Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
Lydia
T he carriage rattled to a halt, its wheels grinding against the gravel drive as the sound of jangling harnesses faded into stillness. Lydia Andrews pushed the door open and leapt lightly to the ground, her half-boots tapping against the stone. Turning swiftly, she extended her arms into the carriage.
“Come along, my love,” she said, her voice steady yet warm as she reached for her youngest sister, Cressida.
The four-year-old clung to her, her blonde curls brushing Lydia’s cheek as she was lifted from the vehicle. Once placed on the ground, Cressida clutched Lydia’s skirts with an affectionate grin.
Behind them, Elizabeth and Margaret, the boisterous ten-year-old twins, were climbing out in their usual energetic fashion. Lydia held her breath as Elizabeth nearly tripped on the hem of her gown—a garment already bearing the indignity of a grass-stained smudge from their earlier outing.
“Careful now!” Lydia admonished gently, though her watchful eyes betrayed her concern. “We cannot have another tumble today, Elizabeth. That gown has endured quite enough.”
The twins exchanged impish looks before Margaret took Elizabeth’s arm and the two rushed toward the house, giggling. Lydia sighed; they were probably already planning their next adventure.
Her sister Louisa exited next, shaking her head at the twins who were now coming to a stop near the lion-headed fountain.
“We must get the twins inside before Father sees them,” Louisa said, her voice low and urgent. “If he notices Elizabeth’s gown, there’ll be no peace for anyone this evening.”
“Especially for me,” Lydia agreed. “Louisa, take Cressida and Margaret through the side door—quietly. Elizabeth will come with me. That gown requires immediate attention.”
Louisa nodded without hesitation and knelt to take Cressida’s hand. “Come along, pet,” she murmured, leading her younger sisters toward the entrance that opened discreetly into the ballroom from the garden path. Louisa, Lydia had to admit, was a blessing. Even though at eighteen she should have been more interested in society gatherings, pretty dresses, and finding a match, she did her best to be a comfort and help to Lydia.
Truthfully, Lydia also should have been looking for a husband right along side Louisa. At twenty, she was the oldest daughter, after all, and therefore the one who should be married off first. Indeed, that had been her father’s plan all along. The moment their mother died in childbed following Cressida’s birth, he’d made it his mission to find a husband for Lydia.
Oh, and the gentlemen he’d paraded around the house – they had been dreadful indeed. Lydia and her father had never gotten along, even when her mother was living. Therefore she hadn’t expected him to find high quality husbands for her but the men he’d found were beyond anything he’d considered reasonable.
It wasn’t that she’d wanted a duke or even held out hope for a marquess – but it seemed her father was saving those for Louisa, his favorite. He wasn’t much kinder to Louisa. But it appeared he was saving the better husbands for her.
That, or he simply didn’t know anybody besides barons and viscounts who were either so old they could have been Lydia’s fathers or didn’t have a sixpence to scratch together. At best, he’d presented her with men who were simply birdbrained or in their cups.
Whatever it was, as soon as Lydia had realized her father had no intention of finding her a quality husband, she’d rebelled – in her own quiet ways. She’d managed to sabotage three courtships in the last year and a half alone. And now, she not only had a horrid pet name among the ton – the cursed bride – she was also at least free of suitors. For the time being.
Once her father dug up a down on his luck miner or thrice-widowed landowner, he might try and press her into matrimony again. For now, he appeared content with letting Lydia look after her siblings, while he focused his energy into finding a husband for Louisa.
“It is best to take care of that stain now,” Mrs. Baines, their ever-diligent housekeeper, said from behind her, drawing her from her thoughts. She descended last, her movements more deliberate but no less capable. “Wise choice, Lady Lydia,” she said with a curt nod, gesturing toward the smaller door.
Lydia gave a tight smile in reply, though the corners of her mouth twitched with the strain of the day. The heat of the August afternoon clung to her like a shroud, and her muslin gown stuck to her back. Though the jaunt to the park had brought a welcome interlude of games and laughter, the sweltering weather had taken its toll, turning even the simplest amusements into exhausting endeavors.
