SEARCHING FOR LYDIA Read online

  “We have received an invitation to the Lincast ball, my dear,” said Julia to her niece a week later, “which is in honor of their daughter’s thirteenth birthday. Your Uncle Howard and I especially want you to dance at that ball, Lydia.”

  “A group of families have started this fad, which is to gather young people at the start of their adolescent years, at small informal balls of just two or three dozen young people, where they can begin to practice dancing for when they are presented to society. The Lincast dance is the first, and after that there will be two others.

  “Last year there was only the Lincast Ball, so at least it was not met with disapproval. So many young girls are said to tremble from head to toe when they are led to the ballroom on their first ball that the Marchioness Lincast came up with this idea for her two daughters.”

  “The dances are small family gatherings, meant for young ladies and young lads that are about to enter society. No young people older than fifteen are invited and this rule is strictly enforced.”

  “I don’t know how to dance, Aunt,” Lydia said nervously, “but I would not mind sitting with you, gazing at the dancing couples.

  “I am said to be a good teacher, my dear, and both I and your Uncle Howard will make certain you will learn the basic dances such as the minuet, the quadrille and the waltz.

  “You will find that the quadrille and the minuet will be more of a challenge than the waltz, for there are more intricate steps involved. Yet once you memorize them you are on your way to mastering them.

  “The waltz, on the other hand will be easy to learn once you learn to follow your partner’s lead, which both I and your uncle will teach you.

  “I thought that young girls were forbidden from being out in society unless they are presented to the Queen, first,” said Lydia.

  “Not all girls are presented at court, my dear,” said her aunt. “Only a few dozen privileged girls are presented each year to Her Majesty before their come-out at Almacks and they must all be either titled or be the offspring of a titled parent or parents.

  “The waltz is considered a racy dance but the mothers who plan and attend these family gatherings have also contracted the attendance of several dance masters so that they can declare the events to be private learning experiences where dance masters are present to instruct.

  “I can assure you that both the young lads and the young lassies are so new at this that no one would dream of considering their efforts anything other than dance practice, attended by a few dance masters. Sometimes,” she added with a smile, “there are almost as many dance masters as are young people at these small gatherings, for no matter how many dance lessons some young men and young girls have, they are still nervous and awkward.

  “I can hardly wait,” said Lydia with great enthusiasm. “More so because as it is a learning experience, no one will expect me to be an expert at the adolescent dance.”

  Two weeks later, after having mastered the minuet, the quadrille and the waltz, Lydia, dressed in a white silk ballgown overlaid with embroidered roses at the hem and bustline, was ready for the first season event of her life, the small adolescent dance at the Mayfair townhouse of the Marquess and Marchioness Lincast.

  “You look beautiful, my sweet Lydia,” said her aunt as Lydia and her aunt and uncle waited to be announced at the young people’s dance.

  “Let us sit by my friend Alyse,” said Julia, once they had been announced and had walked into the ballroom, while Howard hurried to the refreshment table to secure them lemonade before the precious ice melted.

  The music started with the opening quadrille and Lydia, whose card was filled to the brim, glanced worriedly at her aunt as the young man who had asked to dance the opening dance with her hurried towards her.

  “You will do fine, my sweet Lydia,” her aunt assured her, pressing her hand in encouragement.

  “Remember, you now know all those steps by heart, and they will come naturally to you. Just pretend you are at our house, still going over the steps with me and you will be able to dance naturally, as naturally as you did at home.”

  Lydia did as her aunt advised and Julia was pleased to see that her niece, having been an apt dance pupil, was now going through the steps as she had done them when she practiced at home.

  And Julia sighed with great joy as she noticed that her beloved niece had become one of the most sought-after dancing partners of the evening, not only because of her beautiful face, but because having mastered all three dances, she was able to put her dancing partners at ease from the beginning.

  At the end of the supper dance, Lydia rushed back to her aunt and uncle and laughingly begged for mercy.

  “I should not have filled up the card, Aunt,” she said with a grimace, “I did not leave even one slot blank so that I could rest. Had it not been for the supper dance I probably would have collapsed on the dance floor!”

  “Thank the Lord for the supper dance, then, my sweet,” said her aunt. “But Lydia, if you are too exhausted for the next dance, do explain to the young man. I am certain he will understand.”

  “Oh, I would be too embarrassed to do so.”

  “If you want to go to the ladies’ withdrawing room and rest there for a while, I will be happy to make your excuse to the young man when he comes to claim you, my dear.

  “You must learn to be assertive,” she added, “and not agree to something you do not desire, or you consider unsafe, out of pure embarrassment. That is how young ladies get into trouble.”

  “I will heed your valuable advice, Auntie. I often dreamt of dancing all night, but I never realized how exhausting it can actually be in real life!”

  Julia also made certain that Lydia got riding lessons so that she could also partake with a friend she had made and who had invited her and her aunt and uncle for a week-end of riding, dancing and games at her parents’ estate five miles from the city.

  Chapter 4

  London, April 1817

  -Eight Years Later-

  Simon looked up as the elegant but worn and outdated carriage carrying his friend, Ambrose Rustwellon, circled the small driveway entrance and came to a stop in front of the Brandell Mayfair townhouse.

