Page 9 of The Truth about the Duke (Whispers of the Ton #5)

Chapter Eight

“ I do not know what to do!”

Sophie held up one hand as Lydia paced up and down in the drawing room. “You first must calm yourself.”

“Calm myself? I cannot!” Throwing up her hands, Lydia shook her head, her breathing growing faster as she tried to fight the panic in her chest. “The Duke of Melrose is going to write to The London Chronicle to demand an address for the author of that piece and they will give it to him!”

“They will not.” Sophie smiled gently as Lydia turned to face her friend, the calm expression on her face doing nothing to quieten Lydia’s frayed nerves. “What name did you give to the Chronicle?”

Lydia swallowed. “Mr. Adam Smith.”

This made Sophie’s smile grow. “A very plain name, I must say.” She patted the seat beside her to encourage Lydia to join her but Lydia did not, feeling everything in her burning with fear and fright. “You made it quite clear in your letter that you had to be protected and The London Chronicle will do that. They have done it in the past and they shall do it again.”

“How can you be sure?”

Sophie smiled gently. “Because I am friends with another young lady who, at one time, did the very same thing as you, albeit in a different form. The London Chronicle did not reveal her name to anyone. Besides which, The London Chronicle has ladies guiding its publication and the like and they know very well what might occur should they give out your name to anyone who asks, even though you have asked to be known as Adam Smith! They will not do it, not even for a Duke. I can assure you of that.”

A slow winding relief began to pull at Lydia’s overwhelming concerns, beginning to settle within her as she nodded slowly, her eyes closing for a moment as she fought to find a steadiness within herself.

“You need not worry in that regard,” her friend assured her again. “Come now, sit down and tell me what your thoughts are.”

Feeling a little fatigued now, Lydia did as she was bade and went to sit beside her friend, only for a cup of tea to be pushed into her hands. Taking a sip, she closed her eyes and tried to regain a hold of her thoughts.

“When I saw the Duke’s reaction to my article, I was utterly overcome with confusion and fright,” she began, remembering how the Duke had stormed up and down the library, flinging his arms up as he spoke. “Not for one moment did I ever think that he was unaware of this story!”

“Where did you find it?”

“In the library,” Lydia admitted. “There is a section where papers, old bets and, to be truthful, nothing but gossip from years past is still kept securely. I am not one for gossip and rumour but I did think that such a story might be interesting enough for the article. It did not have scandal and shame attached to it, for such a thing would never do!”

“Indeed not.” Sophie took a sip of her tea and then set the cup down. “I must say, I personally thought that the article was written very well indeed. I did not know anything of what you wrote.”

Lydia smiled ruefully. “I thank you.”

“And are you going to continue writing?”

Closing her eyes, Lydia considered for a few moments. “I had thought to, before the Duke reacted as he did. I was wondering if I could find any history from St Albans, for there are many distinguished families from that area which is why I was in the library last evening in the first place! It was very well stocked and I could not help myself, especially when I had been able to escape from my mother’s watchful eye for a time!”

“Indeed.” Sophie chuckled gently. “I would have expected nothing less from you. Though,” she continued, her smile fading, “if I might be able to offer you some advice, might I suggest that it is imperative that you continue to write?”

Blinking in surprise, Lydia frowned. “Imperative?”

“Else the Duke might think that you chosen him for a purpose,” her friend replied. “He might believe that the article was written solely for that story about the missing heirlooms, that it was written by the very person who took them – or lost them – or some such thing, to injure him.”

A gasp caught in Lydia’s throat as she saw what her friend meant. “You are quite right. I cannot do such a thing as that!”

“No, you cannot.”

“Then I must write,” Lydia agreed, nodding to herself as she reached for her tea again. “My study must continue.”

“Yes, it must.” Sophie reached out and pressed Lydia’s hand. “And you must not fear the Duke of Melrose. He will not discover your name.”

Lydia nodded slowly, though her heart ached as she recalled just how troubled the Duke had appeared when he had been in the library. There had been frustration, upset, anger, and sorrow in him - she had seen all of them in his expression, his manner, and his voice. Did she not owe him the truth of how she had found that article in the first place? It had been an honest mistake on her part, yes, but that did not mean that she could not seek to make amends in some way.

Could I do it without revealing that I am the one who wrote the article?

Frowning, she set her tea cup down and rubbed between her eyebrows, thinking hard. The Duke already knew that she was a bluestocking, given that she had told him directly, so could she not simply state that she had found the story during her reading and study? That it had simply been an accidental find? Biting her lip, Lydia let out a breath of frustration, uncertain as to whether or not the Duke would believe her.

But I feel as though I must do something, she thought to herself, fully aware of her friend’s scrutinizing expression though Lydia herself remained silent, choosing not to share her thoughts with Sophie. Even if it is to relieve my own upset.

“Are you going to tell me what you are thinking?”

