Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
“W hat the devil are you wearing? Go change.” Oliver glowered at Lydia as she descended the stairs in a traditional Indian ensemble. She knew it would scandalize the attendees at the assembly, but she intended to draw plenty of attention to herself that night. It would make it easier for more people to catch sight of her with Keith, and it would only make the gossip untenable for Oliver. He would have no choice but to recant his insistence that he marry her. He’d droned on about their future ad nauseam that day to where even Will grew irritated and suggested Oliver take his horse for a ride.
“I will not. I am an Indian woman wearing Indian clothes.”
“You are not an Indian woman.” His assertion was ridiculous, given Lydia’s physical features. He spat his words just as Sarla and Will entered the foyer.
“She is,” Will corrected. “Do you take issue with that, my lord? Had you not noticed before this?”
“Lady Lydia has always been a presentable Englishwoman before tonight. This is obscene.”
“Lady Abbington, Lady Howe, and the late Countess of Devon all wore clothing of this style when they married. Are you calling my wife and sisters-in-law obscene?” Will was tired of the repugnant man, but he forced himself not to expel the miscreant from his house and onto his arse. There was more to lose than to gain if he rejected his daughter’s suitor too soon. But it was growing nigh on impossible to advocate any redeeming qualities for Oliver, and Will couldn’t blame Lydia for soundly rejecting Oliver in public and in private. However, he couldn’t afford for Lydia to chase the man away.
“No. In that place, I suppose all of them parade about like this.” He waved his hand up and down in Lydia’s direction. “But we are in England. We know better.”
“My lord, this is a formal ensemble for a special occasion. But this style is how I dress when I’m at home. Will you forbid me to be Indian?” Lydia’s voice was soft and falsely innocent. Oliver knew he wouldn’t win with Lydia’s parents staring at him. “Perhaps you would feel better if you understood what I’m wearing. This skirt is a ghagra , and the tunic is a kurta . My mother and I both wear odhni as a sash that could be a shawl if the air turns cool.”
“I care not what any of that is, Lady Lydia.” Oliver stepped up to offer his arm. He turned his back to her parents and kept his voice low. “Wear this when we marry, and I will burn it. From here on out you will appear as a civilized viscountess.”
Lydia glanced down at the proffered arm, then up to Oliver’s eyes. “I’ll remain an uncivilized princess.” She walked past Oliver and through the open front door. She slid into the landau, taking a seat before her mother joined her. The women sat beside each other before the men boarded and sat across from them. It would have been more comfortable if they’d sat as couples, but neither Sarla nor Will thought it a good idea. Lydia was glad for it.
The party of four rode in silence along the drive. Then Sarla attempted to draw Oliver into conversation. Once she maneuvered it to be about him, the pugnacious man rambled on until they reached Lyme Regis and the town’s assembly hall.
“I have it on very good authority Prinny intends to remove Liverpool as War Secretary. The Marchioness of Hertford attended a soiree I was at just a month ago and said as much.”
The Prince Regent’s current senior mistress was a staunch Tory, and so was the Earl of Liverpool. Oliver spewed nonsense. While the women held sway over her younger lover, in his mid-forties, the king knew Liverpool was the best person for the job. If anything, the Earl of Liverpool was likely to be the next Prime Minister.
“Interesting,” Will mused.
“Yes. George feels the war is dragging on far too long. I’ve been quite vocal in the House of Lords. He’s taken note of many of my suggestions, passed along by my peers.”
Lydia gazed off to her right, averting her face, so no one could see her expression. While plenty of people informally referred to the Prince Regent as Prinny, Oliver was certainly not in a position to address the king by his first name. Even if they were one-hundred-and-fifty miles apart, and the prince would be no wiser, it was far above his station to be so familiar. She doubted Oliver ever said anything of use, and anything passed along to Prinny was done to mock Oliver.
“Lady Lydia, you will have the chance to dine at the palace once we are wed.” Oliver’s declaration forced her to look at him again. Her uncle, then both cousins were the Earl of Devon. She’d been to the palace on more than one occasion and dined there each time. She was not impressed.