  Simon hadn’t seen Amby since he had met him at the carriage station in what seemed like an age, eight long years ago. He was glad Amby now had a carriage.

  Amby had been called home nearing the end of that season, his father at his deathbed. He had found out that the estate was heavily in debt and had spent the next few years struggling to keep it above water, to save his three sisters’ dowries and the tenants’ survival.

  He had also dealt with his mother’s increasing melancholy and her death two years later.

  In the middle of it all, war with France had broken out.

  They had much to talk about, Simon thought, as he embraced his best friend with deep affection.

  They had remained in touch with the occasional letter but seeing Amby in person was a lot better.

  Simon knew that this was the first time in eight years that Amby was free to spend a few weeks of enjoyment as he tried, with his Aunt Esther, Lady Fargan, to launch his sisters into their first season.

  There was to be only the one season, he told Simon, so he hoped he would be able to secure their futures, a worried frown on his forehead.

  He explained this to Simon as they sipped claret in Simon’s wood-paneled, elegant and very comfortable library.

  Simon recalled the last time he had seen his friend, and that fateful meeting at the posting station that he had never forgotten.

  How carefree they had both been, at nearly eighteen.

  But Amby had not attended Cambridge as his family had planned for him and as both he and Simon had looked forward to. Instead, Amby had spent two years at a lesser school while Simon went on to Cambridge.

  A year after Simon had graduated, the war had started. And he had gone out to lead a cavalry regiment.

  He had ignored his Uncle Timothy’s stern advice given
in an hour’s long meeting in which he warned Simon not to accept a royal commission as he intended, because he risked putting in jeopardy his inheritance and the hundreds of people who depended on him.

  Simon assured him politely that his country needed him more and did as he had planned.

  “So much water under the bridge, old pal,” Amby settled back with his wine, giving Simon an accessing look.

  “Had a bang-up time at war, didn’t you? I heard from Edgar you almost died in a ditch, rescuing two of your men.”

  “Edgar is a good friend. So, how is the estate?” Simon asked. He always changed the conversation when any mention of his bravery at war came up.

  So many of his battle comrades had died, he felt it almost obscene to celebrate the actions of a single man.

  He saw himself as part of the regiment, a close-knit group of soldiers who would have given their lives in an instant for each other. He disliked being singled out for any honors. A horrible memory flashed back at him, of one of his best friends as he lay dying in Simon’s arms.

  Simon shook his head as if this way he could stamp out that awful day when he helplessly tried to stop the gushing flow of blood from his friend’s neck with his hand.

  And that was not the only brave young soldier of his regiment that had died in Simon’s arms.

  “Rustwellon Hall is hanging on by a thread,” Amby said with his wide attractive smile under a neat red moustache, cutting through Simon’s hurtful past.

  Simon sighed, glad to be with Amby now and with talk that would keep those awful memories at bay.

  Simon noticed Amby had left behind his dandy clothes and now wore dark clothes and a white shirt.

  “However, “Amby added, “the thread has become sturdier and sturdier with time.”

  “Glad to hear that, Amby,” Simon said. “If you should need any help—anything at all, just let me know.”

  “Uh—yes, thank you, Simon. Good of you to offer,” Amby said, obviously uncomfortable with the subject.

  “So! What are your plans for your sisters? Any one of them stand out, meaning you’ll get a chance to pair her off at the beginning of the season? Mercifully that would leave you with only two to deal with.”

  “You can’t imagine how grateful I am to Aunt Esther, Lady Fargan, Simon,” Amby replied.

  “She has offered to sponsor them for their Season, assuring them entrance to Almack’s, for she is well-connected. But even so, there will only be this season, for I cannot afford another.

  “So I’m hoping to marry at least two of them.”

  “Edwina is the beauty, so she would be the one to stand out, although the other two are pretty enough. Cassie is a hoyden who wants nothing to do with suitors, rather, she would be riding her horse all day if I let her.

  “Isobel is a double whammy, not only a bluestocking but a hoyden, to boot. I constantly keep my eye on her, for she’s attracted to weird causes like a bee to honey.

  “They are all three of them too young, but the faster I start with this business the faster I may be able to secure their futures.

  “Isobel is the eldest and she’s only eighteen. Cassie is sixteen and Edwina is fifteen.

  “So, there you have it.”

  “Even though she’s the youngest, put your efforts on Edwina, Amby, and get her settled fast. Being the beauty, she’ll be the easiest to settle. Men are dumb for beauty, as you well know. That way she can help you with the other two,” Simon advised with a smile.

  “The hardest one will be Isobel, of course. Men don’t take kindly to bookish misses who know more than they do. They’ll forgive hoydenish behavior a lot sooner, though.”

  Chapter 5

  Simon didn’t mind bluestocking women. They were invariably well-read and knowledgeable. If he ever married it would certainly not be to an empty-headed widgeon who couldn’t string an intelligent sentence.

  The thought of such a wife sitting across from him at the dinner table for the rest of his life made him shudder.

