Lydia sat in the small dining room where breakfast was served at The Bell from 8 to 11 AM. Only her mother had shown up for breakfast, as everyone else was either being served in his or her room or was sleeping. Her mother was spreading orange marmalade over her biscuit, while Lydia was eating fruit, ravenously, having regained her appetite. Lydia waved over a waiter for more tea. "You act as if you‘re famished," her mother observed. "I didn’t eat much at dinner." "What a shame, it was very tasty, better than what we usually get at The Gillian. Didn’t you fancy it?" "I’m sure it was fine, but I didn’t have a stomach for food." "Is that why you left the concert early?" Lydia’s head popped up from her plate, and her pulse began to quicken. "I wasn’t sure you would notice."
Her mouth felt extremely dry, and she gulped down some tea, burning her palate. "Certainly. When we looked for you to leave, you were no where to be found. We assumed you had left early." "Sorry to trouble you." "No trouble. So, did you leave because of your stomach?" "I just wasn’t very much interested in the concert, I suppose." "The music was very dry, nothing thrilling. I suppose if you were tired that it would have been torture to sit there." "It wasn’t so bad, but I left early anyway." Her mother nodded. "Perhaps we should have brought Madame along, I don’t like the thought of you walking back to the room unaccompanied." "Oh I wouldn’t worry about that, Mother. I managed." "I’m sure you did, but I don’t know what people would say if they saw you walking about alone at night." "That is something you needn’t worry about." She had barely been alone for but a few moments and she would rather have people seen her then than when she had been accompanied. "Perhaps I should speak to your father about the matter."
Lydia desperately wanted to change the subject. "What are you doing today, Mother?" "I’m going to help your aunt interview for a new maid. It’s rather mundane, but the old one got married and moved away, so something must be done. What about you? What are the young people up to?" Her mother’s smile demonstrated that she expected such innocent revelry that Lydia could not bring herself to lie. "I’m going to have lunch with a friend." "Really? Who?" "I can’t remember." Her mother gave her a queer look. "I’ve left my engagement book back in the room. I have so many lunch dates this week that I don’t know who I‘m supposed to meet today." Her mother finished her last bite and wiped at the corners of her mouth with the ivory napkin. "Well," she said standing up. "I’m off to your aunt’s." Lydia kissed her cheek. "Send my love." "Yes, yes. Enjoy your day, my dear." "I will, thank you, Mother."
Lydia walked down the main street, towards her destination: the outdoor café. It had never even occurred to her as to where she was to have lunch with Brent, but a note had been delivered to her room stating a place and time. The wind was blowing a bit, bringing in the smell of the ocean, and blowing her hat so that she had to hold onto it with one hand. She walked briskly along, trying not to think of anything in particular. Lydia was wearing her shell pink small flowered print organza dress, and her nurse had ordered orange blossoms for her hair for that evening, of which she put a cluster in her straw hat. She looked and smelled very fresh, and the wind had brightened her complexion. Her white linen jacket was to merely cover the arms while out, and it did not close in the front, fitting tightly over her dress. Had she thought of it, she might have taken her lace parasol as well, because the sun was extremely bright and directly overhead.
She had nearly reached her direction, when a lady, not more than a year or so older than Lydia passed pushing a baby buggy. "Frances?" The lady turned around. "Lydia Pierce! Oh, I’m so glad to find you here." The ladies embraced. "You must tell me what has been going on with you!" Lydia said gesturing towards the baby. "I’ve been married a year and a half next month." Frances held out her hand with her diamond ring. Lydia had been friendly with Frances some four seasons ago in Rock Lucian, well before either of them had come out. "Why hadn’t I heard of this?" "Mr. Emmett and I haven’t been back here since we were engaged." "How old is she?" Lydia peered into the buggy. "Eight months." "She’s beautiful. May I hold her?" "Certainly." Lydia carefully lifted the dear infant out of her buggy and held her to her breast. She knew a great deal less about babies than other girls, having never had a younger sibling to practice on, but she appeared very comfortable with the baby and she took much delight in children of all ages. "What is her name?" "Grace Sophia." "She is just perfect." "We think so." The baby waved her arms and cooed. "Lydia, what have you been up to these last few years?" "Nothing really, I haven’t any exciting news to share. I’m here with my family again." Lydia felt a bit left behind, as she did with a number of her old friends who had already married. "You must come visit us someday, Lydia. Mr. Emmett and I would simply love it." "You’re staying at The Bell?" "Yes, we’re on the southwest side." "Then we’re not too far from each other. Perhaps I will drop by one time." Lydia handed over the baby, and the girls parted, Lydia waiving.
