Raven McAllan - The Lord’s Persuasion of Lady Lydia

‘Silly chit,’ Lady Raith said with a chuckle. ‘What do they see in you?’

‘My charm? Wit?’ He shook his head. ‘Lord only knows, I do nothing to encourage them. They just keep appearing in my vision like flies.’

His godmother snorted. ‘Really? Poor deluded things. As you insist you give them no encouragement, it’s more likely your fortune. Now, where were we? Lord, Harry, you do confuse me.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘Stop changing the subject.’

Harry laughed. ‘Of course, my dear, and of course I would never cast aspersions on your summing up of the situation.’

Lady Raith guffawed. ‘Bad boy. Ah yes, Lydia Field. Why her and what are you up to?’ She narrowed her eyes and stared at Harry with suspicion. ‘She is not for you.’

‘I’m up to nothing, Rosie, not a thing.’ Harry spoke soothingly. His intended dalliance was for only him – and, when it happened, Lydia – to know about. ‘The lady in question turned her ankle on the way in. I thought a breath of air might help. Especially after the last ball she was at, where Donkin hit her accidentally on the cheek and was sent home bosky. Him not her. She seems to be accident prone.’

‘I should hope she wasn’t bosky,’ Lady Raith said indignantly. ‘We women do not get bosky. And you can hardly call her accident prone if it was Donkin’s fault,’ she pointed out acerbically. ‘And, do not call me Rosie – I feel like an apple if you do. Rosemary,’ Lady Raith said automatically, as she patted Harry’s cheek. ‘Always Rosemary and you know it. You are a good boy.’

The ‘boy’, well into his late thirties, grinned and ignored the niggle of remorse for not owning up to his true intentions. How could he, though, when, all of a sudden, he wasn’t totally sure of them himself? ‘I try.’

‘Hmm. Very well, where is she?’ Lady Raith asked as Harry bussed her cheek. ‘No need for that. I know damned well you’re up to something, and no doubt you’ll tell me what in your own good time.’ She patted his arm. ‘Let’s go and see if we can find young Lydia for you.’

‘I believe she is sitting outside the antechamber to the right of the ballroom. The one you call the blue room,’ Harry said. ‘For the love of God, Rose… Rosemary, do not intimate I asked for the introduction. It might make her faint on the spot. I rather think the lady in question would prefer not to be the centre of gossip. If people think it’s you being your usual medd… oh, you know what I mean.’ What a load of twaddle he was spouting. Not the meddling bit – that was oh so true, as he had often found out to his detriment in the past – but the rest.

‘I never meddle,’ Lady Raith said with a twinkle in her eyes.

Harry snorted.

‘Bad boy. Not unless I deem it necessary, anyway. Now, promise me something. Be gentle, Harry, she’s not the sort who understands innuendo and the badinage you men enjoy with ladies of a more robust nature. Lydia is a quiet, biddable, sweet young thing. She’d make any man a dutiful wife.’

He nodded. ‘I hear you.’

‘But are you taking heed, I wonder?’ she asked shrewdly. ‘All I’ll say is remember your rules. Shy and biddable is not for playing with.’

His godmother sounded so certain about Lydia’s mindset, Harry wondered if he had imagined those few times of vivacity. Maybe it was down to her situation at that moment? Although the thought of that young lady, naked, and writhing under him in ecstasy as he discovered the true woman beneath the prim and proper and boring persona she presented, was enough for him to rue how tight his clothes were.

Harry smiled vaguely, discreetly adjusted his now more than interested cock, and ran his finger around the top of the immaculate cravat that threatened to choke him.

Whatever, he still intended to go on with his plan. She was a puzzle he aspired to solve.

‘You don’t need to worry, love,’ he said emphatically. ‘I have no intention of getting leg-shackled any time soon, and as for setting up my nursery? Really, can you see me willingly with a hoard of scrubby offspring?’ The mental picture that conjured up – of blond-haired, blue-eyed moppets – struck an uncomfortable chord he couldn’t define in his mind.

Harry shuddered theatrically, and Lady Raith shook her head at him, before kissing him resoundingly on the cheek with a flourish. ‘Incorrigible.’

‘Oh, yes.’

He perceived the exact moment Lydia noticed he’d carried out his promise – he preferred it not to be thought of as a threat – and he and Lady Raith were about to approach her. Harry could almost see her straighten her shoulders and tense up, waiting for what no doubt she perceived as the instance the axe was to fall.

Goodness knows why she was so worried, he thought, as Lady Raith acknowledged Lydia’s curtsey with a kiss to her cheek. Lydia’s expression was wary, and she twisted her fingers together.

‘Now, Lydia, my dear, I see your cheek is fine from the other night. Young idiot. Him, not you. Mind you, Harry fixed him, I believe. Good sort is Harry, especially for things like that. And now my lintel caused you injury. You’ll hate all things to do with the ton before long at this rate. Let’s hope Harry can relieve your worries and show that we’re not all bad. I’ve given him all the usual warnings.’ Lady Raith tempered her generally booming voice to what she fondly thought of as a whisper.

Well, Harry mused with a grin, to her it probably was. To everyone else it was a normal tone of voice.

‘Yes, thank you, my lady, he did all that was necessary,’ Lydia said in a soft, colourless, almost not to be heard voice. ‘He was most kind.’

‘No need to thank me as well,’ Harry murmured and felt instantly ashamed as she reddened and bit her lip.

‘Lydia, my dear, I think you and Lord Birnham could do with a stroll on the terrace,’ Lady Raith said before anyone else could comment. ‘It’s hot in here.’

Harry agreed. His cravat was too tight, his shirt stuck to his body, and, as for his evening breeches, he daren’t hazard a guess. He’d just caught a proper glimpse of Lydia Field’s silhouette and it promised so much. His body as ever showed its interest in her, and he willed his staff to quiescence. He was doing a lot of that lately, and with no interest in finding someone to soften it in a more earthy and pleasurable manner. He smiled wolfishly, and Lydia gulped, apprehension writ large on her face.

Am I being fair? He refused to answer himself.

Rosemary beamed at him and gave a discreet nod in Lydia’s direction. Harry recollected his plan and bowed. ‘My dear Lady Lydia, shall we?’ He held out his arm.

Now why did Lydia look at it as if it were an adder about to strike?

****

A gentle cough from Lady Raith brought Lydia out of her reverie, and she wondered why on earth she had such an uncomfortable sense of disquiet, and butterflies in her stomach. Those she could perhaps put down to the length of time since she had last eaten. However, the unnerving impression that, once she took hold of the proffered arm, her life would never, ever, be the same again had nothing to do with food, or the lack of it. She had never thought herself fanciful before, but now?

Ah well . Fatalistically, Lydia took his arm. After all, what else could she do? No thunderclap rent the air. She didn’t fall down in a faint. No one turned to stare or point the finger at them. The musicians still scraped away in the ballroom. Muffled sounds from the card room, and an odd thud or two as the dining room was tidied, could be heard. Everything carried on as it should. Thank goodness. She might not be quite as biddable as people thought, but nor was she the sort of person to create a scene. Unless, of course, it was warranted. Fleetingly, she wondered just what would warrant such an action and hoped she would never have the need to find out. She loved her mama and, even if she wasn’t enamoured with ton-ish life, Lydia was dutiful enough to never unintentionally upset her parents by acting in an uncouth or uncivilised manner. Or so she prayed. For although she thought she had conquered her childish temper, Lydia understood herself well enough to know she would never want to put that to the test.