She ran a hand around her neck and felt the sticky sweat that had accumulated there. Perhaps she would ask the maids to bring up the wash tub that evening and allow herself a bath. She didn’t like wasting water as her father was rather a penny pincher when it came to how often his children could bathe. They were permitted one bath per week—unless there was a ball, in which case another was allowed.
Otherwise it was spot cleaning with a basin and wash ball.
“Eliza!” she called for her sister who turned. “This way,” she said, steering her sister toward the washroom just off the central hall.
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose but obeyed, while Louisa escorted Margaret and Cressida inside.
Once there, Lydia dampened a cloth in the cool water waiting in a basin and knelt to clean the offending smudge.
“Hold still,” Lydia instructed, her tone firm but devoid of unkindness. “You must take more care, Elizabeth. Father expects us all to present ourselves with decorum. He will not be pleased if he sees this.”
Elizabeth bit her lip, her freckled nose crinkling. “But Margaret made me run for the ball!”
“And you must learn to resist her whims, even if they seem like fun,” Lydia replied, softening despite herself. “In any case, what’s done is done. Let’s ensure there’s no further trouble.”
With a final swipe, the stain faded to near invisibility. Satisfied, Lydia rose and smoothed her sister’s gown. “Go now, and no running indoors.”
“Yes, Lydia,” Elizabeth muttered before scampering off.
Lydia lingered by the washstand, her hands trailing in the cool water. Since their mother’s passing five years ago during Cressida’s birth, the household had often felt like a ship captained in turbulent waters.
Lydia, barely twenty herself, had taken the helm with little time to consider her own desires or dreams. To be a mother, a wife – these were things that she’d desired for a long time, but on her terms. Not her father’s.
Sometimes, as the years ticked by, she didn’t know if she’d ever have any of it. Her father’s demands were exacting enough, but it was the needs of her siblings—their joy, their education, and their futures—that truly weighed upon her shoulders.
She finally returned to the drawing room, where Louisa had settled with Cressida and Margaret for a game of draughts. The house was quiet save for the occasional peal of laughter from the girls. For now, all seemed well, though Lydia knew better than to take such moments for granted.
“Elizabeth’s dress?” Louisa asked without looking up.
“Handled,” Lydia replied, taking a seat. She crossed her ankles and allowed herself a brief moment of repose.
The clattering of distant steps signaled Mrs. Baines’ return, and the housekeeper entered with a faint sheen of sweat on her brow. “Dinner preparations are underway, Lady Lydia,” she reported.
“Thank you,” Lydia said with a nod.
“Supper soon?” Cressida asked, her wide eyes brimming with hopeful curiosity.
Lydia smiled despite the tightness in her chest. “Yes, very soon.”
Cressida’s delight was infectious, and she bounded away with renewed energy. Louisa cast Lydia a glance, knowing yet unspoken, and returned her attention to the game.
Lydia stood and smoothed her skirts once more. Whatever uncertainty lingered in her mind, it could not deter her from the duties that awaited. For now, it was enough to keep her family steady, to ensure that the ship stayed its course.
The stillness of the evening was broken only by the muffled sound of footfalls as Lydia descended the staircase after settling her sisters into bed. The house felt heavier in the dim candlelight, shadows casting long shapes across the walls. Just as she reached the bottom step, the door to her father’s study swung open with a sharp creak, and the Earl of Bristol strode into the hall.
“Lydia,” Charles Andrews said without preamble, his voice clipped and precise, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. come here.”
Lydia pursed her lips. ‘Everywhere’ clearly did not include her sisters’ bedchambers, for that is where she had been for the last hour, making sure the young ones were tucked in bed.
Alas, she knew mentioning this would only cause more problems and thus she straightened up, clasping her hands in front of her as she approached her father. At nearly fifty years of age, the Earl cut an imposing figure, his greying hair neatly combed back, his coat impeccably tailored. Yet, his usual air of control was undercut by the visible tension in his jaw.
