Lydia went shopping in all of the local stores that lined Rock Lucian’s main street. Everyone was bound to end up on this street some time or another, so it was a good place to run into people, and a bad one if you were hoping to be left alone. The Bell’s North West Side faced the main street, as did all of the expensive homes in the area. The resort was only about two blocks from the shops and eateries. Every Monday, Lydia had gotten into the habit of shopping with her nurse, Madame Clementine, but today her heart simply was not in it. She walked slowly, her nurse watching her and holding her one bag. Lydia had bought some canvas to do painting on, even though she figured she would never actually get around to painting her view. If she did not, she would give it to Valerie, who considered herself quite the artist. Lydia went in and out of hat stores and tailors, not really looking at anything. She talked minimally to women and girls she encountered on the street and in shops with whom she had become acquainted.
"Your mother says you need a new gown. Why won’t you look at any fabric? It isn’t like you to act so headstrong." "I’m not being headstrong, Madame. I just don’t feel like looking about for anything. Besides, the gowns I have are just fine." She felt as if a haze had fallen over her, and she could not concentrate. "You can’t keep wearing the same thing. What would people think?" "Oh! Never mind people." She wanted to say something worse, but could not recall any horrible words she had overheard. Her nurse gave her a terrible look trying to cow her, but Lydia refused, feeling absolutely unlike herself. "Perhaps we should go back to The Bell." "No, I don’t want to be anywhere near that place." "What has come over you?" "I don’t know." She pouted. "If you were five years old I would smack you, and then we would look at some fabric. Come, we’ll get some tea, and then you’ll feel up to looking about." "Lets just get it over with, because I’m not going to sit in a café with everyone starring at me." "No one is going to stare at you." Lydia stomped her foot, almost imperceptibly, surprising even herself with her behavior.
"Excuse me, Miss Pierce?" Of all people; It was Brent. She was beginning to think that he was following her. "What are you doing here?" she asked irritably. Her nurse’s eyes grew wide; she was incredibly embarrassed by her mistress’ attitude. "How kind of you to inquirer. Shall we walk?" "Yes, I suppose so. This is Madame Clementine, incidentally." "How nice to make your acquaintance." He bowed. They began walking down the street, and Brent took her arm. "Oh, and I saw that little demonstration by the way, but your secret is safe with me," he whispered. He had seen her stomp her foot like a child, and Lydia was mortified; blush arose on her milk white skin. Her nurse walked two steps behind them. "Is there some way to lose your nurse? She looks as if she knows that I’m up to no good." Lydia did not answer him.
"Are you out to buy a bonnet?" "No." "Or something I dare not mention?" Lydia tried to hit him with her free hand, but he caught it. "Don’t be so irritable: while I find it endearing, other men might consider it a fault." She sighed. "It’s you that makes me erratic." "Really? That is good news." It seemed to Lydia that he was always twisting what she said. "Can’t you be civil for once?" "I’ve always been civil." "There is no reasoning with you." "Have I caught you at a bad moment, or are you truly angry with me, Miss Pierce?" His tone had softened a bit, and he looked at her face without that laugh. "Oh, I don’t suppose I’m really mad at you. I don’t know how I could be. After all, I haven’t even seen you since the ball." "True." Once she said that, he seemed to have understood something. "I don’t suppose your family will be attending the orchestral concert tomorrow night at The Bell?" "I think we are, yes." "Then perhaps I will make an appearance, but only if you’ll sit by me, Miss Pierce." "Oh, I don’t think so, I’ll be sitting with my family, Brent." Her temper was a bit soothed. "Then it isn’t worth my while, because you, Miss Pierce are the only one whom I find a bit interesting, and I don’t mind if you tell your gawking friend, Miss Valerie." Lydia looked down at the ground. She did not know how to respond, and it did not even occur to her to defend her cousin. "Well, here is where we part," Brent said stopping. "It was very nice to meet you, Madame Clementine." He kissed Lydia’s hand, and stepped back, but she held tight to his hand. "Tomorrow…at the concert…perhaps I will…" "I’ll be expecting to see you, Miss Pierce." She let go of his hand, and he hurried across the street.
