The Honourable Earl. Mary Nichols

he discouraged his new daughter-in-law from visiting her old home more often than was absolutely necessary for appearances’ sake.

      As for Margaret, she had been betrothed to a young captain in the Hussars, but when he had been killed in the war, had eschewed marriage to anyone else and had gone to Hertfordshire to be schoolmistress to the children of the Duke of Grafton. Somehow working for the duke was acceptable employment in her mother’s eyes. It meant Lydia was the eldest still at home and now they had become so poor she must sacrifice herself for the sake of the rest of the family and marry money. But Sir Arthur…!

      ‘He has not been long in the district,’ her mother said. ‘He is not acquainted with the past.’

      ‘Someone will soon tell him, you can be sure.’

      ‘Then you must engage his attention and make him see the advantages of the match before he has time to listen…’

      ‘Oh, Mama, that is surely deceitful.’

      ‘No, he will take no heed of gossip when he gets to know you and realises what an excellent wife you will make.’

      ‘Wife and mother,’ Lydia added bitterly. ‘Don’t forget his daughters.’

      ‘Oh, my dear child, I am so very sorry it has come to this but I cannot see any other way out. If your father had lived or even if Freddie…’ She could not bring herself to go on. The absence of her elder son seemed to be an even greater cross for her to bear than the death of her husband.

      ‘Can I not wait? Someone else might come along.’

      ‘If you are harbouring romantic notions about falling in love, Lydia, I should caution you against allowing them free rein. Life is not like that. And especially our life.’

      ‘No, I suppose not.’ Lydia sighed heavily. She could not upset her mother by saying what was in her heart: the anger and despair, the black hate which she had pushed into the background but which now returned full force.

      ‘If you do not care for Sir Arthur, there is Robert Dent,’ her mother said. ‘He is still single and will come into his father’s wealth, even if it has been got by industry.’

      ‘He is a rake and a gambler,’ Lydia put in. ‘Living with him would be like twisting the knife in a wound which will not heal. He could have stopped that duel long before Papa ever got there. He should have refused to be Freddie’s second.’

      ‘Freddie would have found someone else to do it. But you are right, Robert Dent’s reputation is a little tarnished and I would not want my daughter to be made unhappy by a profligate husband, however rich.’

      ‘There is always the Comte de Carlemont,’ Annabelle put in with a giggle. ‘Such a dandy, but very polite. He would not care about the gossip. He would carry you away to the French court now that the war is ended. He might even find positions there for Mama and me.’

      ‘I have no wish to go to France,’ Lydia said and refused to say another word on the subject. She tried not to think about it, to look forward to the ball as Annabelle was doing and dream of finding a husband who lived up to her very high ideals. He must be handsome and strong but, more than that, he must be kind and attentive and not given to gambling. He would love her devotedly and not even think about taking a mistress because they would be so happy together, he would never see the need. And he might restore Freddie to them…

      She sighed. What was the good of dreaming? They had no idea where her brother was. He had written soon after he left, telling them that he had enlisted but then nothing. They did not even know if he were alive or dead.

      They were about to set aside their sewing and have dinner when Janet came to say one of the grooms from Colston Hall was in the kitchen, with a message for Mrs Fostyn. Lydia and Annabelle looked as each other as their mother rose to go to speak with the man.

      ‘What can he want?’ Lydia mused, after Anne had left the room. ‘I cannot understand why Mama continues to bow down to that man.’

      ‘You mean the Earl? He has done nothing wrong.’

      ‘What do you know of it? You were not there.’

      ‘I heard what happened. Everyone did. It was his son who shot Papa, not him.’

      ‘He sent Freddie away. He took our home from us.’

      ‘He had to. We couldn’t have gone on living in the Rectory when the new rector came, could we? And he lets us live here.’

      ‘That’s no reason for Mama to hurry over there whenever the Countess throws a fit.’

      Their mother returned before they could continue the conversation. ‘His lordship has had a fall,’ she said. ‘They need me at the Hall.’

      ‘Why, Mama? His lordship has servants in plenty if he needs a nurse. I do not know why you have to go.’

      ‘I must. Lydia, look after everything while I am away. Do not wait dinner for me. I will be back as soon as I can.’

      Janet fetched her cloak for her and she flung it over her shoulders, lifted the hood over her curls and left with the servant from the Hall.

      Mrs Fostyn did not return until nearly dawn the next morning. Lydia, who had been sleeping fitfully, heard her step on the stair and hurried out in her nightgown to meet her. She looked pale and tired and her eyes, though dark-rimmed, were bright with tears. ‘Mama, what has happened? Why have you been so long?’

      ‘He is dead, Lydia,’ she said flatly. ‘The Earl of Blackwater is dead.’

      ‘Oh.’ She could not bring herself to say she was sorry. ‘How did it happen?’

      ‘I will tell you all about it later. I am tired. I must rest.’

      ‘Of course. I’ll wake Janet to help you.’

      ‘No, I can manage. Go back to bed or you will disturb everyone. Later we will talk.’ She turned from Lydia and went into her own room, shutting the door softly behind her, shutting her daughter out. Hurt and feeling somewhat resentful, Lydia returned to her own room.

      It was nearly noon before her mother put in an appearance in the drawing room, but by then she looked more like her normal self. She smiled at the girls who, for want of anything else to do and to keep their fingers busy, were continuing their needlework. ‘Let me see how much you have done,’ she said, taking Lydia’s from her and inspecting the stitches. ‘Very good, very good indeed, though I am not sure we shall be able to go now, what with the Earl—’

      ‘Oh, Mama, surely you will not cancel going because he has died?’ Annabelle wailed. ‘He is not a relative. We do not have to go into mourning for him.’

      ‘No, but the organisers may well decide not to hold the ball in view of the fact that his lordship was one of its main sponsors.’

      ‘Oh, no.’ It seemed to Lydia that every bad thing that had happened to them, every disappointment, could be laid at the door of the Earl.

      In the event the ball was not to be cancelled, simply postponed until after funeral, when his lordship’s heir might decide whether it should take place or not. His heir. Lord Ralph Latimer was new Earl of Blackwater, though it seemed no one knew where he was to be found. ‘I was told by his lordship’s valet that there has been no contact between him and the family since…since it happened,’ their mother told them. ‘I thought they corresponded, that his lordship knew where he was, but if he did, he died without saying. I believe the lawyers are looking into it.’

      ‘How did his lordship die, Mama?’ Lydia asked. ‘You said it was an accident.’

      ‘Yes, he fell down the stairs from the upper floor to the gallery.’ She gulped hard and went on. ‘The doctor said his back was broken.’

      ‘But he was conscious. He asked for you?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Why you? Why not his wife?’