The deep voice of Isaac’s brother cut across the small enclosure like a knife, and Lydia nearly dropped the small paper from nerveless fingers as a shriek strangled her throat. Immediately, she jumped back, further away from her stepfather, as he practically growled and swung around to face Benedict, his face like a thundercloud. If Benedict’s face was nearly expressionless, his brother’s was even more so when he suddenly appeared at Benedict’s side. Lydia wanted to whimper at the sight of her husband, larger than life, dark eyes coldly assessing the situation.

  A noise behind her had her whirling to see the Earl of Spencer, the Marquess of Dunbury and Mr. Felix Hood standing across the other entryway into the enclosure, cutting off any hope of escape for either herself or her stepfather. Her knees trembled, wavered, and only sheer willpower kept her standing as everything came crashing down about her.

  It had all been for nothing... they were caught out, her husband knew something was in the wind, and Mr. Tilding hadn’t even proposed to Amy. Her sister was still under the rule of her father, who might be malicious enough to marry Amy off to the Squire - or worse - even though this wasn’t her fault.

  “Well,” her stepfather said, huffing, obviously searching for the right words as he faced off against the intimidating duo the two brothers made. Benedict was only smaller in comparison to Isaac, and both of their dark countenances held threat of retribution in them. Lydia wanted to shrink into a ball when her husband’s cold gaze flicked to her and away. His emotions were entirely shuttered away from her, closed off, and the connection between them broken. She swayed on her feet. “I don’t know what you two think you’ve heard, but I can assure you you’re entirely wrong.”

  “No, I don’t think we are,” Isaac said, his voice haughtily distant, as he strode forward on the pathway to meet her stepfather.

  “Oh no...” Lydia couldn’t stop the whisper as Amy and Mr. Tilding slid into the place he’d just vacated, beside Benedict. Her sister’s green eyes were wide, filled with horror and tears, and she was clinging to Mr. Tilding’s arm, whose expression looked as though it had been carved from granite. Immediately, Lydia knew her sister had overheard too... heard enough to have the wool cruelly pulled from her eyes, and she now saw what Lydia had, more than anything, been trying to protect her sister from all along - knowing what her father had turned into.

  “Exactly what is it you’re looking to hold over my wife?” Isaac asked, facing off against her stepfather.

  The comparison between the two of them was ludicrous. Isaac was almost an entire head taller than her stepfather, towering over the older man, with his broad, unpadded shoulders, fit torso, and muscled limbs, he dripped with both strength and authority. Her stepfather, beside him, looked like a pale shadow of a nobleman, a mouse in the presence of a hawk - a very stupid mouse who still thought he could talk himself out of being dinner.

  Her stepfather gathered himself up. “Nothing, Manchester, nothing... Lydia wanted to give me some information she’d found out, thought it would help me with my own investments and whatnot.”

  Her lungs froze, but she didn’t protest. Didn’t know what to do, really. There were traps no matter which way she stepped and too many consequences for her frantic mind to sort.

  Keeping his gaze on her stepfather, Isaac held out his hand towards her. Lydia didn’t make the mistake of thinking he wanted her to take with. Trembling from head to toe, she stepped forward and placed the piece of paper she was holding in his hand. As soon as it left her fingers, she stepped back, tucking her hands behind her and waited, feeling the heat of her stepfather’s glare and the coldness of her husband’s indifference.

  Unfolding the small note, Isaac looked down at it. Scanned its contents. From the curl of his lip, he immediately understood exactly what information Lydia had been about to hand over to her stepfather. His dark eyes rose to pin her stepfather in his place and then over to her, transfixing her with his cool, glittering gaze.

  “Why, my dear, were you giving your stepfather this list?” The complete lack of affection when he called her ‘my dear’ broke Lydia’s heart, and she wanted to scream from the pain of it, but she couldn’t... and she couldn’t answer him. Her eyes moved back and forth between her husband and her stepfather, and then over to Amy’s tearful countenance.

  Her little sister, still staring at her father, lower lip trembling the way it always did when she cried. Just eighteen, filled with hopes and dreams Lydia could never realize, but which Amy could if she was just given the chance. Clinging to the arm of the man she loved, who was supporting her, holding her, despite the revelations being played out before them. Lydia had spent the past two years protecting Amy from everything she could, keeping her little sister safe, keeping her happy and innocent. Some of the veil had been pulled from her eyes, but not all of it, and Lydia couldn’t bring herself to be the one to yank the rest of it away.