"Who was that?" "No one." "He certainly was someone, and I’ve never seen your father be introduced to him." "Madame, I know plenty of people who have never met father. I certainly don’t think that’s a problem." "He seemed very well acquainted with you. I think I’ll have to know his name, young lady, because your mother needs to know about this." "Fine, tell her, I don’t care. She’ll think you’re being ridiculous, bothering her with such things. He is very well known." This certainly was not a lie. "Is he?" "Yes, I’ve even heard Father talking about him, so he already ‘knows’ him." "Please tell me his name, Miss Lydia: be a good child." "Oh! Look, there is the perfect material for my new gown. Just one more store, Madame. I just have to have this fabric."
Chapter 5
Sitting in her room, Lydia thought she was going to be sick. Her nurse was fooling with her hair and gabbing on about something. "Now remember, after dinner you’re going with your parents to the concert, so take your long gloves. Here, let me get them for you." "I’m not sure if I’m going." "Why ever not?" "I don’t feel very well." "You’re just hungry." Lydia put her head down on her dressing table. "I wish we were back in Boston," she whispered. "Now why would you say that. Your parents have been giving you a wonderful time. Just think of that beautiful gown that’s being made for you." "I don’t really care about that, Madame." "Let me put a cool cloth on your forehead, my dear. It has been awfully hot today." Madame dunked a wash cloth into the wash basin and carried it over to Lydia, where she sat with her head down. Lydia sat up. "Here, now doesn’t that feel better?" "Thank you." Lydia held the cloth to her head and took deep breaths. She was not so much in a bad mood, as she was nervous. Her nerves felt stretched. She did not think she could ever remember feeling this way. "Could you please get me some tea, I need something to calm my nerves. Thank you, Madame." Madame rang the bell. "Why don’t you lay down until dinner, and I’ll go check on Miss Valerie." "Yes, thank you, I think I will."
Lydia felt better at dinner, but she was not very hungry. She pushed her food around on her plate, and drank more wine than she was accustomed to having. As she drank more wine, it numbed her a little and helped her block out what was going on around her. No one really noticed, because she was never included in the conversations anyway. No one treated her like an adult or a valid individual; instead, she was only noticed when people complimented the Pierces on their daughter’s beauty or accomplishments. She was a nice adornment to the family. This was not to say that Lydia’s position in her family was anything unusual, or that she felt unloved or unhappy. She had never been taught to expect anything more from her life, so it seemed like a perfectly acceptable situation to her. There were moments where her mother or father showed interest in her as a person, and she always had girlfriends, who although a poor substitute for familial affection, did just fine to fill up her life.
It would be misleading to paint Lydia as a moody, unhappy, or abandoned child, for she was nothing of the sort. She could amuse herself without anyone’s help. She enjoyed reading anything and she had tried her hand at composing poetry. Additionally, she excelled at womanly arts, such as playing the piano and a bit of the harp, or painting screens, and of course she could embroider and produce dainty children’s garments. So, her mother could reasonably hope that her daughter would turn out not to be entirely useless. It never occurred to anyone that a man might someday want to marry Lydia because he enjoyed her company, found her interesting, or actually intelligent. She was a great beauty, yes, and this was what made her marriageable.
