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Chapter Twelve
My dearest Sister
I was most conflicted over your recent letter. All at once elated and saddened, the news of Johanna’s proposal was the highlight, but your difficulty made me feel quite guilty. I almost bid my farewells and headed straight back to London immediately. However, I must encourage you to take heart. If I am indeed married before the end of the Season, then you will be much on your own.
Since I am not there, I beg you to speak to Marcia and Lucretia. While I do encourage them to have a good time, please make sure they know the dire circumstances we are under. Once my engagement to the duke is broken off in a public manner, our popularity among society will dwindle, unless one of us can secure an advantageous match – for real.
I must confess how disheartened I feel to think of the day soon when this charade is given up. I am enjoying the duke’s company very much. Now several days into my stay, we have started to confide in each other, and have spent several hours in each other’s confidence. Not to mention, in each other’s arms. No! Not like that, I promise, he has not taken my virtue. However, the intimacy would sensationalize the gossip columns throughout London if we were in the city.
Just yesterday morning I was sitting at my desk, penning my last letter to you, when I noticed a spectacular view out my window. A figure emerged from the shrubbery, like a Greek god emerging from Mount Olympus. He disrobed, revealing the muscular form to rival Zeus himself. I had an advantageous vantage point to inspect all the secret places unmarried women are not privy to.
I trust you remember the stories we’ve heard or read, how man and woman come to know each other in private. Inspecting this figure, I had shock of wondering how they join together, wondering how such a thing might feel. I did not feel horror or trepidation, but indeed, excitement and curiosity. The experience has me longing for the marriage bed.
And of course, you might wonder, who this figure was. If you guessed the duke, then you would be correct. Shamefully, I watched him swim, unclad, for several minutes. At first, I was merely curious, yet the longer I watched, the more intrigued I grew. I now know the taste of his mouth and long to know the feeling -
I will go no further, for it is not proper. I beg you again to burn this letter after you have read it. Please do not judge me harshly. I will promise you again that I will not allow myself to be run away with the physical desire I feel for the duke. I know he is unavailable to me, in heart and in body. In heart, due to his own feelings, or lack thereof, for me. In body, due to society’s rules for the high-born lady.
Please keep me posted as to future developments among you and our sisters. Let me know how mother is getting along. Uncle Francis has made himself scarce and is, frankly, a terrible chaperone. He has no idea the rules that are being broken right under his nose.
Your conflicted sister,
Lydia.
Lydia folded her letter, getting ready to seal it. She felt her cheeks flushing, thinking of the things that she revealed to her sister. She had slept in for the first time that morning, perhaps slowly becoming accustomed to the sounds in the quiet house.
“My lady, you’re going to be late for breakfast,” the maid said frantically, holding Lydia’s morning dress on her arm. “The housekeeper said the duke would be most displeased if you didn’t arrive on time today.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Lydia asked, holding the letter in her hand.
“He had something on his mind,” the maid explained, stepping forward. “Please, come. Let me dress you, my lady.”
Lydia dropped the letter on her desk, folding it quickly as she stood. The maid started wrapping her stays around her, anxious and quick in her movements.
“Did the duke mention what he had planned?” Lydia asked.
“Not that I’m aware, my lady,” the maid explained. “But I’ll gather your things for a carriage ride, I believe.”
Lydia said nothing, allowing herself to be draped with a morning dress and hair arranged. The maid pulled her toward a dressing table. “Perhaps, a touch of rouge today. Quickly, though, my lady.”
She sat obediently at the dressing table, allowing the maid to touch her cheeks with rouge. When she opened her eyes, she hardly noticed the change, but her cheeks seemed only slightly more flushed.
“Go ahead and go down, my lady,” the maid said. “His Grace is waiting.”
Caught in the flurry of activity, Lydia headed towards the door, only thinking as she stepped away, “Could you please seal that letter for me and post it today?”
“Yes, my lady,” the maid said agreeably.
Lydia hurried down the corridor to the breakfast parlor, wondering what Michael had in mind for their outing for the day. Only once she was sitting down at the breakfast table, next to Michael, had she wondered if she should have sealed and posted her letter herself.
“You look lovely today,” Michael said in a low voice.
“Thank you,” she breathed, smiling at him, pleased. “My maid said that you might have something planned today.”
He looked her over for a moment. “I see news travels quickly. Mr. Weller has returned home for only a few days. I thought we could sneak off to pay him a visit before your Uncle Francis caught wind of it.”
“Just the two of us?” she asked.
He grinned. “If we can finish breakfast before Joseph and Kitty join us.”
