Love With a Scandalous Lord (4 page)

“I
should have taken him with me.”

With his wife’s arm wound around his, Grayson walked through the elaborate gardens that had calmed him as a child. He found little comfort in the bright blossoms or the perfectly pruned hedges now. How was he ever to have known how much he would miss never-ending fields of cotton?

Or how much he would come to rely on the inner strength of the woman strolling beside him. Through the years, they’d become adept at judging each other’s moods, reading each other’s thoughts, so that even now she did not prod him to continue but waited patiently for him to unravel his misgivings at his own pace.

“He begged me. He was only fifteen, pleading for me to allow him to travel to Texas with me. Knowing Father was opposed to the notion, I refused to even consider taking Rhys.”

“You can’t feel guilty. You were traveling across an ocean and had no idea what might be waiting for you in Texas. As I recall when you were told that Fortune awaited you, you thought they were referring to money, not a town.”

He chuckled low. “Indeed, I quickly learned more than one kind of fortune existed.”

His wife represented the best type of fortune that could be bestowed on a man.

“Unfortunately, Abbie, I can feel guilty about not taking him, and by God, I do. Rhys has changed.”

“I should hope so. We’ve all changed. It’s been fifteen years,” she reminded him.

He glanced over at her, this woman who had seen beyond the accident of his birth, the first and only woman to give him unconditional love.

“I am not referring to the way he looks or the fact he is no longer a callow lad. Rather I fear he may have suffered because of my leaving. I was only a little older than Colton is now when Rhys was born. I should have had little interest in him. Yet as he grew, he seemed as lonely as I. A bond developed between us. Perhaps because we had a common enemy. Quentin. We avoided him at all costs. But there were times when he was not to be avoided. Quentin took his wrath out on me, and with me no longer here, I believe he may have turned his ugly temperament on Rhys.”

“That’s not your fault.”

He shook his head, unable to explain fully the horrors that had surrounded him here. The heir apparent had possessed an evil nature unlike any Grayson had ever encountered since.

“Rhys was within his rights to admonish me. I stood
firm in my disobedience on every matter save this one. I did as Father asked and would not entertain the thought of taking Rhys with me.”

“Again, Grayson, he was not your child, not your responsibility.”

He gave her a wry grin, and she sighed before saying, “Lydia, Johnny, and Micah are another matter.”

The children John Westland, her first husband, had given her. They’d long ago won his heart.

“I would protect them from all the unpleasantness in the world, Abbie. I should have extended the same consideration to Rhys.”

“We could argue about this matter all day, but if you’re feeling guilty, then I’m not going to be able to convince you to let it go.”

He stopped walking and pulled her into his arms. “Is that what we’re doing? Arguing?”

Reaching up, she brushed her fingers—scarred from years of plucking bolls of cotton from the stalk—into his hair. “You can’t change what happened fifteen years ago, or what might have happened here after you left. Quentin is dead. Let him rest in peace.”

“It’s not his peace that concerns me, but Rhys’s.”

“You’re here to say good-bye to your father,” she reminded him.

But his father had not awakened. Grayson had gazed on his shrunken features, held his withered hand, and spoken to him. To no avail.

“I shouldn’t have waited so long to return.”

“Considering the welcome you received, I’m surprised you returned at all. I shudder when I contemplate what your life must have been like while you lived here.”

He smiled warmly, trailing his fingers lovingly over
her face. “If not for my life here, I might never have had my life with you.”

“Maybe the same will hold true for Rhys. In time he’ll come to appreciate what he gained by your leaving instead of wondering what he might have lost.”

Grayson could only hope, but he thought it highly unlikely.

“Why can’t you eat dinner with
us
, Lyd?” Sabrina asked in the singsong voice she used when she was disappointed.

Lydia didn’t bother to look up from the books and papers she’d spread across the bed, where she sat with her legs folded beneath her—quite unladylike—and pillows mounded behind her back. She’d had to use a small stepstool to climb onto the canopied bed.

“Because I’m no longer a child,” Lydia responded distractedly. “I’ve been invited to dine with the Marquess. And please, don’t call me Lyd while we’re here. It makes me sound as though I belong in the kitchen.”

