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

  Lydia glanced at her. “I suppose it wouldn’t have been acceptable, but honestly? I can’t say I’m not curious.”

  They began to ascend the stairs into the house.

  “I cannot say I am,” mused Judith, carefully lifting her skirts above each step.

  “Well, but think of it. Sweaty muscular men without their shirts…all that masculinity on display…” Lydia’s grin was pure wickedness.

  Woodleigh cleared his throat loudly. “The maids will relieve you and your guests of your bonnets and shawls, your Grace. I believe the housekeeper, Mrs Curling, is ready to direct you to your rooms.”

  “Excellent, Woodleigh. Thank you.” Ivy leaned toward Lydia. “And that marks the end of any discussion of half-naked men.”

  “Until we’re alone,” added Rose with a snicker.

  *~~*~~*

  The ladies had ample time to unpack and make themselves comfortable, since the gentlemen didn’t appear until much later in the day, emerging out onto the terrace en masse. Matthew Davenport would not be amongst them; he’d elected to join some of his friends in the north for his summer holiday. Lydia rather missed him when the room filled with men, but then she realised she’d have a measure more freedom than if her brother had been there as well.

  Mixed blessings.

  “Good fight?” Rose glanced at her husband as he neared her chair.

  “Um…yes, we are somewhat late, aren’t we?” Miles sighed. “Sorry, darling. But…yes. An excellent match.”

  “You’re only saying that because you wagered on the winner,” snorted Sir Ragnor, taking a seat next to his wife and dropping a kiss on her cheek. “Don’t worry, Judith. I didn’t bet the family fortune. Little Withersby still has an inheritance.” He dropped a little pat onto her stomach.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” she laughed.

  “And how about you, your Grace?” Lydia watched the warmth in his eyes grow as he strolled to Ivy’s side and rested a hand on her shoulder.

  “An excellent bout,” he grinned. “And certainly worth all the recriminations you ladies are doubtless going to come up with.”

  “Us, Colly?” Ivy blinked and held both hands to her bosom. “Never, my Lord. You wrong us.”

  “And had you returned earlier, you would have wronged us a lot less,” grumbled Rose. “I had hoped to go down to the beach.”

  “You could have,” said Lydia. “In fact we all could have, but let’s face it, what with unpacking and then the lure of tea in these lovely gardens?” She spread her hands. “The beach will be there tomorrow, and so will Prudence. We can all enjoy it together.”

  “There speaks a wise woman,” grinned the Duke. “Oh, you’ll never guess who we encountered at the prizefight…”

  He held back a chuckle as all the ladies’ heads turned to him. “Sir Ronan O’Malley.”

  “Good heavens,” exclaimed Ivy. “What brought him down this way? More building?”

  Colly shook his head. “Sir Ronan, it would appear, has a taste for the ocean. He has a boat and during the summer months, if he can manage it, he spends quite a bit of time sailing.”

  “Here?” Rose’s eyebrows lifted. “Not around Ireland?”

  “Apparently the waters of the Solent are considerably balmier and less erratic than the Irish Sea,” answered the Duke dryly, glancing out over the sparkling waves.

  “I can believe that,” chuckled Miles. He stretched his shoulders. “Well, I’m for a change of clothes and then perhaps we can encourage his Grace here to part with something to wash the dust of the drive from our throats…”

  Ivy stood up. “Of course. You’ll all want tea, I’m sure.”

  The gentlemen stared at her.

  Lydia began to applaud, quietly. “I rather think Ivy just rolled you all up, foot and guns. Well done, my friend.”

  Rose and Judith joined in, and the men merely sighed as they took their leave and headed indoors.

  Laughter followed as the doors closed behind them, and the women spent a few moments enjoying their moment of triumph.

  “Right then,” said Lydia, finally catching her breath. “Now that we’ve completely routed the male of the species, should we discuss what our plans are for tomorrow?”

  “Over dinner, darling,” answered Ivy. “We really ought to include the men.”

  “I suppose so.” Lydia shrugged. “Forgive me, I’m used to going my own way without hindrance.”

