Hidden in the Heart (18 page)

‘No, no,’ Lydia reassured him on this point. ‘One of the servants at Bellefleur was strangled on Sunday morning.’

‘It is a wicked lie!’ Camilla cried out passionately. ‘Henri would never even imagine something so vile. I know he would not.’

‘We are all agreed that Monsieur d’Almain is innocent of the crime,’ John seconded her championship of the absent Frenchman.

‘I am glad to hear it.’ Mr Bramwell folded his arms as he regarded them with mock solemnity. ‘A thief one might welcome into the family fold. A thief, after all, may have his uses if one is in straitened circumstances. But a murderer ... one does not relish the connection, particularly if one is spending the night under his roof. One must feel a certain ... restraint, as it were.’

‘You are a rare one, sir,’ John said appreciatively.

‘We are going to find the real murderer,’ Lydia contributed blithely, ‘so that we can clear Monsieur d’Almain and he can marry Aunt Camilla.’

‘A laudable ambition. I suppose it will not be difficult to discover the identity of the murderer?’

‘No trouble at all, I assure you,’ John answered, with a wry look at his intended.

‘If you mean to quiz me, John,’ she shot back at him, ‘I warn you that I refuse to be baited!’

‘Your daughter, sir,’ John directed his next remark to the other gentleman, ‘is never at a loss for a scheme of some kind.’

‘It seems,’ Mr Bramwell commented in return, ‘that Diddlington is never at a loss to supply a murder for the employment of one of her schemes. It would appear to be all the rage, in fact. A Shakespeare tragedy could not supply such a surfeit of corpses.’

‘It is like a plague!’ Aunt Camilla complained, adding in dire tones, ‘Many have taken to locking their doors.’

‘Surely there is no need for such drastic measures,’ her brother-in-law objected. ‘Next you will be seeking help from Bow Street!’

‘As exciting as that would be, I think we need not send for the Runners yet,’ John said, ‘with Lydia in hot pursuit of the villains.’

‘Stuff!’ Lydia objected crossly. ‘You know that you are as eager as I am to learn the truth.’

‘But not so intrepid,’ he said with a bow.

‘Or so foolhardy,’ Camilla snapped, probably more accurately than she knew.

‘Well, compared to all this,’ Mr Bramwell sighed, looking absurdly crestfallen, ‘my news from town will seem frightfully tame.’

* * * *

‘What news?’ Lydia demanded instantly.

‘Is it my sister?’ Camilla clutched at her chest, always prepared to hear the worst.

‘Is it Louisa?’

Mr Bramwell leaned back in his chair, pausing for an interminable period which could not have been less than five seconds. He was determined to produce the most dramatic effect from his performance.

‘Mrs Bramwell is in excellent health,’ he said at last, ‘so you may be easy on that head, Camilla. She is a little concerned that her daughter and sister reside in a village whose chief business seems to be that of slaughtering its inhabitants and she has discovered that she is far from partial to young men named “Savidge”. Aside from this, however, she has never been better.’

‘I shall not easily win the lady’s favor, it seems,’ John ruminated aloud.

‘Never fear,’ Lydia’s father comforted him. ‘You need only win my favor, lad. In fact, my wife charged me particularly to determine whether you are worthy of our daughter.’

‘And is your initial impression favorable?’

‘Well...’ Mr Bramwell stroked his chin with slow deliberation. ‘It is best not to be too hasty in one’s judgments.’

‘I can tell that Papa likes you, John,’ Lydia explained unnecessarily. Then, turning to her father, she added, ‘You still have not told us anything that is happening in London, sir.’

‘It seems,’ the older man informed them, ‘that I may soon have both daughters married.’

‘No!’ Lydia cried, truly astonished.

‘Is Louisa also betrothed, then?’ Camilla was equally amazed, and quite impressed.

‘It has not progressed as far as that.’ Mr Bramwell held up a cautionary finger, indicating that they should not celebrate precipitately. ‘But she certainly has a suitor who, your mama assures me, has developed a decided tendre for her. And, if that were not enough, he is a member of the peerage.’

There was an appreciative gasp from the female members of his small audience. John’s eyes widened, but he gave no other indication of his surprise.

