Chapter Seventeen
Although she’d safely escaped Dodsworth’s notice, Bridget continued to linger impatiently amongst the trees for a while longer, not wanting to run into Lydia as she returned to the villa.
If Lydia suspected that she’d overheard her conversation with Lord Dodsworth, the situation could become dangerous.
Bridget was already acquainted with Lydia’s unpleasant nature, but she’d been surprised to witness an aggressive side to the normally mild-mannered Dodsworth.
She’d never heard him speak in such a harsh tone before.
Then again, Lydia had been blackmailing him at the time, so a little anger could be expected.
But what was the hanging offense Lydia had accused him of?
If the crime was Madam Bouffant’s murder, then Jefferson had to be involved too as she already suspected.
He was Dodsworth’s closest friend, and it followed that Dodsworth’s secret might be Jefferson’s as well.
*
Assessing that it was finally safe to reenter the villa, Bridget put Bijou down and the terrier scampered up the path toward the servants’ entrance, no doubt hungry for a bowl of Cook’s scraps.
Bridget followed, so deep in thought that she didn’t even notice Lydia Eamont walking toward her.
“Oh, Miss De Lacey there you are. May I have a word?”
Bridget’s heart began to pound. What was all this about? Had Lydia spotted her in the garden after all?
But there was no malice in Lydia’s expression. She looked flushed with happiness—just like a new bride.
“I want to throw a little party—nothing too grand—only a fancy luncheon or tea.” Lydia practically sang her words, and for a moment Bridget was so taken aback by her change in demeanor that she could not answer.
“Miss De Lacey?” Lydia peered at Bridget. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Uhm. How…how about tea in the garden?” Bridget stammered. That was exactly what she’d been planning to keep both the guests and the servants occupied while she searched the rooms. “What’s the occasion?” she asked, feigning innocence.
Lydia’s thin lips curved into a sly smile. “I can’t quite say, not yet. It’s a celebration of sorts.”
“How wonderful!” Bridget clapped her hands to feign enthusiasm. “I do love celebrations.”
“Me too! And it will be our secret until tomorrow. I don’t want Mama interfering with my plans.
“Very well,” Bridget said. “But I shall need to tell Cook in advance so she can prepare, but you’re not to worry, she’s trustworthy.”
“Good, now let’s discuss what to serve, shall we?”
Bridget nodded, still stunned by Lydia’s change in demeanor—she was rather cheerful and, dare she think it, polite!
*
The next day, Nate frowned at the round tables and chairs that had been moved into the garden and arranged in clusters next to each other. Each table was covered with a white linen cloth and housed a bouquet at its center. “Doesn’t that seem a bit crass after a woman just died on our floor?”
“I have no choice.” Bridget eyed Bijou as he darted between the tables, chasing a squirrel. “Lydia Eamont insisted.”
“Lydia Eamont insisted you throw a tea party in the garden?” Nate repeated, stressing Lydia’s name as though he couldn’t believe what he’d heard.
“Yes, and I think it’s a good idea. It has certainly kept everyone busy enough.
The servants have been set to work and are too busy to gossip about what happened yesterday.
It has also given the guests something else to focus on.
Everyone is excited. They are getting dressed for the occasion as we speak. ”
Nate smoothed his blue waistcoat with both hands. “Will I need to put on a cravat?”
“I should think so,” Bridget said.
He massaged his forehead. “Help me understand. Since when does Lydia Eamont order tea parties on demand? Wouldn’t Lady Eamont be the one to request such an event?
What is it for? It must be costing us a fortune.
” Nate dropped his hands by his sides and watched as the housemaids arranged white, gold-rimmed plates and silverware on the tables.
“It’s not cheap. That’s true, but as I said, I think it is good for morale. I’ve put all the servants to work. Even the guests’ staff are helping. As to what it’s for, you shall have to wait and see.”
She glanced at Nate. He still looked puzzled, but she wasn’t about to tell him what she’d overheard in the garden.
This tea party was her one chance to keep everyone outside while she slipped indoors to check the rooms, and until Nate started being honest with her, she knew she could not trust him again.
*
Bridget chose a black empire dress, complete with a black sash, and a black, veiled hat for the tea. After dressing, she took Bijou under her arm and went to cajole her aunt into coming downstairs.
“Aunt Marianne, do say you will come to the tea. It’s such a lovely day, and we all need some cheering up.”