“But I’ve always called you Lyd.”

At the hint of sadness in Sabrina’s voice, Lydia glanced over at her sister. She was sprawled on the floor, her sketch pad in front of her. She took such delight in drawing that Lydia always encouraged her.

“I know you have,” she said kindly, “but we’re visiting an enchanted world. Lady Lydia sounds so much better than Lady Lyd. Don’t you think?”

Sabrina scrunched up her pixie-like face. “But you’re not Lady Lydia.”

“Not yet. But if I finish studying my books, then maybe I can be. Dining with the Marquess will be my first test.”

She didn’t want to consider the debacle during the
introductions as a test since she’d failed miserably. Not only had she addressed the Marquess incorrectly, but she’d offered her hand. They should have merely bowed at each other.

Staring into the Marquess of Blackhurst’s stormy gray eyes had somehow muddled her mind. This evening during dinner, she’d look at his nose. Although it was a very handsome nose, she didn’t think it would distract her as much as his eyes seemed to.

She considered looking at his mouth, but she grew warm whenever she thought about how close it had come to kissing her hand. Of course, his nose had released the breath that had skimmed along her wrist like the first balmy breeze of summer. Maybe she’d be better off looking at his ears when they spoke. They had yet to turn her knees into jelly.

“Test? Are we going to go to school while we’re here?” Sabrina asked, completely misunderstanding where Lydia was headed with her explanation.

“No, silly.” She pointed toward the paper. Time was quickly running out, and she still had a number of things she wanted to go over before dinner. Not only for herself, but for her stepfather. Had they received a warmer welcome, she wouldn’t be as determined to prove her worth. She didn’t want to embarrass him. “Finish your drawing.”

Sabrina turned her attention back to her sketching, and Lydia returned her efforts to her studies. As soon as her trunk had been delivered to the room, she’d scrounged through it until she’d located the books she’d packed at the bottom.
Hints on Etiquette and Their Importance to Society
,
The Laws of Etiquette
, and
The Young Ladies’ Friend.
She’d brought numer
ous issues of
Lady Godey’s
and
Harper’s Bazar
. Whatever information they could not provide, she was certain she would find in
Miss Westland’s Blunders in Behavior Corrected
.

The last book was not a published work, but to Lydia’s way of thinking it was more valuable than all the others combined. It was a collection of the rules Lydia’s cousin had shared in her letters over the years. Lydia had decided on the title herself. Lauren had made so many blunders after she’d first arrived in England. Lydia had no desire to travel her cousin’s path.

Lauren had been incredibly forthright and honest in sharing her experiences. Some of her letters were marred with withered spots that Lydia was certain had been caused by the dampness of her cousin’s tears. Lydia had painstakingly compiled all the important facets of each letter, learning from Lauren’s mistakes, creating her own book on etiquette that she hoped to share with Lauren when she saw her again.

And she was certain she would see her again. Surely her mother would not leave England without traveling to London to visit with her sister at least once. Lydia intended to be completely ready to take full advantage of the time she was there, and her readiness depended on practicing at Harrington.

She’d never had a gentleman sit in her front parlor, join her for tea, or take a stroll with her. Oh, she’d walked with a fella or two, but “Hey, Lydia, you wanna go on a walk?” simply didn’t have the same romantic ring to it as “Miss Westland, would you do me the honor of taking a turn about the garden with me?”

She couldn’t believe the Marquess of Blackhurst had called her Miss Westland. The formality of the in
troduction had set her heart to fluttering. This evening the formality would continue. She could hardly wait.

“How come Papa didn’t know his brother’s name?” Sabrina asked.

Lydia glanced over at her sister. She had such an earnest face. “He did know his name. It’s just that in the past few months, Papa’s brother has become the Marquess of Blackhurst. A title is much more important than a name. So people are supposed to call him Blackhurst.”

“Uncle Blackhurst? I don’t like that.”

Lydia sighed. “Not uncle. Just Blackhurst.”

“But we call Mama’s brother Uncle James.”

“Yes, I know, but things are a little different here.”

“What’s a bastard?”