  “They’re not a hindrance, love,” said Judith gently. “They can, in fact, be quite useful on occasion.”

  Lydia stood and walked to the low stone parapet, staring out over the greensward and past the cliffs to the calm ocean, already starting to assume the colours of the coming sunset. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That didn’t sound the way I meant it to.”

  Rose joined her. “We understand, Lydia. Really we do. I think, at one time or another, we’ve all been where you are. Amidst people who are wed, happily or otherwise, but feeling as if we’re…not quite part of the group.”

  “And I made it worse by marrying Colly,” sighed Ivy.

  “Oh no, no,” protested Lydia. “Nobody’s made it worse. And yes, you’re right. I can’t pretend I’m not envious of your happiness. But I don’t begrudge it, and I’m very, very pleased you’ve all found the right husband. I truly am. From the bottom of my heart. And they’re all wonderful men.”

  She looked at her friends, hoping they believed that she meant every word.

  “But you’d like one of your own,” said Judith.

  Lydia turned away again. “I think so.” She took a breath. “I’m not sure, really. Perhaps that’s the difficulty I’m having right now. Seeing you all so entangled with your husbands. That…closeness scares me. That some man would have power and control over what I do and when I do it.”

  Rose pursed her lips. “It’s not like that, you know.”

  Lydia huffed out half a laugh. “Not with you all, it’s not. But we’ve been out in Society enough to know that most of the time, it is just like that. Marriage turns the best of women into ciphers, mere shadows endorsing their husband’s opinions, lacking any of their own. Or if they do happen to have a thought or two, keeping it to themselves. Asking permission to do this or do that…” She stopped, realising she was losing herself in her soliloquy.

  “Lydia, come sit.” Judith patted the seat next to her. “Come.”

  “I apologise,” said Lydia as she went to Judith’s side and sat. “That was rather a long whine, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes it was.” Rose fanned herself idly. “Bored me quite to tears.” Her lips curved into a grin as everyone laughed. “Seriously though, Lydia, I simply can’t see you in the role you just described.”

  “Neither can I,” endorsed Judith. “If any man attempted to control you, you’d cut him off at the knees.”

  “After cutting off something else,” added Ivy.

  The laughter was general, and Lydia had to join in. “All right, all right. No more whining. They’ll be down any minute, so perhaps we need to change the subject.”

  “Perhaps we need to see if Woodleigh has laid out some drinks for us. I’ll wager he has.” Judith stood. “And I’ll even wager he has something light for me, since even sherry is now off limits according to my physician.”

  “Knowing Woodleigh, I wouldn’t take your wagers,” grinned Rose. “Fortunately, I can enjoy your sherry for you. After all, what are friends for?”

  “You’re more than generous,” teased Judith, taking her friend’s arm.

  Lydia and Ivy walked behind them. “Other than Sir Ronan, are there any other neighbours hereabouts?”

  Ivy’s head turned at Lydia’s question. “You know, I don’t have the faintest idea. But that’s something we really should find out. We’ll ask Colly. I suppose we should perhaps consider offering an entertainment here…but I don’t know what the relationship is with anyone who lives locally. Remind me to ask? You never know, my dear. There may be a perfectly delightful and dashing
bachelor dying to meet a beautiful, vibrant and exciting woman who refuses to be a traditional wife.”

  Lydia rolled her eyes, then glanced upward. “Oh look,” she pointed. “I think I see a pig flying…”

  Chapter Two

  Dinner had been interesting, mused Lydia as she readied herself for bed.

  And that was a pleasant thought, since she’d attended far too many meals which had been little more than a culinary exercise in social dominance.

  Maiden Shore food was wholesome, delicious, and plentiful. Fresh fish, lightly treated meats and lots of vegetables that clearly had been picked that same day. She’d dined well, enjoyed a stimulating and enlightening conversation about the current movement toward romanticism, and sighed with relief that nobody had mentioned politics.

  The gentlemen had appreciated their after-dinner port every bit as much as the ladies their after-dinner brandies.

  There was much to be said for a household helmed by one of one’s dearest friends, who was also of a similar age.