“I don’t quite appreciate my status as a dependent on poor Mr. Squires being the topic of conversation at every meal. That’s why I prefer to eat in my room,” Aunt Marianne said stiffly.
“What if I can guarantee that the guests will be so preoccupied with other news that they won’t have time to think about us or our status in this house?”
“Do you mean the death? I’m not quite up for hearing about that woman and her creeping about upstairs either. I’m sorry she fell, but when I think about what she was doing prowling around at that hour…” Aunt Marianne’s expression soured, and she declined to finish her statement.
“Not that either, Aunt. Everyone’s attention will be turned to something else entirely. They will quite forget about us and poor Madam Bouffant, I promise.”
Aunt Marianne frowned. “Why, what do you know? Tell me?”
“It’s not my news to tell. If you want to know, you will have to come downstairs.” She held out her arm for her aunt to take. “Cook has made the most delicious little jam tarts, baked apples, almond biscuits, and your favorite plum cake.”
“Oh, very well.” Aunt Marianne pursed her lips but accepted Bridget’s arm.
*
The tables looked exquisite, and Bridget felt a rush of pride at seeing the pleased look on her guests’ faces.
Silver tea trays, flowers, fresh fruit, and an array of cakes, biscuits, and puddings filled the length of the table.
And it wasn’t long before the guests started to indulge in the food as they gazed at the magnificent Lake Windermere.
Everyone seemed mesmerized by the blue sky, the stunning mountains, and the crystal-clear lake as they sipped their tea and ate plum cake, lemon biscuits, and trifle.
Even little Bijou partook in the feast, lapping milk from a bowl Bridget had placed under the table and enjoying the crumbs and scraps she fed him. The setting was near-perfect.
Until Lydia Eamont, wearing a pastel yellow, empire-waisted gown with a white sash, picked up her silver teaspoon and clanged it against her teacup. Her brown eyes sparkled as she looked proudly around the table, ready to make her big announcement.
Bridget held her breath. Was she going to do it?
“Mama, Papa—everyone—I—we—Lord Dodsworth and I have an announcement to make.” She turned to Dodsworth, her face radiant. He went as pale as a white dove and looked as though he might faint.
“What?” he whispered. “Now? You cannot be serious.”
“Oh, don’t be silly, dear, now is as good a time as any.”
“Lydia,” Lady Eamont’s sharp voice cut across the table, “what is going on?”
Lydia cleared her throat. “Mama, Papa, Lord Dodsworth has asked me to be his wife.”
Bridget expected the guests to erupt in surprise. Instead, a deathly silence followed her announcement, but that only lasted for mere seconds.
“Good Lord!” Jefferson said. “What on earth is she talking about? Has she gone completely mad?” He looked at Dodsworth.
“I’m not mad,” Lydia said. “Dodsworth asked me to marry him yesterday afternoon when we were alone in the garden.” She emphasized the word alone and then glared at Dodsworth. “Tell them.”
Dodsworth swallowed and his face grew even paler, as though all the blood had been drained from him. “It’s true,” he said, his voice raspy as though it had been difficult to get the words out. “Lydia and I are to be…” he swallowed, and then choked out, “married.”
“Mama!” Adelia Eamont rose from the table and threw down her napkin. “What is the meaning of this? Why should you keep this a secret from me? You said I would be the one to marry.”
To Bridget’s surprise, Lady Eamont only blinked and shook her head. Apparently, she was too stunned to speak.
“Mama!” Adelia stamped her foot.
“Heavens, Adelia!” Lydia exclaimed. “Doddy and I are in love!”
“Doddy!” Jefferson exploded at Dodsworth. “She calls you Doddy? Since when? When did all this happen? In the last hour?”
Lord Dodsworth hung his head and made no answer.
“Papa!” Adelia shrieked. “What do you have to say about this?”
Lord Eamont blinked as though he’d suddenly become conscious. “I say, Dodsworth, a gentleman should ask the lady’s father before proposing,” he said, but there was no anger in his voice. It was merely an empty statement.
But Dodsworth grabbed it like a rope thrown in the water to save a drowning man. “You are quite right, my lord. That was rude of me. I quite understand. It’s all my fault. We’ll call it off. I’m sorry, Lydia, but your father is right.”
Lydia looked wildly from Dodsworth to her Papa.
She opened her mouth, presumably to shriek her objection when her father said, “No, no, Dodsworth. There’ll be none of that.
Lydia has already said that the two of you were alone in the garden.
She announced it to everyone, so that is it then. She will be Lady Dodsworth.”