‘Never tell me,’ Lydia exclaimed, ‘that Louisa has got herself a Duke after all!’

‘That would be a prize catch!’ Mr Bramwell chuckled, enjoying himself hugely. ‘No, I fear your sister will be forced to settle for a mere baronet.’

‘How shabby.’ Lydia was almost disappointed for her sister. Indeed, she had never felt less spiteful towards her.

‘Considering what Lydia has told me of Louisa’s behavior,’ Camilla said frankly, ‘I find it hard to believe that she has managed to attach anyone at all.’

‘You could not be more surprised than Mrs Bramwell and I,’ her brother-in-law confessed. ‘Even Louisa, I believe, found it difficult to credit her good fortune - if such it can be called. She certainly means to have the gentleman, and declares that she would rather die than to return home unmarried.’

‘That sounds like Louisa,’ Lydia nodded her head emphatically. ‘But tell us, Papa, who is he? And how did this come about?’

It seemed that soon after the affair of the pink gown, Louisa had managed to find a secluded corner where she could indulge a fit of mild hysterics in unmolested solitude. However, her sniffling had attracted the attention of one solitary gentleman, Sir Reginald Pevensey, who offered a handkerchief and managed to talk her out of her megrims. He had called at their lodgings the next day to ensure that Miss Bramwell was not laid low by her affliction. Assured that she was much recovered, he offered to take her walking in Green Park. Naturally, there was no question of declining such a gracious invitation.

For the past ten days, his attentions had been so marked that Mrs Bramwell and her daughter lived in hourly expectation of receiving an offer. Indeed, Mr Bramwell continued, he had been given express instructions not to remain any longer in Diddlington than was strictly necessary; for he must be present in London should the blessed event occur. His consent, of course, was a foregone conclusion. How could it be otherwise?

‘What is he like, sir?’ Lydia asked when her parent paused in his fascinating narrative. ‘He cannot be very sensible, I think, or he would not want to marry Louisa.’

‘His intellect may not be superior.’ Mr Bramwell was willing to concede this point. ‘But his manners are polished and his estate is large. Louisa will have all the pin-money she could desire, and more than enough servants to bully. I could wish that he were a little younger....’

‘How old is he?’ Camilla asked at once.

‘He will never see fifty again, unless he looks a considerable distance behind him.’

Once more there was an incoherent exclamation from the ladies, while John closed his lips determinedly.

‘Papa!’ Lydia squealed. ‘He is older than you are!’

‘Only by seven or eight years, my dear.’

‘She cannot be in love with him,’ Aunt Camilla declared. ‘It is not possible.’

‘Louisa is very much in love ... with herself!’ Lydia said with less than charity. ‘But it is a far cry from the handsome prince she boasted she would get.’

‘A well-heeled widower is not a match to be ignored,’ Mr Bramwell answered practically, ‘especially when one’s own fortune is ... negligible.’

‘Invisible, you mean,’ Lydia said bluntly. ‘I suppose, as things stand, she has little choice in the matter. But do you think she will be happy?’

‘She would certainly not be happy living the rest of her life as an impoverished spinster,’ Aunt Camilla assured them fervently, and with the authority of one who had actually experienced a similar fate.

‘All things considered,’ Mr Bramwell said, ‘I think my daughter has done better for herself than she ever deserved. As for Sir Reginald, poor devil ... well, perhaps a fool deserves to suffer the consequences of his own folly.’

* * * *

Later that night, when Mr Bramwell had been comfortably installed in the one remaining bedchamber, Lydia snuggled down in her bed beneath the embroidered counterpane and considered her own situation in light of all that had happened these past weeks.

It must be a triumph for her mother, she supposed, to have both of her daughters engaged to be married at the same time! Mrs Bramwell might be somewhat doubtful about the young man her youngest child had chosen, but on the whole there could be no doubt that her cup was now about to overflow.

However, at this juncture, Lydia began to entertain doubts as to whether marrying John was the right step for her to be taking. Louisa, for all her romantic rattle, had settled for money rather than love. Aunt Camilla, on the other hand, had cast aside intellect in favor of overwhelming emotion.

Lydia could honestly say that there was nothing mercenary in her determination to wed John. His father was plump in the pocket, true enough, but she knew nothing of John’s own prospects. It was neither security nor wealth that she desired.