Lydia smiled briefly at her Sophie, then shook her head. “Not as yet. But I think I shall take your advice and continue with my next article.” So saying, she gestured to the door. “Might you wish to take a turn through London with me? My mother knows that I am here with you and she will not know if we were to step out.”

“Step out to one of the bookshops or libraries, mayhap?” Sophie chuckled as Lydia nodded. “I should be glad to. Was it St Albans you were looking at?”

In answer to her friend’s question, Lydia rose to her feet. “Indeed.”

“Then I shall be glad to aid you in your search for information so you might write your next article.” Coming to stand beside Lydia, Sophie embraced her tightly for a moment. “Set your concern aside. The matter with the Duke is over and done with already!”

Keeping her smile fixed, Lydia nodded though her thoughts went in an entirely different direction.

And yet, I feel as though matters with the Duke have only just begun.

“There now. Is that not better?”

Lydia chuckled as she looked around what was one of the largest bookshops in all of London. Hatchards, with its many floors and a plethora of all manner of books and more, made her heart squeeze with delight. She had been here many times before and it never failed to take her breath away when she stepped inside. Sophie felt the same, she knew, and that had clearly been her sole reason for bringing her here. “We can hide away here for many an hour, I am sure.”

“Indeed we can! Though your mother will require you home soon enough, will she not?”

Lydia considered, shrugging lightly. “I have an hour, mayhap. That should be more than enough time to find a history of St Albans.”

Sophie smiled. “Then shall we begin?”

Approaching one of the curved staircases, Lydia began her climb, a thrill of joy racing up her spine as she moved to the next floor. This bookshop held all manner of delights for her, delights which she could not fully express though she knew that Sophie understood it all. Her joy faded a little as she considered her parents, wishing that they too might have understood even a modicum of her happiness in being surrounded by so many books and so much knowledge but she knew that would never happen.

Her lips twisted as she moved to the left of the stairs, ready to begin her search. Her love of learning had brought her nothing but contentment thus far but now, seeing what it had done to the Duke of Melrose, that gave her pause. She would have to be a good deal more careful now in what she wrote.

Looking at one shelf and then another, Lydia picked up her first book and soon, she was lost in what she was reading. The history of St Albans was fascinating enough, but there were mentions made of families in the area, of the chalk river that ran through it as well as the population increase – or in some years, a decrease. She began to wonder why that might have been, considering the land and the fields and debating inwardly whether there had been good rain some years and too much the next!

“Lady Lydia?”

Turning, Lydia caught her breath as the Duke of Melrose inclined his head to her, though his gaze never left hers. “Your Grace. I – I hope that you are well?” Her breathing suddenly became shallow as the Duke’s gaze went to the book in her hand, making her snap it closed and hold it tightly to herself, fearful that he would see the title of it and, once the article was written, make the connection to her.

“I am better than I was yesterday, that much is true.” The Duke managed a small smile, though he looked away from her as he spoke. “I have come in search of books that will help me find out the truth about my heirlooms, though whether or not I am looking in the right place, I do not know.”

Lydia’s eyebrows lifted. “You do not know where to look, then?”

The Duke’s lips flattened, a flash of some unexplained emotion in his eyes. “I am not a gentleman used to bookshops and the like. Nor am I particularly inclined towards studying or seeking out specific information.”

“I can help you if you wish.” Lydia closed her eyes briefly the very moment she spoke, wondering why she had said such a foolish thing. It was not something she wanted to do, was it? Or was it only that her own inner upset and perhaps a twinge of guilt made her want to do something to bring him – and herself – a little peace?

The Duke frowned. “Lady Lydia, I am well aware of your… bluestocking ways and I do not think it in the least bit proper. It would not serve me well to have a lady such as yourself assist me in this.”

Any hint of guilt washed away in a single moment as fire burst in her heart, her face flaming hot. “I beg your pardon?” She took a step closer to him, her eyes narrowing just a fraction as she fought to keep her voice low and steady. “Your Grace, you may consider it improper for a lady to be a bluestocking but that is nothing but your own prejudice. Tell me, what is so dreadfully wrong for a lady to be learned? What possible trouble could there be for a young lady to be knowledgeable and wise – two characteristics that you desire for yourself, no doubt? Why protestation will you make against a lady who wants only to learn about the world she lives in and all the wonderful things there are within it?”

At this, the Duke of Melrose lifted his chin, set his shoulders back, and opened his mouth… only to snap it closed again as a heavy frown settled across his forehead, dropping his eyebrows low over his eyes. The next moment, he ran one hand over his chin, looking away from her as his shoulders dropped and a sense of triumph began to climb over Lydia. She let the edge of her mouth lift up, the anger within her quickly fading away as she saw the Duke struggle to find his answer. He could not give her one, it seemed, and that sent a thrill right through her.

