Chapter 15 #2
Besides, Lydia reasoned with herself, once Eugenia marries, she probably will not appreciate her husband, just like Eugenia takes everything else in her disgustingly easy life for granted.
Lydia was in the middle of justifying her actions to herself when she stopped, very nearly tripping over her own feet.
Her mouth hung open at the sight before her.
The hall window perfectly framed the picture of Lord D’Asti and Eugenia walking through the gardens, arm in arm.
They were laughing and leaning their heads together in an intimate show of their closeness, with Lord and Lady Seabury quite close behind, carefully chaperoning them.
Lydia’s head almost burned, she was so angry.
Her temples throbbed painfully, and she pressed her fingers against them in a wasted effort to massage the pain away.
Everything she had done to separate them, hoping to coax them into hating each other with that little manipulation at Lady Duncan’s Ball, and yet they were still drawn to each other like moths to the flame.
No, this would not do at all. Eugenia did not deserve happiness or love.
The girl had apparently been born under a blessed star, and almost anything a body could want was already hers.
Why should she get to have love, as well?
Lydia stamped her foot in anger and muttered to herself.
“We’ll see about this.”
She stormed away with swift, angry steps, bitterness in her heart, and a burning purpose in her soul to see Lady Eugenia and Lord D’Asti separated forever.
She would seek out the insufferable but easily manipulated Lady Rosebury, and then perhaps she’d find Lord Greywood, too.
Lydia Errington had a new idea. Her anger faded as she strode off in search of The Society Reporter’s most avid informant and, afterward, Lord D’Asti’s all-too-malleable nemesis.
A broad, positively lupine smile spread across her face as she congratulated herself for her new burst of cleverness.
Lydia saw Lady Rosebury — fat and happy as ever — sitting at a table in the sun, scribbling away in her little notebook.
She told everyone that she was keeping a journal, but Lydia knew better.
She knew the truth. Lady Rosebury was perceptive and ravenous for gossip, gossip which she gladly fed to The Society Reporter for printing.
“Lady Rosebury, how are you this fine morning?”
Lydia purred the question like a woman who knew she had the upper hand, despite the fact that she was young and unmarried, and Lady Rosebury was a married and well-connected Marchioness.
The smile twisting Lydia’s full, pink lips was reminiscent of a cat poised to pounce on, and eat, a canary.
Lady Rosebury eyed Lydia cautiously, but forced her expression into an easy smile.
“I am well my dear, perfectly well. How may I help you?”
There was no need for pleasantries, the Marchioness knew. Miss Lydia Errington never bothered to speak to her unless she wanted something.
“Well, now that you ask.” Lydia sat down, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her skirt in a well-practiced, ladylike fashion.
“I need you to continue what you started with that beautifully scathing, incisive set of observations you sent to The Society Reporter after Lady Duncan’s Ball.
There is obviously more that could be written about—” Lydia paused then and looked around, assuring herself that they were alone and could not be overheard, she continued, still cautious, “—the ones we spoke of before.”
Lady Rosebury looked the younger Lydia in the eyes, her expression hard and unwavering.
“What makes you think that I sent anything to that scandal sheet? Really, such accusations….”
Lydia fixed the older woman with a scathing glare.
“My dear Lady Rosebury, please do abandon your false protestations. I know very well that it was you. The words match far too well. And I know that you, and your husband, are investors in the company which publishes The Society Reporter… because my father is an investor too. SO perhaps we can step past the falsehoods and deal in practicalities – or… would you prefer that society discovers your journalistic endeavours?”
The older woman drew in a sharp hiss of breath.
“I see. You have made your position plain.”
“Good. I am so glad that you understand. Now, about the matter of some more… enhanced… reporting on a certain unwise young woman’s obsession with the wrong man…”
Lady Rosebury shook her head.
“I don’t think that crossing the Calthorpes again would be a good idea.
There were certain visits to the publisher of our favourite little scandal sheet which made it clear that alluding to anyone in their family a second time would not be a wise move.
Unlike you, Lord Rosebury and I are in this for the money, as is your father.
You should think on that before you attempt anything foolish.
He needs The Society Reporter to be both operational and — more importantly — profitable.
You might cut your nose off to spite your face by playing foolish games with a family that easily has the power to shut The Society Reporter down. ”
Lydia narrowed her eyes, furious that Lady Rosebury was not complying with her wishes. Did the Marchioness truly not understand that Lydia was in control here, and not her? When she spoke again, it was through gritted teeth covered by a forced smile.
“Do it, or I’ll out that you’re more than just an investor in The Society Reporter.
I know you feed them the gossip they print, which means that you’ve dirtied your hands with actual work.