She only had to duck into the café, and right away she spotted Brent sitting at the back corner with a newspaper unfolded on his lap. There was a good deal of people bustling about or eating, but the chair facing Brent had its back to the crowd, so she hoped she would not be recognized. She made her way through the crowd, and came up to his table. He stood up. "Miss Pierce. I was sure you would never show up." She sat down. "I don’t go back on my commitments." She took off her hat, as they were shaded by an awning, and began to pull on her short white gloves. "May I help you with your jacket?" He said standing up. "Thank you." As he pulled off her jacket, his hands touched her exposed upper arms, and traveled down to her elbows. Chills ran down Lydia’s back, and she had all she could do to keep from shaking. Brent took his seat, scrutinizing her like usual.
"You looked very inviting, babe in arms." Blush arose on Lydia’s face. "You saw me just then?" "Yes. I would have come over, but I don’t think Mrs. Emmett would have liked having her baby tainted by the likes of me." "You know Frances, or rather…Mrs. Emmett?" "I know just about everyone one, my dear, even though they might not like to know me or admit that they do. Let me order you some aqua vitae." "I don’t drink during the day." "Suit yourself." Brent proceeded to order a very costly canapé. He sipped at it when it arrived, and leaned back in his chair. "Now we can talk, if you wish." "It’s your turn to talk, Brent." "I suppose, but I’d much rather play with you. If you want to be serious…I suppose people have said some things about me?" "No, you’re considered to be inappropriate conversation for ladies." "Really? I’ve come a long way then, because I thought everyone enjoyed gossiping about me, but now they can’t even do that! What a shame." He paused for a hearty laugh. "Well, I was going to say ‘everything is true,’ but I see that this will take more explaining."
He paused to sip from his drink, which looked very good to Lydia. He saw her eyeing it, and slid it across the table. ‘Why not.’ She picked it up, bringing it to her lips. She looked over the rim, and he was smiling ruefully at her. She took a large swallow. "There’s a first time for everything, yes?" She gave no answer, but pushed the glass back across the table. "Perhaps, the next time you taste something, you won’t do it like a child and actually enjoy it." "I did enjoy it." "Then perhaps you shouldn’t admit to that." "I don’t appreciate being called a child, Brent." "Well as far as I am concerned, you are." "Perhaps you shouldn’t admit to that." "I’ve committed worse crimes, my dear. After all, my family has turned me out."
Her mouth opened a bit, and he leaned across the table putting his finger under her chin to shut it. "Why?" "A bit of roguish behavior on my part. Nothing compared to what I’ve become, I’m afraid. I was expelled from West Point, and when I came home I didn’t marry a girl after I took her out in a carriage alone at night." "Was she ruined?" "Oh, Lydia, that isn‘t the point--I wasn’t going to marry some stupid little girl, just because I was doing her a favor, when her horse went lame and her nurse had gone for help." Lydia still thought it might be of some importance to the girl, if she had been in fact ruined. "Things have gone from bad to worse for me, however, because I’ve had to make my way in the world without the financial backing of my family." "That isn’t so terrible." "I’m in the business of speculating and I started out gambling. Is that terrible enough for you?" Brent paused, but Lydia gave no response, a little confused by Brent‘s confession, as she knew little about business. She only realized whatever it was that Brent was involved in was not above board.
"So, I’ve earned my money in less than a respectable manner and the company I keep is certainly not of your class. Although, don’t mistake me--I don’t desire any sympathy on that last count. I wouldn’t have your kind, if they begged me or lined up at my door--I can’t stand them. I‘ve found in my experience that their high handed morality is just a cover for a lot of immoral behavior no worse than mine." "You never have dealings with society?" Lydia asked in amazement, choosing to ignore Brent’s judgmental assessment. "Well, I wouldn’t say that. There’s barely a man in this town who hasn’t appeared on my doorstep at one time or another. I can be useful, you see, and I’ve got money, which is very useful. My business ventures might be more palatable at this point in my life, but I‘m not looking for invitations to their functions. And I won‘t be contributing to their causes. I won’t pretend I agree with them, to be invited to the latest ball." Brent paused for a moment, and his expression changed from perturbation to amusement. "Besides, I can always force my way into something if I really want to." His smile frightened her more than his scowl had a few moments earlier.