They arrived at the concert well before it started, and the musicians were slowly coming to their seats and tuning their instruments. Everyone else was gathered in clusters to talk and gossip. Lydia walked away from her parents feeling warm and a bit out of sorts. "Miss Pierce, hello you darling child!" It was Mrs. Dominic; she could talk for hours. She was a nosy busybody who just happened to be one of the wealthiest people who lived year round in Rock Lucian. She was probably fifty years old, and she had never had children of her own, so she worried herself about everyone else’s. "Good evening Mrs. Dominic. How are you?" "I have a terrible backache, but I never complain. It keeps me awake at night, I can’t stand hard-backed chairs, but never a complaint." There wasn’t anything wrong with Mrs. Dominic, except that she always had to have something to moan about in general company. Lydia felt sorry for Mr. Dominic, who was rumored to have formerly have been a cheerful person before he married the widowed Mrs. Dominic some twenty years ago. Lydia thought smugly that ‘that’s what one deserves for marrying strictly for money.’ There were certainly more important things to consider in a spouse, although Lydia could not bring any to mind. "That’s very good of you Mrs. Dominic. How noble of you."
"You’re such a dear, Miss Lydia. How old are you now, darling?" "I’m eighteen, Mrs. Dominic." "Is that all? Well there’s certainly nothing to be ashamed about in that." She was referring to her unattached state. "My niece, I don’t think you’ve ever met her, Mrs. Evelyn Dominic Myers was married at seventeen, but that is uncommonly early. Most girls don’t get married the very year they come out, no, not usually." "How very lucky for Mrs. Myers to find stability at so young an age." "Yes, well it had nothing to do with luck. She was quite the beauty in Charlottesville, where her family lives, and every man in town wanted to marry her." "Did she marry someone much older?" Lydia did not usually ask personal questions, but Mrs. Dominic only enjoyed them, so it made no difference. "No, that is my only regret." "Regret?" Lydia’s voice rose, and she could not stop it, but Mrs. Dominic did not seem to take notice. "Yes, it is always so much better for a girl to marry someone with experience and a standing in the community, but he had a good deal of money, and Evelyn seems very attached to him. Perhaps they will have children soon, and then I won’t feel so nervous for the poor dear."
Mrs. Myers had gone from one the few lucky ones to a ‘poor dear.’ This kind of wind blown fancy was perfectly normal behavior for Mrs. Dominic, and it had come to be accepted by her general society. Lydia looked about the room, quickly scanning it. "And is Mr. Dominic here?" "Yes, I suppose he’s around somewhere, but he’s in a terrible mood today, because our cook burned his steak this evening." Lydia almost laughed at people’s personal dramas. "What a shame." "I’ve been telling Mr. Dominic to fire the girl for months, but now that his meal has been disturbed, he doubts her abilities." There was always the chance that Mr. Dominic was just as much a talker as Mrs. Dominic, and that the cook was safe for now, despite his claims. Lydia could not take much more of Mrs. Dominic, as her patience was rather thin this night, but she needed a reason to excuse herself. "I’m sorry Mrs. Dominic, but my legs are just aching tonight, and I think I must sit down." "Certainly, certainly. I know what it is like to struggle with pains in one’s legs. Perhaps a little hot water this evening will do the trick." Lydia knew that every person in the room would eventually be informed that she had ‘weak’ legs, and the next time Mrs. Dominic saw her she would inquire about Lydia’s ailment. Then Mrs. Dominic would inform the area that she had ‘cured’ Miss Pierce with her advice of hot water, should Lydia pronounce herself in good health. While cognizant of this eventual chain of events, Lydia could not bring herself to be concerned about it for the moment, despite the fact that infirmities in the young were never good points in maintaining the air of being marriageable. "Thank you Mrs. Dominic, I’ll certainly try that. Enjoy the concert."
Lydia hurried to a chair next to the aisle and sat down glad that no one had intercepted her en route. She breathed deeply and had all she could do to keep from closing her eyes. She hoped her family would not see her and consequently sit elsewhere: she did not wish to spend the rest of the evening with them. The musicians all began tuning, and a few others, mostly older people, were sitting down in the chairs arranged in rows. The resort’s concert hall was not very big and she realized that the chance of her escaping her parents‘ notice was small. She acknowledged to herself that she was carefully listening without looking around for the sound of ‘Miss Pierce?’ If she could have made herself stop she would have, but she could not. ‘I can’t stay here, acting and feeling crazy,’ she thought. So she stood up and turned around, determined to leave, but she ran into someone full on.