On the other hand, judged by her aunt’s standards, their marriage would not be founded on romantic passion either. She truly esteemed John. She certainly enjoyed his kisses and looked forward to whatever pleasure the marriage bed might provide. But she did not consider him to be the most handsome man on earth. Her heart skipped no beat when she beheld his face. Being in his arms was a pleasant experience, to be sure, but she felt no inclination to swoon in his presence. The mention of his name did not drive all other thoughts from her mind, and she would have to think very carefully before she could be convinced to give up all she held dear for his sake.

No. She was not in love with John. But she did love him. It was a steady, strong affection and a recognition within herself that they were much alike and would be able to build a good and happy life together. There might be no peaks of ecstasy, as Aunt Camilla would surely know with d’Almain, but there would be no valleys of despair either. They would be companions throughout life. In good times they would share a placid contentment and much laughter; in times of crisis, they would be united in facing whatever might come to them.

The question remained, however: was that enough? After due consideration, the answer was that, for herself, it was more than enough. But what of John? Perhaps he expected more from marriage. Could she, in all conscience, deprive him of that emotional whirlwind which love provided those who enjoyed being giddy and foolish?

She was seriously contemplating breaking their engagement. Her mind told her that they were well suited, but the fashion nowadays was for men and women to wed for no other reason than that they conceived a wild attraction for one another - however ill-suited they might be, and however little prospect of lasting happiness their union could provide.

Of course, John did not seem to be a slave to fashion, but one never knew. In the end, the only thing she supposed that she could do was to speak to him about it and find out what he thought of the matter. With a brief prayer that he would be honest with her (but then, John was not one to practice deception), she turned on her side and fell asleep almost immediately.

When she awoke the next morning, Lydia soon discovered that her father had already taken himself off. His expressed destination, she was informed, was the Golden Cockerel. It was plain that his mission was to become better acquainted with John, and perhaps to speak with the young man’s father as well. Although Lydia fully expected a positive outcome from the meeting, she still could feel a small twinge of apprehension as she waited quietly with Aunt Camilla, who was not a very loquacious companion, being preoccupied with her own dilemma and thoughts of her beloved which must be anything but comforting.

Positioning herself strategically beside the front window, it was a full two hours before the figure Lydia sought passed by. To be precise, it was not one but two figures which came into view as they made their way to the front door. Papa had brought John back with him.

They seemed to be on very good terms, and Lydia breathed a sigh of relief that things had gone so smoothly. Her father was as eager to accept her intended as anyone could reasonably wish.

John informed them that they were all invited to the inn that evening to dine with him and his father.

‘And I understand that it will be in the nature of a celebration.’ He gave a broad wink. ‘It seems that someone in this room will be marking a particular milestone on the morrow.’

‘Good gracious!’ Lydia exclaimed. She had completely forgotten that tomorrow was her eighteenth birthday.

‘How could you forget something so important?’ her aunt wondered aloud.

‘With so much happening,’ Mr Bramwell remarked, ‘it is little wonder that the poor child should be forgetful.’

‘But you are a day early, sir!’ Aunt Camilla admonished John.

‘Unfortunately, I shall be leaving tomorrow,’ Mr Bramwell explained apologetically. ‘I therefore thought it best to commemorate the occasion tonight. I have a small gift which you can open tomorrow, my dear.’

It was an odd gathering that evening, Lydia thought as she looked around her. They were in a small but well-appointed salon, separated from the main dining space of the inn by a heavy brocade curtain. From the other side, she could hear muted conversations and occasional bursts of laughter.

Their own party was rather subdued. How could it be otherwise? Papa was spending his last night with them for some weeks; Aunt Camilla was severely blue-devilled by thoughts of her incarcerated lover, and rather cold in her attitude to her host, whom she considered to be a minion of Lucifer. Lydia was feeling unusually anxious because she wanted to speak privately with John but had been granted no such opportunity as yet. John and his father were the only two who seemed perfectly at ease. The elder Savidge was more cordial since he had learned that Lydia’s sister was expecting an offer from a gentleman whose name might be found in the Peerage. John was his usual placid, smiling self.