Josephine sat next to Lydia who was face down on her bed sideways. "Lydia," she whispered, "my dear you must get over this." Lydia rolled over. Her face looked as if she had been crying. "I must be very pathetic." "No, no I don’t think you’re pathetic at all. It’s very natural to feel badly, but the best thing to do is start going about again. At least eat your meals with the family." "I am being very dramatic." "And it is very elegant. If we were in France, I would encourage you, but it does no good here. No one appreciates a superior swoon here. It is as if no one has read a romantic novel. They have no sensibility about such things." Lydia weakly smiled and sat up. "Have you ever given such a performance, Josephine? Or have all your men been so devoted to you that you weren’t given the chance? I don’t know what my family must think." "I told them that you were sorry that the season was ending. The usual summer doldrums. It was the best that I could come up with, and surprisingly I think they believe me, which shows such lack of understanding and creativity on their part! Why don’t you get up dear? We can go somewhere to have lunch or have a lovely stroll perhaps. You haven’t been out in ages…What about a bonnet or some pretty gloves perhaps?" "I don’t think so. I’ll paint or read perhaps. I need to do something, but I don’t wish to walk about. I’m still feeling very sedentary."
She stood up and walked across the room. "Josephine, would you do something for me?" "Yes, dear. What is it?" "I’m afraid you won’t like it one bit, but now that you have said you will do it…" "Am I to tame a tiger?" "No, but I would like you to return this to its owner," Lydia held up a book. Josephine looked suspicious and came across the room to take the book from Lydia. "Ivanhoe:: and to whom does this belong, Lydia?" "Brent." "Oh, well don’t cry dear. Here take my handkerchief. Darling, I wouldn’t be concerned with returning this: he can get a new copy if he wants." "No, it’s important to him, and I don’t want it here." She handed the book to Josephine, seeming as if the mere act of looking at it made her feel the betrayal once again. "Just throw it away then. Why should you care? I would think your romantic sensibilities would lead you to burn it or something equally melodramatic anyway." "No, I would like it returned to him." Josephine looked at it with evident disgust. "And I want you to tell him something…I want you to tell him that I didn’t like the ending…I didn’t approve of the way things worked out between the characters. Will you do that, please?" Josephine nodded. "He stays at The Bell does he?" she asked ill humouredly. Lydia nodded. "Thank you, Josephine." "Don’t thank me, dear. Of course, I’ll do it for you. I’ll leave directly." Josephine kissed Lydia, who was attempting to dry her tears.
Josephine hated her errand, but she knew she must take the book to Brent Howard at the Bell. She asked where his room was at the desk, and assuming that she was just another woman, the man told her without hesitation. She made her way towards his room, and with each step she hardened her heart, because she felt as if she might cry herself over the pain of it, suffering from heightened sensibilities herself of late. Knocking on the door she hoped she could control her temper, of which although very few people had seen evidence, was just as violent as all of her other emotions. Now that she had determined that she would not cry under any circumstances, she thought that she might explode at Mr. Howard. The last thing she ever wanted to do was to have to speak to this man whom she now hated with a passion for having reduced her friend’s spirit in such a way; but if she had to speak with him, she might as well give him a piece of her mind. Even though she wanted to do what Lydia had asked of her, she partly wished that he would not be there and then she could simply leave the book in front of his door, but she was not that lucky.
Josephine could smell the alcohol on his breath the minute he opened the door, and he was not dressed. Altogether he looked a disarray with puffy eyes and mussed hair; Josephine had never seen him look like this, because he was always dressed so impeccably. At first sight, she was more disgusted with him than she had supposed herself to be. He squinted at her trying to clear his eyes. Josephine shoved the book at him, loathing him. "This is from Miss Pierce." He looked down at it with bewilderment and awe. "And she wanted me to tell you that she didn’t like the ending…she didn’t approve of the way things turned out or something like that." "I thought…I knew she wouldn’t," he said roughly clearing his throat. Josephine stepped closer to him and her voice began to rise, "and I have a message for you as well…you, sir are a fiend, you aren’t good enough to lick Miss Pierce’s boots." "Are these your sentiments or Miss Pierce’s?" Brent asked running his hands through his hair. "As I said, these are mine." "You are a good friend to Miss Pierce, better than I thought you would be and certainly better than I."
