Diane Gaston - Scandalising the Ton

“Oh, my lady!” Mary exclaimed.

“May God be praised.” Cook fell to her knees. “We can buy food!”

Lydia grabbed her hands and pulled her to her feet. “Food and coal and whatever we need!” She turned to the butler. “Will you find our servants, Dixon? Hire those who wish to return and pay the others what we owe them?”

Dixon beamed. “It will be my pleasure.”

Still holding Cook’s hands, Lydia swung her around in a circle. “Everything shall be as it was!”

Not precisely as it was, but so much better than she thought her future ever could be when she’d risen from her bed that morning.

Lydia gave Cook another hug. “We must celebrate today! I even have money to spend! Fifty pounds! We must fill the larder and celebrate!”

“I shall make a dinner fit for King George!” Cook cried.

Lydia swept her arm to include all of them. “We must eat together, though. I insist upon it. Just this once.”

“May I suggest, my lady, that I bring up a bottle of champagne from the cellar?” Dixon asked.

“That would be splendid!” Lydia clapped her hands. “Champagne for dinner.”

Dixon lifted a finger. “I meant immediately, my lady.”

“Yes,” cried Lydia. “Mary, find four glasses, and all join me in the morning room.”

Lydia walked into the morning room, the small parlour off the hall, a room where callers were often asked to wait until they could be announced.

A sound sent her spinning towards the windows.

Outside the reporters, all abuzz, were all facing the house, craning their necks over the railings to try to see into the room.

With a cry, Lydia drew the curtains.

Her celebration did not include them.

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