“How nice.” Lydia couldn’t be free of the insufferable man quickly enough. She offered a tight smile to offset some of the sharpness to her words. Oliver hardly looked please, but he wouldn’t remonstrate her where her parents could hear. He would save that for when they were on the dance floor, and she was forced to be near him.
Oliver offered Lydia his hand as she disembarked from the carriage. She had no choice but to accept, for appearances and because her skirts made it risky for her to step down on her own. As if by her thoughts alone, Keith materialized on horseback. She realized his timing was not accidental. He’d followed them.
Lydia, Oliver, and her parents joined the receiving line behind Keith. Lydia’s eyes roamed over his broad back, down to his trim waist and hips. She knew the feel of his muscled buttocks, and she wished to rest her hands there again. As though he sensed her perusal, Keith twisted as though he meant to look at the people already inside, but he met her gaze from the corner of his eye. The left side of Lydia’s mouth twitched as she repressed her smile. She felt no guilt being caught. However, she endeavored to keep Oliver, who stood to her right, from seeing her reaction to Keith.
“His Grace, Lord Keith MacNeil, the Duke of Dorset.”
Keith stepped forward as the majordomo announced him. All in attendance riveted their attention on the entrance. He’d never attended an assembly before. He watched as the flock of mamas tittered and nudged their virgin daughters. He recalled why he’d always avoided them, even as a young man. He’d attended Almack’s in his younger days and been to various balls during the Season. He’d enjoyed none of them, so he hadn’t missed a moment of pretentious socializing while he sailed.
“Lord Oliver Gwyn, Viscount Sackville. Lord and Lady Abbington, and their daughter, Lady Lydia Abbington.”
Lydia scanned the gathering and spied people she knew since childhood. She noticed her attire shocked some, amused others, and confused many. While plenty of people had seen Sarla and her wear odhni over the years, very few ever saw the two women in full traditional clothing. Both she and Sarla preferred it when they were at home and not available to callers.
“Lady Lydia, I request your first dance.” Keith handed her the dance card with her name on it. He’d easily spotted it among the others on the table near the receiving line. He’d already penciled his name on it.
“But—” Oliver tried to object; however, Keith turned his back to his cousin. He would use his standing as a duke to get what he wanted, and he felt not a moment’s hesitation. Oliver wouldn’t make a scene arguing, and few people would correct Keith that Oliver was entitled to the first dance, since it was obvious Oliver had escorted Lydia to the event.
“Thank you, Your Grace. I shall endeavor not to stomp on your toes.”
“I fear not, my lady.” Keith led Lydia to a place among the dancers as they lined up for a quadrille. The couple who formed the other half of their square were married and disinterested in their partners. However, plenty of other people watched as Keith and Lydia danced together. Unbeknownst to them, they’d already begun the rumors. While Lydia’s attire certainly drew attention, and Keith’s mere attendance caused a stir, it was how they moved together. They appeared as though they’d partnered for years. There was an ease and gracefulness between them that came from a level of comfort and trust in their partnership. By the time the dance ended, they were both breathing hard and had eyes only for one another.
Oliver shattered the moment by insisting upon the next dance. The evening progressed with Oliver vying for every other dance, making his intentions clear when he tried to claim Lydia from each of her partners.
“I believe it is now my turn, Lady Lydia.” Oliver veritably snatched her hand from Keith’s, which earned him a menacing growl from his cousin. Oliver gentled his touch but not by much. He tried to hold her too close for their dance, but Lydia’s stiff body made it impossible to draw her into his arms without making it clear he had to yank her to do so.
“You are being very contrary tonight, my dear. It isn’t pleasant. You wouldn’t want anyone to think it’s a sign of your poor breeding.”
Lydia had plenty to say in response, but she kept her lips pressed firmly together. Instead, she cast him such a gaze of distaste and dislike that Oliver misstepped. The gathered people kept him from lashing out with his palm to her face, but he didn’t hold back his words.