  A shadow fell over her. Isaac’s formidable presence loomed. But his voice was softer than before, almost understanding. A gentle hand cupped her cheek, and she closed her eyes, leaning into it... pretending, for just a moment, that she too could have the love and support she craved.

  “What did he threaten Amy with?” The question coaxed. It hurt too, because he was using her desire for the connection with him to get her answer. “That he would deny Tilding’s suit?”

  “Not a word, Lydia! NOT ONE- Mmph!!!” His words were cut off, muffled by someone’s hand, although he continued to yell into that fleshy gag. Whatever he was saying was completely intelligible now, but if anything, he sounded more outraged than before.

  Lydia’s eyes flew open, but Isaac’s hand held her face firmly, his broad shoulders blocking out the sight of whomever had just silenced her stepfather, keeping her gaze on him. The choice hovered before her... she hadn’t been able to find anything which would allow Isaac to help her sister, but if she told him now... perhaps he would know. The deal she’d struck with her stepfather, it was over. If she didn’t confess to Isaac now, he would never trust her again.

  If she didn’t confess to Isaac now, who knew what would happen to Amy. At least here she was on Isaac’s land. Mr. Tilding was still at her side. If there was ever a chance to save her sister, without giving in to every one of her stepfather’s edicts, this had to be the best of it.

  “He’s going to force her to marry Squire Hurst if I tell you... why I needed to marry you,” she whispered. The words were so quiet, so forced, that she knew no one but Isaac had heard them, especially not over the muffled sounds of protest her stepfather was making.

  Lifting his head, Isaac turned to look at Mr. Tilding and Amy. “Tilding. The matter we discussed on our ride... you may want to move that along much faster. In fact, if I may make a suggestion, if you leave within the hour you could make it to Gretna Green before nightfall.”

  Lydia’s mouth opened in soundless wonder, Mr. Tilding looked struck, and Amy gasped in shock and even more confusion.

  “Gretna Green?!” Amy almost sounded a bit outraged. She was the type of girl who had planned out her wedding in her head, and eloping to marry over an anvil was not how she’d pictured it.

  Isaac looked directly at Amy, his hold on Lydia never loosening. “I believe your choices may be Gretna Green with Mr. Tilding today or a more conventional marriage to - Squire Hurst was it?”

  “Squire Hurst!”

  Although he knew there was probably a gentler manner in which to give these revelations, Isaac found he didn’t have the wherewithal. For one, his own emotions were a seething mass of chaos he was having to rigidly control, which didn’t leave a lot of room for sympathy or patience. And he’d never been a particularly patient man. Moreover, if Amy was going to elope with Tilding, there wasn’t much time.

  Isaac couldn’t hold Grayford indefinitely, after all, as much as he might want to lock the man down in the deepest, dankest part of the Manor’s basement. If Huffy even allowed any part of the basement to become dank or unpleasant. Therefore, if Amy was going to escape the marriage her father was determined to arrange for her and be out from under his thumb, which would remove Lydia from his sphere of influence as well, she and Tilding needed to get moving.

  Unfortunately, his sister-in-law looked as though she was having trouble believing in the necessity.

  “Papa?” Her features, so much like Lydia’s even if their hair and eyes differed, were uncertain in a manner which made her seem even younger.

  Tilding kept a hold of her, giving her support and keeping her from stepping towards her father. Glancing over his shoulder, Isaac nodded to Philip and Wesley, who were holding the man in place with Wesley’s hand clapped over the Earl’s mouth. Wesley removed the one hand.

  “Squire Hurst is the least of it! I’ll ruin you! I’ll ruin all of you! You’ll all pay for this! I am in charge! Me!” Thankfully, Grayford’s voice was hoarse, rather than strident, even as he tried to yell. Isaac only hoped the Grevilles, Arabella, and the elder Hood brothers had managed to move the rest of their guests far enough away from the confrontation that nothing would be overheard.

