wrong impression.’
‘You mean I must find a husband soon?’
Anne sighed. ‘I am afraid so. A professional gentleman perhaps, or a younger son, or someone like Sir Arthur Thomas-Smith, who has been married before and is looking for a second wife and would not be particular as to a dowry.’
‘Oh, Mama!’ Lydia was horrified at the thought. ‘He is old. And fat. And he has three daughters already.’
‘But he is rich enough to indulge you in anything you might want. He might be persuaded to give Annabelle a dowry and help with John’s schooling…’
‘Mama, surely things are not as bad as that?’
‘Dearest, I am afraid it is beginning to look very bleak indeed. We are fortunate that his lordship has allowed us to live here…’
Ever since the tragedy, when a new incumbent had been appointed and moved into the rectory, they had lived in the dower house on the Earl’s estate, which had been standing empty since his mother died a year or two before. Lydia’s feelings on accepting help from the Earl of Blackwater were ambivalent. Her pride against taking charity from the father of the man who had killed her beloved papa did battle with the conviction that he should be made to pay and anything they had from him was little enough compensation for their loss. Her mother saw it differently. She was grateful. Grateful!
Lydia’s hate had not diminished over the years but she had learned to control it, to put on a cheerful face and live in the same small village without exploding every time someone mentioned his lordship’s name, or she saw him smiling and chatting to the congregation after church on a Sunday. He was well liked and some even sympathised with him at the loss of his son and the protracted illness of his wife brought on, so it was said, by the tragedy. As if his loss was the greater.
Why, he could send his son funds to keep him in luxury wherever he was, but she had lost her papa and her brother might as well be dead as well for all the news they had of him. They certainly could not afford to send him money. Ten long years he had been gone and she still missed him. She missed her older sisters too.
At the time of the tragedy, Susan had been betrothed to the son of the recently knighted Sir Godfrey Mallard who lived in Lancashire, where the family had interests in cotton spinning. The marriage contract had already been signed by both fathers, otherwise the groom might very well have backed out of it, but on the grounds that Lancashire was a long way from Essex and news of the duel was unlikely to reach there, Sir Godfrey had allowed the wedding to go ahead a year later, though 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,