Josephine turned and walked briskly down the hall leaving Brent leaning in his doorway. Brent wanted to shout to Josephine. He wanted to know how Miss Pierce was doing, but he knew he did not have the right: he had given up that right if he ever had it. Josephine had developed the taste of pity in her mouth. This man she had seen was a shell of a man--a shell of the man she had once seen. Something told her not to look back: ‘don’t look back,’ but she had trouble listening to her own advice. Josephine quickly looked back and saw a horror: Brent crying over the book. ‘God help me,’ Josephine thought as she ran down the hallway. Tears came to her eyes, ‘God help me!’
Josephine could not go back to Lydia even though she had planned to tell her that she had delivered the book. She could not even write her a letter when she returned to her cottage. She simply could not, and she hoped Lydia would not be angry with her for sending no word.
***
A few days later Josephine received the biggest surprise of her life. She was in her cottage quite alone, reading curled up in her leisure robe, when there came a knock on the door. She hoped it was Lydia, finally deciding to break her internment. She got up slowly, setting down her book and making her way towards the door. There wasn’t a window in the door, so she didn’t know who it was before she opened it. For a moment Josephine just stood there, a look of shock on her face, and then she was swept into the arms of the Comte de Orville, who kissed her repeatedly. "My love, my love," Josephine cried. "I’ve brought you something," Russell said with some effort, himself being just as overwhelmed. The Comte turned around and swung around Josephine’s son: Marshall. The little boy smiled in the Comte’s arms and held out his chubby arms for his mother. Josephine’s tears flowed. "My darling baby! Here let mama take you." She held her son close to her and kissed his pretty blond hair the same shade as his father’s, the Comte De Orville. "How ever did you manage, Russell? Oh Lord! You didn’t kidnap him, did you?" Josephine said her eyes growing wide. "No, darling." He kissed her again, and she set down her child. "Come inside loves." They came in, and she passionately kissed the Comte again. "Oh, I’ve truly grieved for you," Russell breathed. "I’ve missed you too…terribly," Josephine whispered. "Tell me, darling how in the world did you manage?" he said gently caressing her cheek.
"Perhaps we should speak in English, I don’t want Marshall to understand us, and I don’t want to send him away." "No that is good, we will speak in English. I couldn’t wait to set eyes on you again, love, and so I decided to come take you from here, but I wouldn’t leave my son, our son." Josephine sat in his lap, leaning her head against Russell’s shoulder, and Marshall tugged at her skirts. "So I went to the Comte and I told him just what Marshall was, calling my son this most awful word in the Comte’s vocabulary. You must forgive me my love, but I knew the harsh reality would affront him. I said that Marshall could not inherit his position rightfully and that he could only inherit mine, if la Comtesse would have me." Josephine looked surprised and sat up in his lap. "You and I do not care for the strictures of marriage, but I want my son to inherit what is rightfully his: my land and title. Will you Josephine?" "But, the Comte will never stand for it." "Now that he has let Marshall go, I think he will. He will want the chance to have his own heir. If you request it, he will grant you a divorce." Josephine threw her arms around his neck. "I love you my sweet. I love you!" Josephine shouted in French.
"Come here Marshall, let mama see how much you have grown." He held his hand up to show how tall he was. "What a good boy! Give mama a kiss." He kissed her cheek and then ran after the black kitty Josephine had acquired. "This is more than I could have ever hoped for, but promise me one more thing my love: I don’t want to live here or anywhere but France." "Yes, of course." "I’ve made a friend here a very dear friend, but she can visit us, can’t she?" "Yes, Josephine." Josephine had shivers running up and down her back: she loved the way Russell said her name, and it had been so long since she heard it. "I want you to meet her. She is very beautiful, though, and you must promise not to fall in love with her," Josephine laughed. He kissed her. "That is yet another promise. I would like very much to meet your friend, my goddess."