  The fact that the Duchess of Maidenbrooke was only just entering her twenties eliminated many of those drawn-out, socially correct moments that tended to happen over a post-dinner tea tray.

  Here, Lydia had sipped brandy, shed her slippers and tucked her feet up beneath her skirts in a way that would have horrified any London hostess.

  Rose had done the same, and when Ragnor had pushed an ottoman close to her chair, Judith showed no hesitation in propping her feet up with a sigh of pleasure.

  Ivy, meanwhile, acknowledging her position, distributed the liquor, while the conversation ranged from activities that might be investigated—including whether anyone swam in the ocean—and if there were any local markets or fairs at this time of year in the nearby village of Minton Barrow.

  Everyone had participated enthusiastically, although she’d noticed Judith had grown more silent as the evening wore on. She seemed tired, which was understandable since she now bore the responsibility of the babe, and Little Withersby was likely making demands that exhausted its mother.

  Absently, her hand drifted to her own belly, and she couldn’t help but wonder what it felt like to have life growing within.

  Then she shrugged off the moment. If it was to be, it would be, whether she considered the matter or not.

  On the morrow, they would open Maiden Shore socially, and invitations would be carried in the morning to Sir Francis and Lady Susan, the nearest neighbours, residing at Staunton Place.

  The Duke had described it as a neat country residence, and clearly approved of both Sir Francis and Lady Susan, commenting warmly on their personalities. Not much for town, he said, but quite content to play a major role in the village where they were much in demand.

  So tea would be served, polite chit chat would ensue, and Lydia wondered if it would be every bit as awful as it was in London.

  Or maybe it was her.

  She scolded herself for such thoughts. You’re in a lovely summer spot. Be grateful.

  The face that stared back at her from the mirror looked sceptical. You want an adventure, don’t you? To be swept off your feet by someone who makes your heart beat faster, your skin shiver for his touch, and your lips yearn for the taste of his.

  An unlikely scenario, to say the least.

  Pulling aside the covers and sliding into bed, she managed a grin at her own absurdity. Thank God she only allowed such indulgences when she was alone. It would never do for anybody to realise that deep down inside, Miss Lydia Davenport was just as much a silly girl as anyone else.

  *~~*~~*

  Everyone gathered in the morning room after breakfast, disposing themselves comfortably around the glorious carpet in chairs that encouraged relaxation. There was quite a bit of space, with a large bow window offering magnificent views down over green grass to the cliffs and the ocean. The entire building seemed to have been designed to give every room an ocean view if possible.

  Fortunately, the day was sunny, and several boats were already bobbing happily in the breeze, sails gleaming brightly against the blue of the sea.

  “I expect we’ll see Sir Francis and Lady Susan this morning,” observed the Duke, from his post near the window. “I always send an invitation, but it is never necessary. They like to be the first to welcome me.” He shook his head and blinked at his wife. “Sorry, us.”

  Ivy chuckled. “Yes, thank you dear. It is indeed us, from now on.”

  “I’m learning,” he grinned back.

  Lydia laughed. “I see that marriage does take a bit of getting used to. Even one of your elevated status has the odd difficulty now and again, your Grace.”

  He spread his hands in defeat. “I confess. Yes, you’re right. And for God’s sake, everyone…” He looked around. “Call me Colly? I can’t stand the idea of my summer peppered with formality. I’d like to think of you all as my extended family.”

  “I’ll second that, Colly,” replied Judith, her hands protectively cradling her growing belly. “And for my part, I’ll add that you’re a lot nicer than my real family, so I have no issues at all with it.”

  A general murmur of agreement endorsed the sentiment, to be followed by a tap on the door and the appearance of Woodleigh.

  “Lord and Lady Staunton, your Grace. Requesting the honour of welcoming you back to Maiden Shore.”

  Ivy snickered as the Duke glanced around with a degree of satisfaction. “Told you so.” He turned to the butler. “Show them in, by all means, Woodleigh.”

  “As you wish, your Grace.” He threw the door wide and a couple entered, a blur of colour and frills.