Lydia slammed her eyes closed and rubbed her temples. She’d wondered how long it would take Sabrina to ask that question. Opening her eyes, she shoved the books and papers toward the foot of the bed. She patted a spot beside her. “Come here.”

Sabrina clambered onto the bed and curled against Lydia’s side. Lydia circled her arms around her and held her close.

“Many years ago,” she began quietly, “the Duke fell in love with an actress. But his family wanted him to marry someone else, and he did. Still, the actress gave him a son. Our father. But some people frown on women having children when they aren’t married.” Actually everyone she knew frowned on it.

In her youth, Lydia had witnessed the heartache caused by improper behavior. Perhaps that was the reason that behaving properly mattered so much to her. She never wanted to experience the embarrassment of scandal.

“That woman in the hall made it sound like a bastard was a terrible thing,” Sabrina said.

Shaking her head, Lydia smiled softly. “
Bastard
is not a nice word, but Papa is a very good man. It wasn’t his fault that his parents didn’t get married. The Duchess isn’t Papa’s mother, so I suspect she’s simply jealous.”

“Is Blackhurst her son?”

“Yes.”

“I thought she was mean to him, too.”

“Yes, she was.”

“I felt sorry for him.”

“He’s a marquess. He’s very powerful and influential.”

“But who loves him, Lyd?”

Who indeed? Lydia placed her hand over Sabrina’s chest where her heart rested. “I’m sure his mother does, deep down in here.”

The knock on the door made them both jump.

“What if it’s the witch?” Sabrina asked.

Lydia laughed lightly. “I don’t think she’d knock. She’d simply huff and puff and break the door down.” Tickling Sabrina until she was laughing, Lydia called out, “Come in.”

Mary—the young servant who’d been sent to fetch the Marquess earlier—entered. She held a light blue gown. Lydia had ordered the gown for the special celebration her parents had hosted in honor of her eighteenth birthday.

It was no longer completely stylish, but the rush with which they’d prepared for this journey hadn’t given her time to have new gowns made. She’d barely had time to have a new everyday dress sewn. Fortune was so
lacking in sophistication, Lydia seldom had an opportunity to don a proper evening gown.

Lydia squeezed Sabrina. “Finish your drawing now.”

Sabrina scrambled down to the floor and stretched out on her stomach. Lydia turned her attention to the maid.

Mary had helped her unpack their trunks earlier and get settled in. Before she’d left home, Lydia had packed her trunk herself. She’d felt a little silly standing in the room and watching while Mary had removed the items, but when she’d tried to help, Mary had insisted she be allowed to see to things. Lydia didn’t want the young woman to think she considered her incapable of unpacking a trunk, so she’d finally let the maid take care of everything.

Lydia felt as though she were trapped between two worlds. The world she understood and inhabited and the world she dreamed of becoming a part of.

“I’ve pressed your gown, miss,” Mary said as she carried it to the armoire. “Will you be wanting a bath before dinner?”

“Yes, please,” Lydia said.

She absolutely couldn’t believe she was dressing up for dinner. Back home, she merely washed her hands after a long day of helping with the chores. She didn’t exactly resent that her parents had never bothered with servants, but she knew they could well afford them. Having spent the afternoon with Mary scurrying around her, attending to her needs, Lydia knew she could quickly grow accustomed to being pampered.

“And will you be wanting me to help with your hair, miss?” Mary asked.

“Yes, please.”

“Lyd, you know how to fix your hair!” Sabrina cried.

Lydia moaned, fighting to keep the exasperation out of her voice. Her sister was simply too young to fully appreciate the subtleties of this new life. After dismissing Mary, Lydia waited until the servant had closed the door behind her before turning her attention to her sister and her earlier comment. “Tonight is a special occasion, Sabrina.”

“Is fixing your hair part of the test?” Sabrina asked.

“Yes, as a matter of fact it is.”

“The teacher made Andy Warren stand in the corner of the classroom with a dunce cap perched on his head, because he cheated on his spelling test. Aren’t you cheating on the test if you have someone else do your hair for you? If you get caught, no telling what that old witch will do to you.”

Lydia would have laughed if Sabrina didn’t look so serious. “This test is all about knowing one’s position in society. It’s impossible to cheat.”