"That’s all well and good, but I’m a part of that society you hate so much." "Yes, but you are imminently lovely." Brent sat his glass down, which he had been waving as he issued his harangue. "More than that, I find you a delightful challenge…men always love a challenge. You should always remember that, because there is nothing more grotesque than a woman simply falling into your arms." "I thought you found me interesting." "That’s what you really want isn’t it? Hasn’t anyone ever found you interesting? I’m not sure that I have succeeded, if you tell me that I simply hit upon the right word. What about my charms, my dear?" "You haven’t any." Brent rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. "That is rather harsh, don’t you think? Do you treat all of your beau in this manner? It’s no wonder that your dear friend Mrs. Emmett is married and you are not."
His comment cut to the bone. Lydia hoped tears would not start welling up in her eyes. She was always civil, she thought herself attractive enough, and yet no one had ever asked for her hand. Lydia could not even look at him, for fear that she would start to cry. Brent could see that she was wounded and regretted his teasing. "Fear not. If no one snatches you up in these four years, I will come to your rescue and marry you." His tone was teetering on the tender side, and he leaned forward to put his hand over her own. "Empty promises, since you‘ve vowed already to me that you‘ll never marry," she weakly laughed. "Anything to save your honor, my pet." "Do I need saving?" "Not so far,…not yet at least." He moved his hand from hers to below her elbow and looked into her eyes. "Of course, being a gentleman," he said sarcastically, "in the meantime I will be content to follow at your heels and do your every bidding." "You will have to satisfy yourself as thus, because I would never…" "Never say never, my dear." Her pulse was quickening. "I should probably go." "You won’t stay and let me order you your own drink?" "I don’t drink during the day," Lydia said smiling, and as she walked away, she could hear Brent laughing.
Chapter 7
Lydia did visit the Emmetts, and as was usually the custom, they spent most of their time discussing the Emmett‘s baby. Lydia complimented the child and nodded and exclaimed. She secretly wished that she also had a baby, although her mother carefully explained to her that there was time enough and that she should be glad that she did not have a child to distract her. Distract her from what?--she often wondered. Things that she did not find terribly amusing anymore? Even those things, which she did enjoy, she would not have to give up for long, should she have a child. No one stayed home with the baby, but the nurse. Lydia rationalized that it would not be as much trouble as her mother warned, and that it would be charming to have a little one to play with and show off to her friends.
Valerie felt entirely differently, however. "Lydia, how can you say you want a child?" "I don’t know. Lately, I’ve been thinking about it a lot, that’s all." "Think of all the time they take. Why you wouldn’t be able to go to a ball for almost a year!" "We all make sacrifices," she said plying her needle. "No, you still don’t understand. What about your figure? It would be ruined! I’m certainly not going to have children until I have to and the old maids’ tongues are wagging." "There is certainly nothing spectacular in my figure that I need to protect." "You are too modest, Lydia. You have the tiniest waist…and it would be just disastrous!" "It’s still not enough to keep me from wanting a child. Once I am married, my figure won’t matter anyhow." "That’s what many a woman has thought, but their men have different ideas." "Valerie!" "Well, it’s true. Besides, you’re not married, so none of this matters." Lydia looked up from her sewing, but Valerie was not looking at her, because she knew Lydia was bound to give her a not so friendly look. "Neither are you, Valerie, so I wouldn’t be so catty." Valerie chose to ignore her cousin‘s comment and change the subject.
"What were you doing yesterday?" "Me?" "Is there anyone else here?" "I went to lunch." "Without me?" "You weren’t invited." Valerie looked irritated: like most young people, she did not like being left out of amusement. "Humph. Who did you have lunch with?" "The Emmetts" "I don’t know them." Lydia put down her needlework and stood up. "Excuse me, I need some fresh air." "Are you all right?" "Yes." "Let me come with you." "No thank you, Valerie. You stay here, and when Madame comes back tell her where I’ve gone." Lydia was already out the door, when Valerie called after her, "where are you going?"
