The Lord’s Persuasion of Lady Lydia. Raven McAllan

Lydia suggested. ‘Meek and mild?’

      ‘Less forceful,’ the Countess said finally. ‘As I know you could if you wanted.’

      ‘Mama, that will never happen,’ Lydia said. She had some sympathy for her parents being saddled with someone as indifferent to their lives as she was, but, as her mama was wont to say when Lydia cribbed about tonnish restrictions, it was life. ‘I do not want to attract a man because I can simper or pretend to bow to his every whim. I am me. I cannot and do not want to change.’ She didn’t add: ‘I cannot be like you and suffer what you do at the hands of Papa.’ It would have been cruel. Nevertheless, Lydia thought it.

      The Countess sighed as she nodded to her coachman and the barouche set off and manoeuvred out of the park. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘And as much as I wish it were different, I do admire you for sticking to your guns and not giving in. You know? Strange though it may seem, I fell in love with your papa when he first spoke to me. He? Ah…’ She sighed deeply. ‘Who knows how a man’s mind works. He respects me, which I know, but love? I don’t think that came into his equation.’ She sounded so despondent, Lydia’s heart went out to her. That was one reason she refused to marry for the sake of it.

      ‘Love didn’t in those days, you know, and no one thought anything of it. Sometimes, Lydia, I wish I had your backbone. You may not realise it, my love, but I am so very proud of you.’

      Lydia swallowed and blinked back sudden tears. ‘Mama, that is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.’

       Chapter Four

      Harry scowled at the sheets of paper in front of him that his major domo had presented him with a few moments earlier. They made for disturbing reading.

      Lydia Field was indeed in possession of a considerable fortune and heiress to an even greater one. Her godmother had recently left her another very large sum of money. Just before Jeremy had approached Harry. Coincidence?

      Harry snorted. He didn’t believe in coincidences.

      Jeremy, it seemed, had dipped very badly in more gaming hells than Mrs O’Connor’s and was being dunned for money. Some very villainous thugs had been seen outside his lodgings, and although they had been refused admittance, it didn’t bode well for the man. Even if Harry signed his heir’s money over to him, Jeremy would be hard pressed to keep his head above water.

      Stupid fool.

      Harry read on, and slowly let the paper fall to his desk. The second sheet had even more disturbing news. Over the previous week or so, Jeremy had begun to repay his debts.

      Where on earth had he got the money? Harry’s solicitor informed him he had someone looking into it all.

      All this on top of yet another visit from Jeremy, stating emphatically he would marry Lydia and soon. It was no wonder Harry had a constant headache.

      He massaged his forehead wearily. Was Jeremy truly enamoured with Lydia, or was it her money that called to him? He had no way of knowing. Whatever, she was not the one for Jeremy; she would eat him and spit him out in tiny pieces.

      The rest of the epistle made him sit up straight and read it twice. Lady Lydia Field was known throughout the ton as a shy, demure, effacing young lady who had little to recommend her to a gentleman, except her fortune. She had turned all offers down, was considered to be on the shelf, and no one was surprised, even though she was an heiress.

      That didn’t match with what he had seen over the past weeks. The lady intrigued him more and more. If he did nothing else he would have to discover the true Lady Lydia Field. It seemed his psyche, for reasons know only to it, had decided she piqued his curiosity, and he’d better do something about it.

      And make her his?

      ****

      Four days later, after very properly greeting his hostess, exchanging quips and indulging her with the sort of light flirtation she expected, Harry scanned the ballroom of the Earl and Countess of Leominster’s town mansion as he searched for one specific female.

      ‘Harry, are you on the prowl?’ Diana Leominster asked him teasingly. ‘You have the look, you know. Do I need to do the nicety and introduce you to anyone?’

      ‘When am I ever not?’ Harry laughed and shook his head. He’d best beware – the last thing he wanted was for the ladies to notice his intentions. ‘The day I need to be introduced is the day I hand over my rake’s title and retire to the country to breed pheasants. No, no prowling today, I’m just looking around.’

      ‘For your next conquest?’ Diana asked shrewdly. ‘Surely that’s no hardship. I could name at least a dozen women who would willingly grace your bed at the crook of your little finger in their direction.’

      ‘Ah, but there is the rub, Diana,’ Harry said mockingly. ‘Such willingness is not to my taste. I’m no longer of an age where I want a bed-hopping lady, who warms my sheets for one night and happily moves on. Nor do I eventually, when it is time, a long time hence, want a wife who does the same. I’ve become more discerning in my old age.’

      ‘Lady Mostyn?’

      He shrugged. ‘She wanted more than I could or would give. I made my intentions clear, and she indicated she was of a like mind. Utter rubbish, it transpired. Why, my dear, do you ladies choose to forget the rules? Agree to something not meaning it, and then get upset when the gentleman in question, in this case me, reminds you of them and has no intentions of changing them. Therefore, no longstanding intentions or attachments. I have had enough of such playacting. I want disinterest and, well, you understand…’

      Diana opened her eyes wide in disbelief. And so she should, he thought wryly. Not only was he contradicting himself, but it was diametrically opposite to the persona he did his best to project to his peers. That it was all an act he hoped no one realised. Harry had never been interested in casual liaisons. His few mistresses and lovers had been long-term, with like and mutual respect on both sides. He’d never set anyone up in a house, or given them silly, expensive knick-knacks, and had always treated them with courtesy and politeness. Any gifts were thoughtfully and carefully chosen for the woman concerned and would never give false hope or cause trouble. He knew, in the eyes of the ladies, he was considered to be a thoughtful, energetic and demanding lover, and no one who got the chance to lie with him turned him down. So why was he now considering how best to bed Lydia?

      ‘Then… oh lord, there is your annoying heir.’ Diana rolled her eyes as she changed the subject, much to Harry’s relief.

      The annoying heir he intended to rescue Lydia from.

      ‘Joking aside, Harry, marry and put him out of the equation,’ Diana said seriously. ‘Do you know he’s been dropping very unsavoury hints about his soon-to-be good fortune? Even if he is to overnight become fabulously wealthy, it is so not good to boast about it. Where is the money coming from? You?’

      ‘Good lord, no.’ Harry shook his head emphatically. ‘He’s probably trying to force my hand to let him take control of his inheritance,’ he said, thinking furiously. Things were developing that he suspected needed nipping in the bud. Hopefully Pugh would soon have some information for him. ‘I told him to grow up first.’

      ‘I doubt he can with a mother like his, though,’ Diana observed shrewdly. ‘I… ah ha.’

      Jeremy had got to within a few feet of Harry and his companion, seen them, scowled and turned on his heel.

      ‘He needs to learn better manners as well,’ Diana said quietly, but no less forcefully for that. ‘He was sniffing around Donald until Leominster sent him away with a flea in his ear. Jeremy not Donald.’

      ‘Ah? Sniffing for what?’

      ‘Lord knows. Although sometimes my son would try the patience of a saint, he is not scheming and I suspect, my dear Harry, that your heir is.’