The ton certainly wouldn’t approve of that, and we all know that the ton barely tolerates you on its fringes as it is.
No one likes an insufferable gossip. You would not want to fall off that edge and into obscurity, now would you?
” Lydia stood, smoothing her dress and smirking down at Lady Rosebury.
“I expect that you can see things my way now.” Lydia was so sure of herself that she did not even wait for an answer, but simply walked away.
Her step was light as she set her mind to finding Lord Greywood.
He wanted to see Lord D’Asti suffer as much as Lydia wanted to see Eugenia suffer.
He would not fail her, and they would both get what they wanted out of the little arrangement she was planning.
Percy was idly chatting with some of the other men on Bellingham Park’s terrace, which overlooked the garden — blessedly absent Lord D’Asti’s obnoxious presence — when he saw Miss Errington signal him.
He excused himself and followed her down the path at a discreet distance, until they turned a corner, and stepped into a shaded folly which was screened from the view of those at the house by a substantial hedge.
Percy did not even have a chance to speak before Miss Errington attacked him verbally, an unsettling fire burning in the depths of her eyes.
“If you want any hope of ruining Lord D’Asti’s happiness permanently, we need to make our move now.
I’ve been watching Lady Eugenia every night since she arrived at my home, and so has my maid - and every night, Lady Eugenia has been out sleepwalking.
She always follows the same path, always out to the gardens. We MUST act tonight.”
Percy could only bow in acceptance, he feared that any other answer wouldn’t appease Miss Errington.
In their previous discussions, she had proposed a number of possible ways in which they might affect the Count’s budding relationship, and he wondered, idly, just which plan she meant they should implement.
It didn’t matter, he supposed, which plan it was, so long as it worked.
Percy allowed himself, then, just for the barest hint of a moment, to wonder what the Honourable Miss Lydia Errington and all her formidable passions might be like, were she not hell-bent on destroying her perceived competition amongst the ton.
That evening, Lord Greywood and Miss Lydia Errington hid themselves out in the garden to await Lady Eugenia.
Unease squirmed through Percy’s gut as it occurred to him that if anyone saw them out here, alone together, Lord Bellingham would be well within his rights to force him to marry the temperamental, viciously ambitious, impetuous woman who crouched in the bushes facing him.
He shivered at that thought. She had a pretty enough face, but her behaviour could use a hefty amount of correction.
A wildly inappropriate image of her bent over his knee and him spanking some good sense into her flashed through Percy’s mind, and he instantly regretted it, trying to shake the thought off.
Now was not the time, this was not the place, and — he was almost certain — she was not the woman about whom he should be having such thoughts.
Time dragged, and eventually, Percy yawned multiple times, trying to hint that they should go, but Lydia glared at him so harshly that he stopped and waited with her in silence.
Just when Percy feared that the ennui would overcome him, they heard a sound.
Soft footsteps across the gravel of the path heralded the arrival of a nightrail-clad figure.
Lady Eugenia glided through the garden, the very picture of something both ethereal and ghostly in the silvery moonlight.
It was eerie to see her moving so smoothly and steadily on bare feet, even with her eyes closed and unseeing, and never noticing that the hem of her nightrail dragged the ground, gathering dirt.
A shudder of apprehension slithered down Percy’s spine, and doubt gripped him for a moment. Was using this woman really worth it, to punish Lord D’Asti for the way he’d humiliated Henrietta?
He even opened his mouth to whisper the question aloud, but Lydia shushed him before he could say a thing.
Lydia smiled with delight at the sight of Eugenia sleep walking, just as she’d predicted. She waited until Eugenia passed close enough and then threw a small rock at the back of her head, before quickly ducking down behind the bush again and signalling Percy to speak.
“Are you certain you want the Calthorpe girl after all that nasty business at Lady Duncan’s Ball?
She’s practically ruined.” Percy was doing a perfect imitation of Lord Rosebury’s nasal voice.
“Lady Catherine is obviously the better choice of the two, what with no unseemly scandals attached to her name.”
“Either one would do, really,” Percy said in an even more perfect stage whisper imitation of Lord D’Asti.
“You know that I only intend to use my future bride for her money, whether it be Lady Eugenia or Lady Catherine. Still, Lady Eugenia is so desperate and naive, I believe that she will be the easier of the two to control, and bend to my will once we’re married.
I will leave her in the country and return alone to London to live my life as I please, as soon as her dowry is in my coffers. ”
Lydia gripped Lord Greywood’s hand and tugged him into the shadows, further away from Eugenia.
They ran from the garden hand-in-hand, stopping only when they were at the back entrance of the house.
They both giggled like school children, covering their mouths with their hands to stifle the sound, congratulated each other quietly, and slipped unseen back into their respective rooms.