And Lydia met the Comte soon after he arrived, and never had she been so pleased with a man whom she had always supposed to be a rogue--an attractive rogue, but a rogue nonetheless. She found him to be intelligent, feeling, and he treated Josephine royally, which was all that mattered, as she had come to believe. If she had to lose Josephine to someone, she was glad it was the man who took the time to save his lover’s child from a life without a mother, a mother who had not taken that step herself. So Lydia heartily approved of this Comte, and she did not feel at all sorry for the other.
Chapter 19
The season was very close to the end. Lydia’s parents were discussing leaving in about two weeks. Lydia sat considering the prospect in a carriage carrying her along to ___________. She did not know what to make of her imminent departure: on the one hand she wanted to be away from the place which had disrupted her level headed happiness, and on the other hand she could not stand the thought of being separated from it. Too much had occurred about which she had too strong of feelings to simply leave never to return. She gazed out the window at the passing scenery that she had grown so accustomed to over this season and the last few years. Leaving was disquieting on this simple level of nostalgia, but there were deeper reasons related to the heart and soul, which cried out against being torn from this place. "It’s better this way," she whispered. "What, dear?" "Nothing, Mother." She looked at her mother, attempting a smile and looking back out the window. "Do try to be cheerful today. Mrs. Dominic has tried very hard to put on quite an end of the season event for the young people and she won’t fail to notice your glum looks. Just pretend it’s the beginning of the summer, hmm?" Her mother nodded her head encouragingly. "Yes, Mother. I’ll try." "There’s a good girl."
The carriage carrying herself and her mother arrived at the sight of the country picnic, which Mrs. Dominic considered such good fun for young people. It was far enough from the coast that the land was fertile, not so sandy, and therefore, beautiful trees, lush grass, and pretty wild flowers abounded on a slightly rolling hillside. Lydia felt as if she should try and look up for her own sake; so as she was helped out of the carriage, she smiled at those faces nearby. Mrs. Dominic as a good hostess was greeting the arriving carriages as best she as she was able, but there were many people arriving simultaneously. Mrs. Dominic was fond of grand events, and she certainly would not stand to give anything less than just that. Lydia mindlessly curtseyed and hurried away from Mrs. Dominic. Under a large oak a beautiful long white table was spread with all types of good foods from fruits and cakes to sliced meats. There was a large bowl of punch at the end of the table, and Lydia dipped the ladle into the bowl taking a glass to fill with the cool liquid. A hand reached out to help her. It was her cousin Robert.
"I didn’t think I’d see you here, dear cousin." "I’ve emerged from my seclusion, if that’s what you mean." "Well, for whatever reason I’m glad. Lydia, I have someone I want you to meet." She rolled her eyes sighing. "Thank you, but I’ve had quite enough of your friends, Robert." "No, it’s nothing like that. It’s a girl…a lady that I would like you to meet." They walked away from the table. "Ahh…you sly thing…never giving your coz a hint." "Indeed, I have been silent as the grave--very much against my nature, but it isn’t because she isn’t worth praising to the skies. She is truly wonderful. I want you to meet her, and I think she will genuinely like you." "Yes. Well, she better," Lydia laughed. It felt good to laugh. Robert always had a favorable affect on her for some unknown reason; his frivolity was of such a type that she found harmless and engaging. She had recalled at one time that her mother had wished she had could have made a match with her cousin: she laughed again at the thought of it. "Will you meet her?" "Yes, yes…take me to her!"
Lydia found Miss Sidney to be a very agreeable, pretty, and slightly clever girl. It pleased her no end to find Miss Sidney to be so: she could not have wished for more for her dear cousin, who she knew would be quite happy with such a girl. As Robert‘s attention wandered during their short discussion, Lydia took the chance to lean in and whisper confidentially to the young lady: "When may I be privileged enough to call you my dear cousin’s wife, and therefore, my family, Miss Sidney?" Miss Sidney glanced at Robert, but seeing that he was unaware of their conversation, she replied in equally hushed tones: "Robert has not yet spoken to my father, but I expect it to be very soon." Lydia smiled on her. "How lucky am I to have two of my dear cousins so well disposed of in such quick order," she laughed, and she was pleased to see that Miss Sidney’s smile spoke volumes about her inner happiness.