“Yes, Father,” Lydia said, her tone deferential.
“What have you and your sisters been doing all day?” he demanded, his dark eyes narrowing as they fixed on her.
Lydia exhaled silently and began, choosing her words carefully. “This morning, the twins worked on their embroidery while Louisa assisted me with Cressida’s reading lesson. Later, we all went to the park for some fresh air and diversion.”
“The park?” he interrupted, his displeasure immediate. “Lydia, the girls have no need for frivolity. They should be attending to their accomplishments—refining their music, their painting, their manners. Or would you have them end up as—” He stopped short, but Lydia understood the implied reproach and held her ground despite the sting.
Louisa stepped into view, her green eyes gleaming with determination. “Father, promenading is essential for young ladies of quality,” she said evenly. “It is what we did at the park. A bit of society does them good, and the twins expend their boundless energy in the process.”
Charles Andrews hesitated, the edge in his gaze softening as he turned to his younger daughter. “That’s well said, Louisa,” he admitted, almost grudgingly. “Why can’t your elder sister frame things so sensibly?”
Lydia’s spine stiffened at the comment, but her expression remained calm. She was no stranger to her father’s preference for Louisa, nor to the undercurrent of criticism reserved for herself.
Louisa turned her apologetic gaze to Lydia, but Lydia merely offered her a small wink, signaling that all was well.
“Father,” Lydia said, her voice measured and polite, “with your permission, I would like to take the girls to the park again tomorrow. I had thought to teach them the game of pall mall. It is good for their coordination and, more importantly, allows them to make acquaintances with other young ladies.”
“Pall mall?” The Earl raised a skeptical brow. “We have a set here, do we not? What need have you to take them elsewhere?”
Lydia inclined her head, unfazed. “Indeed, we do, but the park offers a pleasant variety of company. Such connections may prove advantageous in the future, as you yourself have often emphasized.”
Her father paused, weighing her argument. Finally, he gave a terse nod. “Very well. Take them to the park if you must. However,” he added, his tone growing firm, “Louisa cannot accompany you. Tomorrow, she will come with me to visit the matchmaker.”
Louisa’s breath caught audibly, her cheeks flushing as she met her father’s stern gaze. “The matchmaker, Father?” she repeated, her composure faltering for the first time.
“Yes,” he replied with finality. “You are nearly of an age to be married, and I will see it done properly. I am sure you, unlike your sister, will not disappoint me.”
The comment was as sharp as a knife and cut as deeply but Lydia did not intend to let her father see that he’d wounded her. Instead, she nodded.
“Of course, Father. I will take them by myself,” she said.
“Good,” the Earl said, his tone approving as he placed a hand on Louisa’s shoulder. “And you will come with me now. I will want a list of what you wish for in a husband so we can make sure you get just what you desire. Though those wants must be secondary to the needs of your younger sisters. A fellow with a fortune of his own and …”
He walked Louisa away into his study, leaving Lydia standing there without so much as a goodnight.
Left alone in the dim hall, Lydia remained still, her posture as straight as a reed despite the tension in her chest. She tilted her head toward the front windows, where the crescent moon bathed the gardens in pale silver light.
She had accepted her father’s frequent comparisons, the unspoken conclusion that she was destined for a different role than Louisa. Her duty was clear—to raise her sisters well, to prepare them for lives she herself would likely never know.
Yet the stray thought broke through—would she ever have a chance to stand beside a man of her own? To feel her heart stir not from obligation but from genuine affection?
Lydia’s hands tightened briefly at her sides before she relaxed them with deliberate grace. No, she chided herself. Such thoughts were indulgent
Her lot in life was this: to see her sisters safely wed, to act as their steadfast anchor until they no longer needed her. For that, she would trade all her dreams without hesitation.
Brushing a wisp of hair from her cheek, Lydia exhaled softly and turned toward the shadows of the empty hall. “This is my path,” she whispered into the stillness, “and I will walk it with grace.”
She lit a candle, its flame flickering in the draught as she began her ascent up the staircase.