  As Amy gasped and stepped back into Tilding’s strong arm, Isaac felt Lydia shake free of his hand and move to the side so she could see her stepfather. He dropped his hand, angling behind her to stand at her back. As soon as her stepfather saw her, he went into an almost manic fit, spittle flying from his mouth as he started hoarsely shrieking.

  “Madeline!!!! No, no, NO - I’m sorry, Maddy, I didn’t do it, I promise! I never did it! Don’t look at me that way!” Everyone was frozen with shock and confusion, except for Amy and Lydia who were staring at him with dawning horror. He shook his head and his gaze fell on Lydia again, his eyes narrowing with hate. “You little bitch, you’ve turned them all against me! It’s lies, all of it, LIES!” As his voice became louder, Wesley covered the man’s mouth again, and Grayford’s eyes rolled wildly, struggling against the men holding him. Stepping forward from behind his writhing form, Felix added his own strength to the two men already holding him in place. Lydia stumbled back against Isaac, quivering, as Amy buried her face in Tilding’s shoulder. The man wrapped his arms around Amy, whispering something in her ear - something meant to comfort going by his demeanor.

  “Madeline?” Isaac asked, turning Lydia around so she didn’t have to look at her stepfather anymore. Her grey eyes turned up to meet his, but they were haunted and unfocused, as if she wasn’t truly seeing him.

  “My mother,” she whispered.

  Isaac decided he’d heard enough, that his wife had been subjected to enough, as well as her sister. With all the confidence of his ducal authority, he got Tilding and Amy moving, with himself and Lydia following. As soon as they moved out of the enclosure, Cordelia and Cynthia hurried over to Lydia, while Gabrielle immediately moved in on Amy, bracketing her along with Tilding. Isaac gave Lydia over to Cordelia and Cynthia, directing them to take the ladies back to the house for their afternoon naps. As he did so, Tilding looked over his shoulder and Isaac met his gaze. With a firming of his jaw, Tilding nodded.

  From the determination and protective stance Tilding had around Amy, Isaac thought it very unlikely they would be attending the ball this evening. They would be much too busy.

  Turning on his heel, Isaac strode back into the enclosure of roses. They made a beautiful surround for such a nasty business. Although Wesley still had his hand over Grayford’s mouth, the irate Earl was muttering and ranting, no matter that his words were muffled. His eyes were wild and unfocused, his cheeks red. He looked utterly mad.

  Another nod to Wesley, who removed his hand again. “Madeline will understand, it’s Lydia’s fault, it’s all-“ was Grayford managed to get out before Isaac’s fist plowed into his jaw, knocking his head back and sending him straight into unconsciousness.

  “Let’s get him up to the manor,” Isaac said grimly. It would take all of them to move Grayford quickly and quietly, with the best chance of being unseen by any indiscreet eyes. Isaac already knew where he was going to put his father-in-law, just in case the man woke up - even if the basement wasn’t dank, there were several empty storerooms down there. Easy to guard, no windows to escape from, and well out of hearing of any guests of either the house party or the ball.

  The men moved quickly and determinedly, and - as soon as they were in the house - quick explanations were tendered to Rigby who immediately took over. The other men dispersed to the billiard room, their own rooms to check on their wives, and the library - in case any of the other house party guests returned from the gardens - while Isaac and Rigby oversaw the installment of Grayford into an empty storage room. Although it was more than he deserved, Isaac also ordered a sleeping pallet be brought down for the Earl. Two burly footmen would stand outside his door and two more at the end of the hall, all night. Rigby promised he would have someone deliver food during the evening, after Grayford revived. A bruise was already forming on his jaw where Isaac’s fist had landed, and it was a good thing for the Earl that he’d gone down with one hit, because Isaac would not have been above adding to them.

  Which would probably have made him feel quite guilty later as the Earl wouldn’t have been up to Isaac’s weight even if he wasn’t a couple decades older. Still, Isaac didn’t think one flush hit would tax his conscience too much.

  “He can have food and water, that’s it,” Isaac told the footmen. They both nodded, curiosity lit on their faces as to why they were holding their duchess’ father prisoner, but they didn’t ask any questions. “If he asks, I’ll be down to speak with him tomorrow morning.”