“You may make of fool of yourself now, but when you are my wife, you will behave to my exacting expectations. You will dress properly and conduct yourself as a viscountess should. I will burn these close simply because I can. You come to heel, or you will discover what a man can do when he owns his wife.”
“We are not wed. We are not even betrothed. I would not be so certain of yourself so soon. While my father may favor you, and he might even accept your offer, you still must get the words out of my mouth at the altar. You would do well to tread lightly since you do not know what those words might be.”
Oliver opened his mouth to say more, but as they twirled, he caught sight of Keith. It made his blood boil, but he wouldn’t risk his cousin figuring out just how angry Lydia had become. He would prove to Keith and everyone else that Lydia already belonged to him.
Lydia feared people would perceive Oliver’s insistence they dance so frequently as a virtual betrothal announcement. She avoided him as best she could, claiming she’d already promised the next dance to another partner. Once he’d danced with her twice, Lydia knew she couldn’t wait much longer to escape with Keith.
Keith watched from a spot against the wall as Lydia danced with Oliver and the other men. He couldn’t peel his eyes away. She was stunning on an average day, but she was breathtaking as she laughed and twirled, her hair and skirts flying around her. He’d assumed he would grow jealous watching her in other men’s arms, but he realized he trusted her implicitly, which came as a surprise since secrets still existed between them. He supposed he didn’t fear her affections laying elsewhere, especially since she watched him through most of the dances. He danced with her a second time when he grew frustrated with the debutantes who kept passing him and giggling.
“Lyddie,” Keith sighed as she stepped into his embrace for a waltz. Her exhalation matched his as relief coursed through her now that she wouldn’t partner with anyone else for what people considered an almost scandalously intimate dance. He held her far too close, but neither cared. While both knew it would further the rumors, the gossips didn’t motivate them. They simply wanted to be close. As the music began, Keith led her through the steps, rotating and revolving them around the dance floor. With each turn, his hold tightened until their bodies pressed together.
“I’ve waited all night for this dance. I knew you’d rescue me, but I feared a few times that another man—Oliver—wouldn’t let go of me and would insist I dance the next one with him and that it would be a waltz.”
“I wouldn’t have let that happen. No man shall hold you as close as I am now.”
“ I don’t want any other man to hold me this close. I kept telling myself I needed to get through one more dance, and each one put me closer to when I could dance with you again.”
“We’re together now, and I might never let you go, sweetling.”
By the end, some couples had ceased dancing to watch the duke and princess. They stepped apart when the music faded. Keith snared them glasses of warm ratafia. The almond-flavored liqueur was bitter, and the hints of apple and apricot did nothing to disguise the taste. They also did nothing to refresh the couple. Their skin glowed with traces of perspiration.
“Let’s go outside. It’s too warm in here, anyway.” Keith offered Lydia his arm, and the crowd parted at though he were Moses escorting the Ten Commandments through the Red Sea. They stepped onto the terrace, knowing people gawked. They kept an appropriate distance, appearing to enjoy the cool air. It would be ridiculous for them to fling themselves at one another, despite how much they wanted to do just that.
“How long should we appear as though we’re innocently taking the air?”
“A few more minutes. I’m watching, and people are losing interest. When just enough are still watching to catch us, then I’ll do what I’ve longed to all night.”
“And what’s that, Your Grace?” Lydia purred as she swayed toward him but didn’t let them touch.
“Devour you, my lady.”
“Promise?”
“Every day for the rest of my life, Lydia. Once we do this, there is no going back. Are you certain?”
“Even if he weren’t here, I would want this. I’m not agreeing to this as my escape, Keith. I want us.”
“So do I, sweetling.” Keith brought both of Lydia’s hands to his mouth. He no longer paid attention to anyone else. “I thought much about how I feel while I was away. I wondered if it was just lust or infatuation. It’s not, Lydia.”
“I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t desire you. We both know I do. I am not infatuated with you, Keith. I see your faults and recognize choices you made I don’t agree with. But I don’t doubt you’re a good man. The one I wish to be with.”
