  So why hadn’t she chosen a husband? Sir Anthony Calder would have been a suitable match, aside from a tendency to gamble. He kissed well, had a fine gentlemanly appearance, and was blessed with a good pedigree. All things which seemed to be of importance.

  And yet…and yet…

  She was waiting for something.

  The realisation dawned on her as the carriage turned off the road onto a bumpy lane and everyone laughed and grabbed for the handles. She was waiting for that certain something to happen when she met the right man. Or kissed the right man. Or looked him in the eye and felt…different? She couldn’t put a name to it, but the knowledge was there.

  As was the certainty. Should she not find that man, the one who would change her life, she’d stay single and be damned to expectations or traditions. Her brother would carry on the line, freeing her to do as she pleased.

  Perhaps she might travel. See some of the things she’d only read about. Egypt might be interesting. Or Greece. Somewhere she could bask in the glories of the past and put the present aside.

  With a final clatter and the crunch of gravel beneath the carriage wheels, they arrived at their destination. The front entrance to Maiden Shore.

  Tumbling down the steps in a flutter of lace and cotton, they grabbed for their hats as the brisk ocean breeze threatened to remove their headgear and dance the bonnets over the carefully tended lawns.

  “Oh how refreshing,” breathed Judith, clinging to
the ribbons under her chin.

  “Isn’t it?” Ivy grinned as she surrendered, removed her bonnet and let the wind play with the tendrils of red hair brushing her cheeks.

  “May I get out, please? Once you two have completed your reconnaissance of the Atlantic Ocean?” Rose raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Lydia and I would like to breathe a bit too, you know.”

  Footmen appeared, and luggage was speedily transferred into the depths of the house.

  “Your Grace,” a man walked solemnly to the carriage. “Welcome to Maiden Shore.” He bowed deeply. “And also Lady Linfield, Lady Withersby and Miss Davenport.” He turned once more to his mistress. “I am happy to report that rooms have been made ready for you and your guests, your Grace.”

  “Woodleigh,” sighed Ivy. “You are terribly close to being hugged, you know.”

  He blinked in horror and drew back a step. “I trust not, your Grace. Quite unacceptable.”

  “It’s good to see you, Woodleigh,” smiled Rose, her words echoed by the others with varying degrees of pleasure.

  Lydia noted a blush creeping up his cheeks and decided to spare him further embarrassment. “You have arrived in amazing time, Woodleigh. We thought we were travelling quite rapidly, but you have outdone us.”

  “A fortunate occurrence, Miss Davenport,” he inclined his head. “Such a late start allowed us to sleep in the carriage. The roads were good, so we did not stop during the night and arrived quite early. Thus there has been time to make sure all is in order.”

  “If you say it is, Woodleigh, then I shall rest content.” Ivy nodded her thanks. “Any word from his Grace?”

  “Not as of this moment, Ma’am.” He wrinkled his nose. “I understand the gentlemen were to take a detour.”

  Rose sighed. “Yes. A prizefight.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Men will be boys,” paraphrased Judith. “At least we didn’t have to go as well.” Her mouth turned down in a grimace.