young Burford was a witness…’
‘But I have known him since he was in leading-strings and his mama used to bring him to play with us in the nursery.’
‘Nevertheless, he is a young man, a personable, lusty young man, and you must be aware of that.’
‘I was not — I did not think…’
‘No?’ he smiled. ‘But the time has come for you to learn how to go on in Society. You must come out and start looking for a husband…’
‘But, Papa, I have met no one I like well enough.’
‘Nor will you if you remain in Suffolk.’
‘Leave Raventrees! Oh, Papa, I don’t think I could bear it…’
‘You will do as I say.’
‘But you have not left the country for years, ever since…’ She stopped, not wishing to hurt him by reminding him of the reason he had lived in seclusion for so long.
‘Nor do I intend to. I have been thinking. Your aunt Agatha can bring you out.’
‘Aunt Aggie!’ she exclaimed. ‘But she is…’
He smiled briefly. ‘She is old and somewhat eccentric, but she is acquainted with everyone of any importance and she knows how to go on. Besides, I can think of no other who would do it.’
‘Am I that bad?’ Lydia whispered.
He chuckled. ‘Not so incorrigible that you cannot be taught correct behaviour and how to display to best advantage. And that,’ he added severely, ‘is not in dressing up like a popinjay. You are a beautiful young lady, Lydia, a trifle on the tall side, but there must be some eligible bachelors who are taller…’
‘Is that all that matters?’ she cried. ‘That he should be tall?’
‘And have a decent background, with a good title and a fortune to match yours. I would not wish him to be too old, either, nor too free and easy with the ladies, for your sake…’
‘That seems to me to be something of a high order,’ she said. ‘Supposing Aunt Aggie finds such a one and I say we will not suit?’
‘You will not be coerced, my dear, you have my word, but I beg you to consider carefully before you reject a promising suitor. Marriage is a far better state than spinsterhood, I can assure you.’
‘Has Aunt Aggie agreed?’
‘Not yet, because I have only now thought of it. I shall write to her tonight. As soon as I have her reply, I will order Wenthorpe House to be opened and Tom can escort you to London. It won’t do him any harm to acquire a little town bronze.’
Lydia was downcast, not only because she was to leave her beloved home, but that she was to be parted from her over-indulgent papa, but no amount of arguing would make him change his mind, and two weeks later she found herself being driven post-chaise with Tom and her maid for company, while everything she held most dear receded further and further behind her.
The heavy rains of the previous few days had left the roads in a shocking state and they were thrown from side to side as their coachman and postilion negotiated the potholes. By the afternoon of the second day Betty, who always travelled badly, was sitting in the corner looking whey-faced and Tom was wishing he had chosen to ride alongside. ‘I’ll be relieved when we stop for the night,’ Lydia said, righting herself after having been thrown across the carriage almost into her brother’s lap. ‘I shall be black and blue at this rate. Why could we not have waited until the roads improved? It is still very early in the Season.’
He smiled. ‘You know Papa; when he gets an idea into his head, nothing will serve but it must be attended to without delay.’
‘I have never known him so impervious to reason. All over a simple game.’
‘Oh, it was not the charades so much as his own conscience which smote him. You know, it really is time you were taken in hand…’
‘Not you, too,’ she said. ‘I would have thought you would have understood.’
‘Most assuredly I do, but I also realise that my little sister…’
‘Not so little,’ she said with a wry smile.
‘Very well, my not-so-little sister must grow up and, if she does not, spinsterhood is not a state to be envied.’
Her protests were lost in a great swaying and creaking of springs, followed by a terrifying sound of rending wood accompanied by the shouts of their coachman and the screaming of the frightened horses. She was catapulted on to the opposite seat and then the whole carriage slid over sideways and she found herself sitting on one of the doors with Betty, screaming at the full extent of her not inconsiderable voice, on top of her. Tom found the door which was immediately above their heads and hauled himself out.
Lydia extricated herself and stood up. ‘Are you hurt, Betty?’
The maid’s shrieking subsided to sobs as she endeavoured to right herself. ‘Oh, we should never have come; we should have stayed at ’ome where it’s safe.’
‘You said you wanted to come,’ Lydia said, concluding from this that her maid was unhurt. ‘I gave you a chance to stay at Raventrees.’
‘What, and leave you to the mercies of a new maid who don’t know your ways? I ain’t so unfeeling.’
Lydia smiled. ‘Then don’t look so dismal. At least you are not now being rocked to death and we shall have to stay somewhere hereabouts until the carriage is repaired and that will give you time to recover.’ As she spoke she put her head out of the door.
The carriage lay on its side with one of the uppermost wheels still spinning; their boxes had been thrown from the roof on to the muddy road and one of them had sprung its straps and deposited lace-trimmed garments into the water-filled hole which had overturned them. One of the horses had freed itself from the traces and was galloping across a field while Tom endeavoured to free the others who struggled against their harness. Watkins, the coachman, bent over the inert form of Scrivens who had been riding postilion. She looked forward and then back the way they had come but the road, which divided fields of newly sprouting corn, was empty; there was not a building or another traveller in sight.
‘Bend over!’ she commanded Betty. ‘I must get out and see to Scrivens.’
Reluctantly her maid complied, and with a great heaving and a shocking display of petticoats Lydia stood on her maid’s bent back, hauled herself out of the carriage and jumped down on to the road, leaving Betty wailing, ‘What about me?’
She ran to where Scrivens lay in the ditch beside the road and knelt beside him in the wet mud. ‘Is he badly hurt?’
‘I don’t think so, Miss Lydia, he’s got a rare hard head on ’im,’ said the coachman, who was feeling over the inert body for broken bones. ‘See, he’s coming round.’ A groan and a fluttering of eyelids from the unfortunate servant seemed to bear this statement out. ‘Now, miss, if we was to help him up…’
Betty, who had somehow managed to scramble out of the coach, came running across the road, trying to hold her skirts clear of the mud, which was more than her mistress had attempted to do. ‘Oh, is he hurt?’
Scrivens, by this time, was in a sitting position and shaking his dazed head, but appeared not to be badly injured. Lydia left him in the care of her maid and returned to her brother, while Watkins set off across the field to catch the runaway horse. Tom had freed the remaining three and was looking down at the broken wheel and splintered axle of the coach, scratching his dark head.
‘What’s to be done?’ she asked him.
He looked up at her. ‘I shall have to ride one of the horses to fetch help.’ Adjuring her to watch over their belongings, he flung himself on the postilion’s mount and set off for the nearest village, where he hoped to procure a conveyance to bring