"Excuse me, Miss Pierce." This time Lydia did not have to look up to know that it was Brent and that she had just embarrassed herself with one again. His chest was hard with muscle, and Lydia was shocked that she had even noticed. "Don’t tell me that you were leaving." "I was considering it." "Well consider staying. It’s the least thing you can do after I hurried back from dinner to meet you here." Lydia did not even think to remind him that she did not ask him to ‘meet’ her here, which would imply an understanding. Brent led her back to her seat rather limp, and she obediently sat down. He sat next to her and took up her hand fingering it carefully. Lydia watched him, feeling detached from her body. "Are you feeling better than the last time I saw you?" "No, I am not." "I’m sorry to here that." His voice was soothing. "Mrs. Dominic will be telling everyone that my legs are shriveling up, because I told her they were hurting to get out of her sight." "You lied?" "No." "Yes, I believe you did, but then that doesn’t surprise me." "Why not?" Lydia felt somewhat amused by his comment, because she normally never told lies. "Respectable girls always have their wicked side. I have come to realize that, but don’t worry--I won’t tell any of your pretty admirers." "I don’t have any admirers, Brent." "I know of a few." "Who?" "Their secret is just as sacred to me as yours." "Fine, be that way."
The music began and Lydia tried to concentrate on the music, but Brent still had not let go of her hand. She did not think anyone could see, or at least she hoped no one could. After a few minutes had passed, Brent leaned over and whispered in her ear, "I know your real secret, my dear." She turned to look at him with a quizzical expression. He whispered again, "You are like me--neither of us care what people think." "No, you’re wrong. I do care." "No, I don’t think you do. I think you really don’t care--you know there are more important things in life than appearances."
Lydia pulled her hand away. She did not like Brent‘s egoism in telling her how she felt, and it was more than a little disturbing to be told she did not believe in the sanctity of public opinion. She was always being reminded ‘What will people think?’ How many times had she thought, ‘Who cares?’ or laughed at people like Mrs. Dominic who were obsessed with appearances. His statement weighed on her shoulders the rest of the evening, almost as heavily as his image, with his jet-black hair, tanned skin, and black eyes. Lydia blushed at the very thought.
"Have you been drinking, my dear?" "No." "Come now. You can tell me, I’m no morality marshal. I can smell it on you." "It’s just wine, and I had it at dinner with my parents. Is that all right?" "Well, you certainly had more than a little dining wine, but it’s of no matter to me. I only wished to know what I should order for you the next time we dine together." "We have never and will never dine together, Brent. Don’t deceive yourself." "Am I deceiving myself?" "I always eat my meals with my parents." "What if you were invited out?" "They wouldn’t approve." "Of me?" "I thought we were being hypothetical." "I wasn’t, but at any rate…Simply don’t start drinking on the sly, my dear, no one likes that and everyone always finds out." Brent was telling the truth. Lydia could name every person in Boston who ‘drank,’ and some in Rock Lucian as well. "Brent, you don’t think I’m a sot do you?" Brent pinched her cheek, and she thanked the Lord that they were in the last row, where no one would be standing behind them. "You? Certainly not, my pet." Lydia could not recall when he had began to call her ‘my dear’ and ‘my pet.’ She did not dislike it, but she knew well enough that she should stop him. Somehow she could not make herself. Brent’s eyes were laughing, and it was obvious he thought that she was very naive.
"Why don’t we slip out of here, before it ends, and we can go for a walk." Lydia’s ingrained warning bell went off. "I don’t think I should." "I’m not going to bite, my dear." She was not so sure. "It’s lovely out. Don’t be such a child, darling." "I should go back to my apartments." "Then let me walk you there." Lydia consented, even though this seemed almost as dangerous, and she knew her nurse would not approve under any circumstances, but then that idea had a sort of appeal.