Lydia walked along the hallway of The Bell, heading for an outside exit. She looked down at the long oriental carpet runner she was treading on. When she reached the middle of the resort, she began looking at the nameplates on the doors. She had already passed the first exit, but she had become absorbed in watching the doors as she slowly passed them by. It was late morning, and people were bound to just be emerging. She came upon Brent’s door. The plate read Mr. Brent Howard. She stopped in front of it, unsure if she wanted to knock, knowing it would be incredibly inappropriate for her to visit him. She reached out impulsively to trace the plate with her finger. She leaned on the door and to her great shock, it creaked loudly; she stepped back, afraid to move one way or the other. Looking around, she found that no one was standing in the hallway as she had feared. ‘He’s probably out.’ But then, the door opened, and Lydia must have looked like a trapped animal. A maid peered around the door. "Who is it?" It was Brent’s deep voice, coming from behind the door. The girl opened the door wide, so that Brent could see. He smirked. "Miss Pierce, how good of you to come visit me. Let her in." "I was just passing by," Lydia whispered. "Of course you were." The maid shut the door behind Lydia, and Lydia looked about the room. It was the largest sitting room she had ever seen at The Bell. "I believe in comfort: don’t you?" She sat down. "Why don’t you come back later, Miss?" The maid curtseyed and backed out of the door.
"You didn’t need to do that, Brent." "No, I guess I didn’t, but I wanted to, which means I was bound and determined to do so." Lydia felt a little afraid and had an urge to bolt, but his eyes kept her seated. "May I ask what it is that you are doing here?" "Do you want me to go?" "Does it look like I do? I wouldn’t want to give that impression. This is quite an unexpected surprise, but I thought that maybe you had some reason…some good excuse that would save your tormented soul." "I didn’t intend on ending up here, if that’s what you mean. Besides, I don’t need an excuse." "Well then, I can see you that are in no mood for small talk. I shall have to begin. What do your friends talk about, when they visit your apartments? We must talk about something." "Their babies lately," her voice betrayed something, but Brent was not sure as to what it was. "And you dislike children? What a shame, you look very pretty with them." He smiled his mocking smile. "No! I really do love children, but…you wouldn’t understand, being a man, and you probably despise children on top of that." "I’m afraid you mistake me, Miss Pierce," his voice was icy. "Your mother should have taught you not to judge people on appearances."
He stood up, and walked over to the bar along the wall, where he pulled the stopper out of a claret of whisky and poured himself a glass. Lydia watched Brent with animal terror rising in her throat, wishing for her own sake that he was not pouring himself a glass of whisky. He turned around and stared at her while he tipped the glass back. "You look as if you’ve swallowed something rather sharp, my dear. Shouldn’t guests be more spirited?" Lydia could not make herself speak. Brent walked over to stand directly in front of the chair Lydia was sitting in, legs slightly apart, and it seemed to her that he towered above her.
Without warning she began to cry, big noisy tears that she could not stop. Brent kneeled down to be on the same level as her. Pulling out his handkerchief, he began to dab at her tears and nose. "What did you think I was going to do, Lydia? Strike you? Don’t be silly; there’s a good girl, dry your tears." He stroked her lustrous locks. "I would never hurt you, darling." "You frighten me," she whispered, partially choking on her tears. He remained silent for what seemed like a lifetime to Lydia. "Then perhaps you had better go," he said quietly before standing up. Lydia stood up, feeling very strangely about the tender way he had just treated her. There was no artifice about Lydia, she was totally innocent, and whatever she did, she did from the heart; she often assumed that other people were similarly motivated.
Before he walked away she stepped very close to him, so that her body was touching his chest. He looked down at her with wonderment, but did not move. She looked up at him, and hesitantly he bent his head to meet her lips. Brent’s arms went tightly about her waist and he bent her back slightly. Lydia had never been kissed, and if one of her beau’s had ever kissed her beneath her parasol in some corner of a park, they would have never kissed her so passionately. She was quite out of breath when he let go. He took a hold of the top of the chair. Lydia noticed that he was breathing heavily as well. "I think that’s enough for today, my dear." "Brent?" "I think you should go, darling, really." She leaned over towards him and kissed his cheek, and he reached up to gently touch her face. "Goodbye Brent," she whispered and hurried to the door.