  Lydia’s eyes widened as the woman marched up to Colly, stared him in the face, and then hugged every bit of him she could reach. Since she barely topped five feet in height, she presented an interesting picture struggling to get her arms around him as her blue ruffled shawl drifted over his jacket. “Thank God. We heard you were injured. Gave us a bad moment there, lad.” She thumped him. “Don’t do it again.”

  Her husband was right behind her, grabbing the Duke’s hand and pumping it energetically. “Scared the bejesus out of us both. Glad to see you well, m’boy.”

  “And one of these pretty girls is your wife?” Letting go of his body, Lady Susan cast an eye around the room and came to rest on Ivy. “Francis, I’ll wager you ten guineas it’s this one…”

  “Don’t take the bet, Sir Francis,” grinned Ivy. “Yes, I’m his wife.”

  She found herself laughing as she was subjected to the same warm hug as her husband. Although they were more of a size, she managed one or two affectionate pats on the back.

  “Oh, you’ve chosen well, Maidenbrooke,” said Lady Frances, taking a step back from Ivy. “Yes, this one is perfect for you.”

  “I think so,” replied Colly with a grin.

  “Right answer,” shot back Ivy. “And you’re very kind, Lady Staunton. It’s a pleasure to meet you and Sir Francis. I believe you’re our nearest neighbours? Do you live here all year round?”

  She steered the conversation to more general matters, introducing Judith, Rose and Lydia, all of whom received what Lydia was coming to think of as the Staunton welcome—a hug from Lady Susan and a waggling-eyebrow grin from Sir Francis. Even the gentlemen were hugged, although Sir Francis restrained himself to a handshake.

  Once everyone had fulfilled their social duties, Lady Susan promptly took the seat next to Lydia on the sofa. “Now my dear. I deduce that you are still single, and therefore I shall absolutely have to find you a suitable husband this summer. A gel possessing your beauty should not be wasted on a gathering of young marrieds.”

  “I…”

  “No, no,” Lady Susan’s elegant hand shot up to silence her. “I’ll not hear a word of thanks. I look upon it as my duty to my dearest Maidenbrooke.” She glanced at him. “Although I was rather hoping that Prudence might be my summer project?”

  “She is due to arrive this morning,” smiled Colly. “Our gathering wouldn’t be complete wi
thout her.”

  “Of course. Just the thing.” Lady Susan turned back to Lydia. “Now then. There are several dances and parties already planned, my dear. I shall accompany you if the Duke finds himself otherwise occupied.”

  “You are too kind,” said Lydia, seeing the genuine interest behind Lady Susan’s gaze. She was clearly a matchmaker, but it seemed that her desire to bring couples together came from a friendly heart rather than a need to meddle in other’s lives.

  She wanted everyone as happy as she and Sir Francis. Who was observing his wife with a look of adoration in his eyes.

  “She’ll find you the right one, Miss Lydia. Never worry about that.” He nodded his head and folded his hands over his portly belly.

  “Now let me see.” Lady Susan took Lydia’s hand. “You’d prefer someone intelligent, I can tell. And tall, most likely.” She let a tiny giggle escape, charming Lydia. “Let’s all agree a tall man can provide a very nice chest to lean against should the need arise.”

  “I will certainly endorse that,” laughed Ivy, tossing a quick look at her towering husband.

  “And of course some sort of decent social standing…” continued the determined woman.

  Lydia fought to hide a shudder of distaste. “Lady Susan, I must inform you that all this is not in the least bit necessary,” she began. “I am not, at the moment, even thinking of marriage, let alone seeking a possible candidate. So please, let this go. I’m sure there must be other young ladies who would benefit from your wisdom in such matters? Especially, as you pointed out, now that the summer is here?”

  “Well,” Lady Susan’s face fell a little. “If you’re sure…then I suppose I can try again to find Portia Winwood a husband. But that’s turning out to be a Herculean task, you know.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “A total bluestocking, poor girl. Prefers the classics to Mrs Edgeworth or Lord Byron. I mean, what is one to do?”

  “No suitable candidates in the area then?” Ivy asked.