Brent took Lydia’s arm, and they left the chamber hall. They were nearly at the opposite end of The Bell from her apartment. "Why don’t we at least walk on the outside path by the ocean on the way?" Lydia only considered briefly. "It is stuffy in here." They exited out the door and started along the gravel path at the top of the hill overlooking the ocean. It was dark enough that the stars were out, and the full moon was shinning on the waves, before they broke up on the shore.
"This is when you may ask all the pressing questions about my family, so as to ascertain whether I am a cad or a gentleman." "I’d rather not, and I think it’s too late for those sorts of questions already; I’ve already placed myself in eminent danger." "Perhaps. Nevertheless, I think you must give a nod towards your upbringing and thoroughly grill me. Let’s make it easier…What do you find to talk about with the boys that are always hanging about you?" "There are not always boys hanging about me." "Well when there are?" "I suppose we talk about them. What they do. What interests them. And then, they might ask me about my interests, but it is only to judge me, as much as I’m judging them. Of course, it‘s a great show on both parts, but the trick is to make it seem effortless." Lydia was surprised at the things coming out of her own mouth. "Such a cynic, my dear!" Brent said with a laugh. "So, yes, tell me. What do you do?" Brent held her closer and responded in a sarcastic tone, "You probably wouldn’t understand all that I do…my ‘job’ you might say." There was some truth in that, and Lydia was somewhat frightened to find out what it was he did.
"Doesn’t anyone give you any credit for that sharp little mind of yours?" "I’m complimented all the time on my embroidery and talent at the piano, and that’s a product of my intelligence." "Hasn’t anyone ever spoken to you in French or Italian, or declared their love for you in anything but a juvenile manner?" "I’m not sure what you mean." He stopped walking and grabbed both of her arms. "I mean, I think you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, but it’s more than that, I want you, and I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you. Don’t try to pull away, darling…Don’t make me think you’re a child, because I find you intriguing…interesting, and I’ve never even been allowed to actually have a meaningful conversation with you." "Are you saying that you love me?" Brent smirked. "If you mean, do I want you as my wife, the answer is ‘no‘. I told you the first time I met you that I wasn’t a marrying man. Now stop struggling Lydia."
He grabbed her about the waist. "I hate you!" "No, no…surely you don’t. Just a minute ago, you were very sweet and agreeable. Surely the thought that I don’t want to marry you hasn’t wounded your pride." "Let go of me! I won’t have you insulting me this way. How dare you say these things to me, if you didn’t mean to marry me?" "I don’t think I’ve misled you, dear. Smooth your ruffled feathers. Surely you didn‘t want me for a husband." "What are you suggesting?" "I’m suggesting that if you haven’t yet worried that people might see us here like this, then it proves you are as far from caring about people’s worthless opinions as I am." "If you’re implying something dastardly, I want to know what made you think I would…I would…I don’t even know your family for heavens sake." "Ah! You see, you can‘t escape your training. I’m willing to explain everything to you, my dear, but I won’t promise you that you’ll like it." "I’m not willing to listen to you. Now turn me loose." "Don’t you want to hear about all my dirty little secrets, darling? Aren’t you curious? Or are you too swept away by my charms to care?" "You vain horrible man! If I could slap you I would." He let go of her. "Go ahead." She hauled back and slapped him. Her hand went to her mouth; she had never truly hit anyone before.
He took her hand away from her mouth, carefully examining it. The palm was red. He kissed it twice, and Lydia did not fight. He pulled her in close and kissed her forehead. She could feel his hard thighs pressed against her, and the buttons on his coat were pressing into her as well. "Meet me for lunch tomorrow." Brent‘s tone was commanding. "Tomorrow," Lydia gasped. "I’ll tell you everything then. Go on…Go back to your apartment." "Won’t you walk me?" "No." He turned her loose. Lydia did not know whether to be mad at him or not. She ran down the path, not looking back.