“I love you, Lydia.” Keith waited with bated breath. He’d never come close to uttering such a profession. He’d said it to his mother the day they’d taken her away to Bedlam, and he’d said it the day he left Kelsey behind. Those were the only two times he could recall. But he planned to say it over and over to Lydia.
“I love you, Keith.” Nothing had felt righter than making that confession.
Her toes curled as she watched him beam at her admission. He pulled her into his arms, neither caring whether it was a strategic moment. They only cared about one another. Keith lowered his mouth to hers and feasted. He did as he promised. He devoured her. Kissing along her jaw and down her throat before returning to her mouth. His tongue thrust into hers, and he nearly spent when she sucked on it. One hand tangled in her hair while the other gripped her backside. Lydia clutched his jacket as she arched her back, pressing her hips into his. Her hands slid beneath his waistcoat and over his shoulders, annoyed that his shirt was in the way. They were in a world that belonged only to them. They heard nothing but the sound of their own pleasure.
“Lady Lydia!” A woman’s scandalized shriek finally permeated their love fog. They pulled apart and turned their heads to the rector’s wife. She stood aghast, fanning herself with a peacock plume. They sensed Mrs. Adams had called Lydia’s name more than once before it registered with them.
“Your Grace, what are you about with Lady Lydia?” Mrs. Henry, the blacksmith’s wife, demanded before she recalled to whom she spoke. Keith didn’t have a chance to answer because a neighboring baron pushed forward.
“I say, Your Grace, this is disgraceful. Taking advantage of the young lady. What would your father say?”
Lydia felt Keith’s anger. It came to life the moment the man uttered the word “father.” Lydia pressed against him, keeping him from lunging at the unsuspecting baron.
“He’d likely say something crude about what he would do with a young lady. But I am celebrating my betrothal. Lady Lydia has consented to be my wife.”
“No!” Oliver’s voice rang out over the murmurs. He elbowed his way to the front, Sarla and Will close behind. “I was courting Lady Lydia. You’re a cad who debauched my future betrothed.”
“I am hardly debauched, my lord.” Lydia raised her chin. “I don’t have a stitch out of place.”
If anything, it was Keith who looked disheveled. His coat hung too wide and was off-center at the shoulders. His waistcoat bowed in front of his shoulders from where Lydia rested her hands. She looked up at Keith and smothered her giggle. He looked like the one who’d been ravished.
“I demand justice. I made my wish to marry Lady Lydia clear, Abbington.”
“And I believe Lady Lydia made her preference clear,” Father Adams pronounced. “My lady, you’ve made a choice you will have to live with. Are you prepared for that?”
“Yes, Father. I knew what I risked.”
“Your Grace, I would have expected more from a man so worldly as you,” Father Adams chided. But his wife elbowed him and shot him a warning glance before she looked back at the Duke. It was his benevolence that kept them dry from the rain, with a new roof.
“I’ve already explained.” Keith turned to Will and Sarla. “Lady Lydia accepted my proposal. We were celebrating our betrothal.”
“But—”
“But nothing,” Will interrupted Oliver. His pinched expression made Keith and Lydia wonder why he disapproved of their match. “We found my daughter and His Grace in a compromising situation. There is little choice but for them to marry. I’m sorry, my lord. My daughter did not heed my choice, but what is done is done.”
Lydia watched her father, stunned by how unsupportive he was. She’d assumed he would come around once they forced his hand. She should have known better. She’d been na?ve, but she would learn why her father appeared so miserable. She knew he’d liked and respected Keith before this, even if he disapproved of a pirate courting his daughter. Her father was hardly a social climber, but it was far more advantageous that his daughter marry a duke than a viscount. And she couldn’t understand why he would want Oliver anywhere near her when Will was a smuggler.