“I do not think it is something that a young lady needs to do,” was all he said, though that did not seem to satisfy him – and certainly did not satisfy Lydia either! “Though I cannot give you a particular reason as to why that might be. Not as yet, anyway.” This was added with a severity in his voice, as though he would find a reason and would tell her of it just as soon as he could, though that in itself made Lydia laugh. This made the Duke’s eyebrows lift. “You think to mock me?”

Lydia shook her head. “No, not in the least, Your Grace, though I do find it quite remarkable that a gentleman with such a set opinion cannot find a reason for his belief. That is a little strange, is it not?”

The Duke’s lips pulled to one side and he looked away. A long moment of silence passed before, finally, he conceded. “Yes, I suppose it is. And it is not the first time that I have been challenged to consider my own actions and standings.” His chin lifted again as his hazel eyes swirled with thoughts, looking back into her face. “I am not too proud a gentleman to say that I shall never give a single consideration to all that I think and say, Lady Lydia. So, in that regard, I accept your offer to assist me in my search.”

That took the smile from Lydia’s face in an instant, her triumph evaporating. She had not thought that the Duke would turn around and say such a thing, had believed that he would be quite determined to cling to his idea that a bluestocking ought not to even be in his company! Now, however, she was stuck in this place where she had offered her help and could not now take that away from him.

“Lady Lydia?”

She licked her lips. “Yes, Your Grace. Of course.” There was nothing else for her to say, nothing whereby she could refuse or take back her offer of assistance. “I would be glad to help you find the truth if you desire it.”

He nodded, looking away from her again. “All I want to know is if this story is true and to do that, I must know where it came from. I have written to my mother to find out what she knows and also to The London Chronicle, though their answer came back to me very quickly indeed.”

“Oh?” Lydia’s voice grew higher in pitch as she waited for the Duke to explain, her own heart pounding furiously as nodded, noting the slight frown on his forehead. Would he not have already stated that he knew very well that she was the one responsible if he had come into that knowledge already?

“They would not say anything more to me.” The frown on the Duke’s forehead deepened. “It was most frustrating. They stated that the article came from a Mr. Adam Smith which is clear – to me, at least – that it is not the true name of the author!” He snorted. “No doubt some gentleman is hiding himself away from the ton for fear that some – such as I, mayhap – will turn against him because of his writings. There is certainly a flair to the writing, however.” A wry smile touched his lips. “It was very well written, I shall admit, with excellent knowledge of the area and the like. I can admit that without stating that I was pleased by what was said about the heirlooms.”

Lydia swallowed tightly, wondering if she ought to confess the truth, right then and there. It went against everything she felt within, her mind kicking against the idea as though to shatter it. She dragged in air as the Duke’s gaze steadied on hers, not at all certain what his reaction would be if she told him the truth. Would he step back from her, horrified? Or would he be angry with her?

And yet, the desire to be honest grew all the same. What good would it be to hide it from him? It was clear that this gentleman was in a good deal of distress and, given that he had now said he would now accept her offer of aid, could she really push herself deeper into deception? She would have to pretend that she had found the story of the heirlooms instead of knowing precisely where it was, and that would be nothing short of placing lie upon lie. Would telling him the truth be worse than that? She did not want to lie, did not want to be dishonest but yet, at this present juncture, it did seem like the safest thing to do.

I cannot hide this from him. Her mind steadied on one single thought and she let out her breath slowly, recognizing that, if she told him here, he would not be able to explode in temper given their present situation.

“You have accepted my offer of help,” she said, aware that her voice was shaking, “and while I am still willing to offer it, there is something more than I must tell you.”

“Oh?” With a lift of his eyebrow, the Duke took a step closer and suddenly, Lydia could not even think about breathing. She could not look away from him, could not even think what she was going to say to him. Was it fear that coursed through her now? Or something more?

“Lady Lydia?” For the first time, the Duke’s tone gentled as he moved a little away from her again, perhaps seeing how his presence had affected her. “I do not mean to push you, forgive me.”

She shook her head, closing her eyes as she swallowed at the knot in her throat. “It is quite all right,” she rasped, a little hoarsely. “It is only to say that I know where I can find the story about the heirlooms.” Opening her eyes, she saw the shock flare in his eyes, his whole body starting in surprise at her words. “I can take you to it.”

For some moments, nothing was said between them. The Duke appeared to be frozen in place, his eyes wide and staring as she pressed her lips tightly together in an attempt to keep the slight tremble in her frame at bay.

“The story?” With a sudden quickness, the Duke of Melrose came closer to her, his hand going to hers and grasping it tightly, making her shudder with fright as the awareness of what she had to say burned in her chest. “How can you find it? I do not understand.”

Now I must tell him the truth.

It would do her no good to hide it, Lydia realized, for if she was to help him then she would have to tell him this regardless and to go on in their connection, to strengthen it only to then break it apart with the truth of what she had done would only bring disaster.

“I know because… ” Shuddering visibly, she kept her gaze away from him. “I know because I am Adam Smith.”