Chapter Twenty-Three
Bridget took one look at Lydia when she reentered the ballroom more than an hour later and was suddenly beset by an excruciating headache.
The marchioness had no choice but to take them home.
Though Lydia’s mother’s expression turned skeptical and suspicious when Bridget begged for Lydia’s soothing company to get her through the night, Lady Loxmarch reluctantly allowed it when Bridget wailed dramatically and collapsed across Lydia’s lap in the carriage.
Tucking her chin and doing her best not to burst into laughter as she smoothed her hand over her cousin’s hair, Lydia was not at all surprised when her mother gave swift consent.
Lady Loxmarch had never had much tolerance for the dramatic emotions of young ladies.
Bridget’s family house was quiet and dark. Her parents were likely out at a party and often weren’t home until dawn—if they managed to make it home at all. The servants all knew not to wait up for the Baron and Baroness and had transferred that policy to their only child.
Even so, Bridget maintained her ruse until the two were up in her bedroom.
Lydia hefted her cousin’s wilting form onto her bed with an “oomph.” Then she crossed her arms to gaze at the other woman inquiringly. “Are you quite finished?”
Bridget lifted the arm she’d flung across her eyes just enough to peek back at Lydia. “Close the door,” she muttered.
With a roll of her eyes, Lydia did as instructed then turned back to see her cousin sitting up on the bed with a wide expression. Bridget shook her head disapprovingly even as she failed to hold back a grin as she declared, “Lydia Rose Balcomb, you absolute hoyden!”
“What are you talking about?” Lydia tried to keep a blasé tone as she approached the bed and flopped onto the mattress beside her cousin.
“You’re going to play coy?” Bridget exclaimed. “With me?”
Lydia rolled onto her stomach and grabbed a pillow to put over her head.
The other woman laughed. “I think it’s wonderful!”
Lydia lifted one side of the pillow to give Bridget a dark look. “Wonderful? Risking my reputation. My future. My life if my mother should catch word. You think that’s wonderful?”
Bridget shrugged. “What’s a reputation? Judgement by people you don’t care a whit about. And you’ve never wanted a conventional future anyway. Your mother…” She paused to make a grimace. “Lady Loxmarch doesn’t have half the power she thinks she does. She doesn’t scare me.”
“You don’t live with her,” Lydia groaned, pulling the pillow back over her head.
Bridget snatched it away and tossed it aside. “And someday you won’t either.”
“Right. Because spinsters are known for their great independence.”
Tilting her head, Bridget gave Lydia a stern look. “You don’t have to become a spinster.”
Lydia pushed herself up to sit. “You know I’ve no wish to marry.”
“You’ve no wish to marry someone who will deny your freedom to pursue your interests and passions,” Bridget clarified.
“Men,” Lydia deadpanned. “You’ve just described men.”
Her cousin’s expression grew mutinous. “You don’t think that in this entire large world—or even all of England, if you wish to keep things closer to home—there couldn’t possibly be at least one single man who might support you and love you in the way you desire?”
Lydia opened her mouth to deny exactly that, but the words never came out. She harrumphed and flopped back onto the bed. Bridget laid beside her, both women staring up at the ceiling which had long ago been painted to resemble a starry midnight sky.
They were quiet for a while, each of them thinking their own thoughts.
Lydia almost hoped Bridget might’ve lost track of the conversation, until the other woman asked softly, “So, was it? Wonderful, I mean.”
“Was what wonderful?” Lydia evaded.
Bridget growled and turned her head to pin Lydia with a fierce glare.
Laughing, Lydia sighed as the details of the interlude on the balcony and the night before in her bedroom flashed through her mind and body.
Had she really done such hedonistic things? Had she truly allowed Darlington to lift her skirts and pleasure her right outside a full ballroom?
The thought filled her with heat—and it wasn’t the shameful kind.
Who on earth was she becoming?
“Wonderful doesn’t even come close,” she whispered.
Bridget’s eyes widened. “The man is…skilled?”
Lydia shook her head. “No, more than that. He’s…wicked. Inspired. Devastating.”
Her cousin gasped. “You’re falling in love with him.”
In a rush, Lydia pushed herself up to sit, then continued to her feet as she paced to the window. “No, I’m not.” Before Bridget could argue, she added, “I’m enjoying him. And I’m learning a great deal. I…”
She couldn’t continue. Nor could she turn around to meet her cousin’s intuitive gaze. So, she stared out the window. Silent. Contemplative. After a while, she whispered, “None of it means anything. It’s just for the experience.”
She knew it to be true. So, it was confusing to realize the words felt like a lie.
She turned around and saw Bridget sitting quietly at the edge of her bed, hands linked in her lap, head tilted, gaze thoughtful and full of compassion.
“What am I going to do?” Lydia whispered.
Her cousin understood the question, because of course she did.
Rising to her feet, she flashed a smile.
“You’re going to indulge for as long as it lasts.
You’re going to allow it to be whatever it must be.
” Her eyes widened and she gave a laugh.
“My God, Lydia, you have one of the most desired rakes of London beneath your skirts. If you don’t claim every bit of pleasure from the situation, I’ll never forgive you. ”
“Well, I can’t have that,” Lydia replied. Then a thought struck her. “Oh no! I can’t believe I forgot.”
“What?”
“He said he’d come to me tonight.”
Bridget grasped her wrist and started pulling her toward the door. “Then we have to get you home.”
Digging in her heels, Lydia resisted. “No. My mother. I can’t go home now.”
Bridget gave her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I had no idea you had a tryst planned.”
“It’s fine,” Lydia said, denying her disappointment.
“He just sort of declared it. I didn’t even have a chance to confirm anything.
” She pressed a hand to her belly which had started to ache with an odd sense of loss.
“He’ll realize I’m not there and he’ll leave.
I probably shouldn’t allow him to feel so certain of me anyway.
I can’t have him thinking he has the authority to dictate my activities like that. ”
As she continued trying to convince herself that the situation was a good thing, she noticed Bridget’s expression shifting through various emotions, finally settling on one of subtle amusement mixed with a quiet concern.
Lydia turned away. “We should ready ourselves for bed.”
She ignored Bridget’s sigh and the dubious tone of her acquiescence. “If that’s what you want.”