Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
Lydia
T hat evening, Lydia ushered her younger sisters into the house as twilight deepened over the Bristol estate. Once the bustle of getting them dinner and then settling them down for bed had subsided, she sought the calm of the drawing room, where she found Louisa seated near the fire, embroidery hoop in hand. The flickering light played upon Louisa’s fair features, highlighting the slight furrow of her brow as she focused on the delicate stitches.
“Did Father and the matchmaker manage to conjure a suitor for you?” Lydia asked, draping herself onto the chaise opposite her sister.
Louisa looked up, her lips twisting into a wry smile. “Father’s suggestions were predictably…uninspiring. However, the matchmaker had better options. I’m to meet the Earl of Arlington next week.”
“The Earl of Arlington?” Lydia’s brows lifted in surprise. “He’s reputed to be a respectable young man—quite charming, I’ve heard.”
Louisa’s smile softened at Lydia’s evident happiness for her, but it didn’t escape either of them that an unspoken sadness tinged the elder sister’s expression. “I only hope Father can one day turn some of this attention toward you, find you a good match,” Louisa said gently.
“Oh, Louisa, don’t trouble yourself over such notions.” Lydia waved her hand dismissively. “Father has set his hopes on you securing an advantageous match. As for me, I’ve no such aspirations.”
“Do you truly mean that?” Louisa asked, setting aside her embroidery to study Lydia more closely.
“I mean…” Lydia paused, her green eyes distant. “It would be a fine thing to marry someday, to have a partner in life, but I’ve resigned myself to my role here. The children need me, and I’m content to see them well-raised and happy. Someone must look after them. Although I might call on you and Lord Arlington for a roof over my head once Cressida is wed. I’ll be an old maid by then.”
Louisa’s lips turned into a smile. “You exaggerate. You’re hardly an ape leader and anything can happen. But in any case, you’ll have a home no matter what.”
“Good, for I should not like to grow old with our father,” Lydia said and rolled her eyes.
“You won’t. Never.”
“I’ll hold you to that, Lou,” Lydia said with a chuckle. “Regardless of what you said, I will be an old maid by then. All of six and thirty at least. I’ll be that cross spinster scolding your children over their poor posture.”
“Hardly,” Louisa retorted, laughing. “You’ll be everyone’s favorite aunt, dispensing wisdom and treats with equal measure.”
The laughter hung between them, warm and comforting, before Louisa tilted her head, her expression suddenly curious. “What happened at the park today? Did I miss all the merriment?”
Lydia’s brow furrowed as she thought back to the peculiar encounter. “I met a rather irregular gentleman. The Duke of Leith and his ward, a little boy named Eamonn. The poor child seemed so cowed under his guardianship. The Duke wouldn’t even allow him the simple joy of a game. I had to argue with him to let the boy join us.”
Louisa’s eyes widened. “The Duke of Leith? I know of him—such a tragic figure.”
Lydia blinked in surprise. “Tragic? He struck me as cold and overly strict, but tragic?”
“Looks can be deceiving, dear sister.” Louisa leaned forward, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Do you recall the scandal of the Earl of Worcester—the one who orchestrated an assassination plot against some Duke or other some years ago? The name escapes me. Ashford? Ashland?”
“Of course. A ghastly affair,” Lydia said, her lips thinning. “The Earl of Worcester hired the assassin and tried to call it off at the last moment, did he not? And then he served barely any time in Newgate before being exiled. Australia, wasn’t it?”
“Scotland,” Louisa corrected. “But yes, that Earl was the Duke’s father. And a cruel one at that. The Earl mistreated his children, particularly his eldest son. Rumor has it that he left England to escape his father’s reach and only returned after he was arrested.”
Lydia’s frown deepened. “Dreadful. I’d heard the daughters were treated poorly also. But they’re settled with dukes aren’t they?”
“Yes, what a stroke of luck for all three to marry dukes,” Louisa said but then Lydia frowned.
“Pray, how did this Alexander Hayward become a duke if his father was a mere earl?”
“That is a tale I know by heart. After disappearing, he rebuilt his life abroad, in Ireland,” Louisa said. “He earned his own fortune and served with distinction in the military, particularly at Waterloo. His bravery won him titles and eventually a Dukedom.”
“That does not sound tragic in the least,” Lydia noted but her sister shook her head.
“I’ve heard that his sisters cared little for him because he abandoned them as little girls to their drunkard of a father’s care. And I’ve heard he was the second son. The first one died as an infant and his father never would let him forget he wasn’t the first born. Dreadful. All the young ladies who went to finishing school with the Hayward sisters know the tale.”
Lydia gulped. She knew something about being the lesser wanted child but didn’t want to bring it up in front of – well, the favored daughter.
“It’s a sad tale, but what of the boy? Eammon? He said he is his ward. Where did they child come from?”
“Eammon? I’ve only heard whispers,” Louisa said. “He’s the Duke’s ward, orphaned by tragedy and given into the Duke’s care recently. Why someone would give an innocent child into that man’s keeping… well.” Louisa huffed. “He keeps company with notorious rakes like Wycliffe and Harrington. Hardly men to impart wisdom on fatherhood.”
Lydia shuddered. “Imagine such influences on a boy.”
“Indeed,” Louisa said, shaking her head. “He’s fortunate to have met you today. Perhaps he will remember your kindness.”
Lydia’s thoughts lingered on Eammon—the shy, hesitant child who had blossomed under her encouragement. A wave of protectiveness surged within her. Someone must guide him, offer him what his guardian clearly cannot.
But before she could speak further, a piercing scream shattered the tranquility of the night. Lydia shot to her feet, heart pounding as her eyes darted toward the direction of the sound.
“That came from the girls’ chambers!” she said, already moving toward the stairs.
“Lydia!” Louisa cried, but Lydia was already racing upward, fear propelling her faster than she thought possible. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she reached the corridor leading to her sisters’ rooms – leaving all thoughs of Alexander Hayward or little Eammon in the far corners of her mind.