Lydia had spoken to so many people with whom she had not spoken to in so long, so that she felt rather wrung out and not fresh in the increasing heat of the afternoon sun. Her bonnet was making her head feel unbearably hot, but she could not stand the thought of burning after being so careful all season long. So, she suffered with it and ate precious little but strawberries and punch in an attempt to stem the heat. The young people in Rock Lucian were very friendly with each other towards the of the season, and for the first time she realized that people were actually scrambling for beaus, leading to a heady atmosphere of frenzied couplings. It was vaguely humorous to watch as a disengaged spectator, and she wondered guiltily whether Valerie was somewhere on the hill making herself appear foolish in search of a man. More likely than not Mrs. K. Pierce had arrived with her daughter after they had, and Lydia simply had not met either of them in the crowd. It was not nice of her to take any pleasure in her cousin’s behavior, but Lydia could not help but smile to herself at the thought of Valerie‘s obvious attempts at securing a man of fortune. ‘I shouldn’t miss her antics next season,’ Lydia thought finding one thing that she could find reassuring about never returning to Rock Lucian.
Wishing to be away from the fray for a few minutes, Lydia walked towards the dry and dusty road where there was one medium sized tree against which she could lean to take advantage of the shade and peace. She was standing thus for upwards of ten minutes, quietly fanning herself, when she could hear the sound of horses’ hooves coming from the opposite direction from town. She gazed down the road and saw a horseman coming at a fair trot with small clouds of dust about the horse’s feet. Lydia wondered if it was a late comer to the picnic or a passing rider coming into Rock Lucian. The horse was black and she could tell that the rider was tall and proud by the way he held his seat. Lydia did not want to give the appearance of staring, despite her curiosity as to the rider’s identity, so she held her fan up to her face, obscuring the view of her face. She beat her fan quickly as the horseman approached. She could tell the horse was slowing down as it approached her spot under the tree, and so she surmised that the rider was joining the party. She ventured to look up at the mystery rider.
Silently staring at her with a tortured look was Brent. Lydia gasped for breath, and she began to shake. No comprehensible thought would come to her mind, not even flight occurred to her. Brent appeared to be equally strangled sitting atop his horse, as it had not been his intention of attending this party or seeing Miss Pierce: he had made very sure of late that he would not encounter her. Lydia fought back tears that she had become so tired of shedding. Two and a half feet was all that separated them, and he towered above her on the horse, close enough to touch, if she cared to. Lydia became violently agitated.
"How dare you! How could you!" Brent did not try to stop her or silence her. Her words were like slashing razors, and he felt their cuts sharply. "No, I don't want to hear one word from you! I hate you. How could you? You led me to…I can’t stand the sight of you." "Miss Pierce, Lydia…" he begged. "Don’t speak to me!" "Lydia, I love you damn it! Stop shouting and listen to me. I deserve every word of it, but you must hear me." Lydia shook her head ‘no.’ "God save me, Lydia, because I don’t deserve what you…" "Stop talking! I won’t hear it. I trusted you. I was the stupidest girl, I suppose, you have ever…ever…but then at least my accident saved me from your…your…" She choked on her tears, unable to voice the thoughts in her heart. "Miss Pierce, I love you! I am earnestly and devotedly in love with you." Lydia turned and ran back towards the crowd, searching for her mother.
She darted past the staring masses that she cared nothing for: all she wanted was to find her mother. She finally encountered her mother within a crowd of ladies, who all looked curiously at the crying girl. "Take me home, Mother." "Whatever is wrong, child?" "Please!" "All right. Here. Excuse me. Tell Mrs. Dominic thank you for a lovely time. I’m sorry, excuse us." Mrs. Pierce held onto the arm of her daughter as they made their way through the crowd, apologizing to everyone she saw. They climbed into the carriage, and Lydia threw herself against the inside wall, weeping violently. Mrs. Pierce looked at her daughter, frightened by the girl’s seemingly demented behavior. "He said that he loved me!" Lydia croaked. "Who darling? Who?" Lydia’s mother laid her hands on her daughter’s shoulder, and they were unceremoniously thrown off. "Loves me!"