  But that was not the general taste with men. They wanted a pliable miss that would bow to them in subservience while they continued to gallivant around, ignoring the wedding band on their finger.

  He shook his head at the thought that women had to put up with such behavior.

  Thankfully, his mother had been nothing like that. She was a spirited lass from the Highlands who told his father what’s what from the very beginning, when he began to stray.

  He smiled widely at Amby, fondly recalling his mother:

  “My mother was a bluestocking, too. She and father were mismatched when they married. She had a huge dowry and Father’s estate was poverty-plagued.

  “Yet he went on after the wedding as if he were still a bachelor, burning money at card tables.

  “One day, Mother put her cards on the table and told him: “Get straight or get gone.”

  “Not many like your mother, Simon,” said Amby as he listened as Simon recalled his mother admiringly. Did your father straighten out?”

  “Yes. Saved his inheritance and became a model husband and father. But he’s the exception, unfortunately.

  “With the help of Mother’s huge dowry, Father did his best with an estate that had lost money for decades. Turned it around to the astonishment of all our relatives.

  “I told him so, when he lay on his bed with that incurable decease that took his life.

  “I think he died happy that I valued highly what he had done for the estate and for us.”

  “I’m glad Simon. You certainly had parents that were wonderful. I remember them fondly. Not many like them, though.”

  “I’m glad you remember them, Amby,” said Simon with a wide smile.

  They sat back on their comfortable leather chairs with their brandy.

  “Isobel doesn’t look happy to be in London,” Simon said, after a while, recalling how the girl had scowled at him.

  Amby sighed audibly and sipped his brandy.

  “I practically dragged her here. She wanted to stay at the hall with Great Aunt Edwina, who is in her dotage, knowing full well she would be able to go about doing whatever she wished, and likely join the weird causes she’s attracted to like a bee to honey.

  “At least Aunt Esther has offered to take over the care of all three and launch them. I shall be around to help her in any way I am able, but she has the brunt of the business.”

  “Good,” Simon said, and added with a grimace, “I’m glad I don’t have any sisters. It would fall on me to launch them.”

  “They’re off to their first affair tomorrow night,” said Amby with a laugh, “a recital at the home of the Hatterleys, I will attend with them, of course.

  “There will be a dance and supper afterwards. Mrs. Vellion and her niece Lydia will accompany us.”

  “Lydia…”

  “Not that Lydia,” Amby said quickly.

  Simon let out the breath he had held.

  “You should forget that girl,” Amby said. “She doesn’t exist. She’s as real as a puff of smoke.”

  He and Simon had spent that season of their eighteenth year together. It had been the last carefree days they would both see for a long time. And Simon had tried, unsuccessfully, to find the Lydia of the station.

  He had applied to his great-uncle, Sir Timothy Everdale, who was keen on ancestry subjects and peerage lines.

  He had applied to his Aunt Cecily, Lady Ellswood, who knew everyone in the ton, and was constantly consulting Debrett’s Peerage book. He had even hired a runner. But to no avail.

  “She exists,” Simon said.

  “And you won’t rest until you find her.”

  “Maybe. I hope to, some day,” he said uncomfortably. “She’s here, Will… in London, or maybe inland.”

  “How could she have made such a strong impression on you in just a few minutes?” Amby asked.

  “She was being abused, right before my eyes,” Simon said, “And I was unable to do anything about it. I was unable to help her even whe
n she appealed to me.

  “Her beautiful eyes awash in tears stayed on my mind through the years.

  “God knows how much more badly she was abused at home when her horrible caretaker did not bother to hide her abuse in front of me.

  “I went back to the station the next day and several times after and asked around if anyone knew them, you know, but I found nothing.

  “They disappeared in the city like a puff of smoke. You cannot imagine how many forages I made even into places like Seven Dials and Spitalfields.”

  “Maybe they didn’t live in London,” said Amby. “They were at the posting station, after all.”

  “Yes, I thought about that and the thought was depressing. It was more comforting to think they lived in London where I had a fighting chance of finding them than somewhere in all the kingdom.

  “But I did take that into account. I hired a team of runners, but to no avail. They did do a great part of their search inland, going along the Great Road and stopping at all the inns to make enquiries.

  “Then my search had to stop when I joined the war. I could not afford to continue it.”

  Lydia had touched his heart as no other woman had been able to since then. He knew that in the few minutes of interaction they could not have fallen in love.

  But she had taken his heart, even so, and never let go. If that was not love, then that was not love.

  He had danced at endless balls, escorted beautiful girls and had the occasional liaison with a pretty widow or a lady of the demi-monde.

  None ever stayed in his mind. None could ever compete with the evergreen memory of Lydia he held close to his heart.

  No smile from a beautiful woman had ever competed with Lydia’s tears.

  “She haunts you,” Amby said with a smile.

  “Maybe, but it’s a good haunt...”

  “Well, are you coming with us, with my sisters and the non-that -Lydia?” asked his friend with a wide smile. “I really need your help.”

  “I will,” Simon said. It was good to see his childhood friend engaged in the launching of his sisters rather than in a death struggle to save their estate. The least he could do was help.