  That finished, Isaac stalked off to his wife’s chambers. He sincerely hoped she wasn’t taking a nap, because he would really hate to have to wake her up.

  Wearing nothing but her chemise, Lydia sat on the edge of her bed. Mr. Tilding and Amy had already left for Gretna Green; she hoped Amy would be happy, since her younger sister had seemed to be in a state of shock. Her soon-to-be husband had completely taken over, ushering her straight towards the stables rather than the house and into a carriage. Amy had been in a daze when she’d hugged Lydia goodbye, still confused, her eyes begging Lydia to explain... but Lydia couldn’t because she still didn’t quite understand. She’d been glad to see her sister go, safe at last in Mr. Tilding’s capable hands. When Amy had protested, not very convincingly, he’d told her very shortly, “I love you, I was going to offer for you after the house party anyway, and I will do whatever I need to in order to protect you. Now get in the carriage.”

  Amy had shut her mouth and gotten into the carriage. And Lydia had smiled. While it wasn’t the wedding she’d dreamed of, Lydia was fairly certain her sister was going to have the marriage she’d always wanted. That Mr. Tilding’s first instinct was to protect Amy from her father, rather than drop her because of his behavior, spoke very well of him as well as his feelings for Amy. Which was good, as Amy would need his support in the days to come.

  Looking down at the miniature portrait in her hand, Lydia stroked her fingers gently over the canvas. The familiar, pretty, porcelain features of a grey-eyed woman with honey-blonde hair smiled up at her. She didn’t know how long she stared at the portrait before the door to her room opened.

  Lowering the miniature to her lap, Lydia looked up at her husband. Her heart was pounding in her chest. The expression on his face was blank, giving her no clue as to whether or not he might allow her to make amends. She’d stripped down to her chemise, hoping he would punish her, but not knowing if he would.

  After all, her breasts and bottom still had slightly pink marks lingering from yesterday. The inside of her bottom was raw, and she didn’t know if she could take him there again... and yet she also knew she’d bear whatever she had to in order to make things right, if he would just give her the chance to.

  The door shut behind him as Isaac strode forward, his very presence seeming to suck all of the air from the room. His eyes slid over her, lingering for a moment on her breasts beneath the translucent chemise, before falling to the miniature on her lap. Tilting his head as he came closer, he seemed more interested in it than in her. Although, she supposed she could understand that. It was the only thing out of place. Lydia usually kept it in one of the drawers of her writing desk, as looking at it made her sad.

  Long fingers reached down and plucked it from her lap. Lydia lowered her head to her hands, balled up on her thighs, as she waited.

  “Your mother?” he asked, his voice softer than she’d thought it would be, almost gentle.

  “Yes,” she responded quietly, feeling the tiny ache in her heart which always arose when she thought of or spoke of her mother.

  “You look...” His voice trailed away, but she knew how his sentence would end. The mania in her stepfather’s eyes, the break in sanity when he’d called her by her mother’s name... Lydia couldn’t help but wonder now, was it her resemblance to her mother which had initially incited his lust for her when he was drunk? She had always blamed his grief and his drinking, or occasionally wondered if it was just a part of his personality which he’d kept hidden, or thought perhaps his personality had just harshly changed. He’d always known who she was when he’d rattled at her door at home, calling her by name, but it had seemed in the garden as though he’d actually thought she was her mother for a moment or two.

  After a long pause, he turned and put the miniature down on her nightstand. Lydia bit her lip, unsure of what to say now, hoping he would take the lead as he always did. With him standing over her, as large as he was, she should have felt frightened, but she didn’t. She felt desperate... desperate to make things right, desperate to be given another chance - and terrified he would have no chances left to give her.

  “So. I will ask you again, Lydia. Why did you need to escape your home?”

  The whole sordid story poured out. She couldn’t look at him as she talked, so she stared at her hands as she told him about her mother’s death. Her stepfather’s drinking. Waking up to him in her bed. His excuses. Realizing no one was going to protect her. Amy’s naive innocence. The books she found in her stepfather’s library, informing the last of her ignorance. The move to London for the Season and realizing she had no still room to prepare concoctions to drug her stepfather’s liquor. Her rattling door at nights when he was deeply in his cups. His threats, once he realized she was going to escape his dominion.

 

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