“I will be by tomorrow with the contract, Abbington.” Keith turned to the parish priest. He observed how the man’s wife leaned toward him, almost timid under his attention. While he was hardly a devout man, he could admit he appreciated that Anglican priests married. It made more sense to him that a married man initiate him into matrimony than one who practiced celibacy. He suspected Father Adams would offer unsolicited but kindly intended counsel about Keith’s and Lydia’s impending nuptials.
“I will see you at the rectory after you meet with Sir Abbington. We will arrange for the banns, and I would have a word with you, Your Grace.”
Keith nodded, prepared for the man’s pronouncement. He looked down at Lydia as she tilted her head back. They’d done as they planned, and it succeeded. He wished they were alone, so they might celebrate with more than just a kiss.
“Lydia, I think it is time we depart for the evening.” Sarla spoke softly as she came to stand beside her daughter. She’d remained quiet, observing. It came as no surprise the couple had forced her hand and Will’s. It was history repeating itself. Her daughter was a replica of her in every way. She and Will had done something similar when her father continued to hint at arranging a marriage to a local man. However, they caught Will and her doing far more than kissing and just a little less than coupling. She intended her daughters to never learn of that. Only Theo and Vinita were also alive to tell anyone in England, and her mother would never tell a soul in India.
Lydia nodded, but she continued to gaze at Keith. He brushed his nose against hers before kissing her temple. She sighed, content to stand with Keith. But she knew it was best that she and her parents leave and allow the gossip to play out. If she remained with Keith, it would appear as though they flaunted being caught.
“I love you, sweetling.” Keith cared not who heard him. “Sweet dreams.”
“Sweet dreams to you too, darling. I love you.” Lydia stood on her toes and gave him a peck on his lips before she withdrew and stepped between her parents.
“I demand justice!” Oliver had grown quiet, but now he made a stand.
“Have done, Cousin. There is no justice to be had. You had no written agreement with Sir Abbington, so there has been no breach. You may have expressed an interest, but I staked my claim.” Keith stepped up to Oliver, so they stood facing one another, their opposite shoulders pressing together. He lowered his voice to a menacing whisper. “Stand down, Oliver. I will destroy you if you don’t.”
Keith pushed past until he could follow the Abbingtons from the assembly hall. He mounted his horse as he waited for Oliver to climb into the carriage, too. He didn’t envy Lydia the awkwardness of her ride home. He wished he’d had the forethought to bring her onto his horse’s back and save her the discomfort. But the landau was under way, so his horse trotted behind it.
When they neared the turn onto the Abbingtons’ drive, Keith was forced to stop as one of his footmen ran toward him. The man waved something in the air.
“Your Grace, a letter just arrived from Powderham. The messenger practically ran his horse into the ground.” The footman handed Keith the folded piece of parchment. He ran his thumb over the seal, recognizing the Earl of Devon’s crest. He wondered what Rajesh wanted. He nudged his horse forward at a walk, not wishing to leave his footman behind. When they arrived at the abbey’s entrance, he handed off the reins to the man and went to his library. He broke the seal and unfolded the paper.
They’re drawing closer. I need to move the pepper now. My ships aren’t close. Can you come? I want them nowhere near as Charlie’s confinement is imminent. I can’t be away from her.
Keith ran his hand over his face and looked toward the window that faced Abbington House. He knew Rajesh meant the East India Company. The pepper to which he referred was their code for gunpowder. They would all hang if the excisemen discovered their contraband. If any East Indiamen found it, they’d be shot on the spot. He didn’t wish to leave Lydia, especially not while Oliver remained, but neither could he ignore Rajesh’s request for help. He was closer than the Pedricks or Howes, and he was the only one with ships.
He went to his desk and scribbled a note. He would dispatch a footman to deliver it in the morning.
My love, I must leave for a few days. A family obligation. A cousin has pepper to trade, and he wishes me to take it lest it be stolen. He fears someone intends to interfere. I will return as soon as I can. Know that I’d rather remain with you, but I will meet you at the altar with a license in hand when I return. I hope you’ll wear to our wedding what you wore tonight. No one has ever been lovelier.
Yours always,
KMN