“I must apologize for my sister’s behavior, Mr. Sedgewick,” Lydia offered, looking up at Sedgewick through her eyelashes.
“Think nothing of it, Miss Smithfield. Your sister’s behavior could never influence my respect and esteem for you,” Mr. Sedgewick replied formally.
“Thank you, sir. The knowledge that you respect and esteem me is more comforting than you can ever know.” She was the picture of despair, her head bowed, her eyes downcast. She could not help but raise them for one quick peek at Sedgewick, to see what effect her pose was having on him.
It was having all the effect she could have desired. “My dear Miss Smithfield, it pains me deeply to see you in such distress. I would do anything to alleviate your sorrow,” Sedgewick told her, crossing the room to sit beside her on the settee.
“Alas,” Lydia said, raising her eyes at last to his, “I fear there is nothing that can be done.”
“But, please, tell me, what has caused you such distress?”
“Mr. Sedgewick, I do not think you can be entirely unaware of the plans my mother has conceived for me.”
“No, Miss Smithfield, I am not ignorant of them.” Sedgewick said. “She intends for you to marry, I believe.”
“She does, indeed, sir. To a gentleman with whom I am not even acquainted.” She looked up again, tears forming in her big blue eyes. “I must admit I have no desire for this marriage to take place. Yet I do not want to be disobedient to my mother’s wishes.”
“Of course you do not. I have often admired your strength of character, your moral integrity and virtue. You do not esteem lightly the dictates of family and conscience. It is your sense of duty and moral rectitude that makes you so appealing to one, such as I, who regards a woman’s character more than her outward appearance.”
If Lydia found this compliment lacking in any way, it was not apparent. She blushed fiercely, but still managed to smile at the young gentleman who, whatever he might say to the contrary, was regarding her outward appearance with every semblance of delight. The slight smile gave Sedgewick the courage to reach for her hand. “Miss Smithfield, I have no right to speak what is in my heart.” Lydia did not know how to react to this promising statement, so she only nodded, and did not try to remove her hand from his grasp. “So I will not,” Sedgewick continued. Lydia tried her best to conceal her disappointment. “Neither can I encourage a daughter to act in opposition to her mother’s wishes.” At this speech, Lydia removed her hand. “However, although I do not counsel you to oppose your mother, I think it only right that you should be honest with her as to your feelings.”
“What do you think I should do?” Lydia asked.
“It is not my place to tell you what to do.”
Lydia masterfully concealed her impatience at this remark, and Sedgewick continued. “But it is my feeling that a loving mother, such as I am convinced Lady Smithfield is, would be desirous of knowing your true feelings regarding the proposed match. And, as a loving mother, she could hardly force you into a position that you would find repugnant.”
This was not the answer Lydia wanted, and it seemed a shame that a scene that had such a promising beginning had gone so awry. “But, as you know, it is the desire of every mother to see her daughter successfully wed. She may not agree to the dissolution of her previous plan if it is unlikely that I will marry anyone else.” Modesty forbade Lydia from making her point any clearer.
Sedgewick reached for her hand again. “Miss Smithfield, such a prospect is entirely unlikely, even absurd. Your mother will realize that there are many gentlemen who would count it a great honor indeed to marry her beautiful daughter. No, I am convinced that if you are honest with your mother about your feelings, you will prevail.”
Lydia nodded in response, but wondered why, if so many gentlemen would count it an honor to marry her, the dolt sitting beside her would not make a positive effort in that direction.
Emily and Alexander entertained sentiments similar to Lydia’s when they returned to the vicarage to find Lydia and Sedgewick sipping tea with expressions of noble resignation on their faces and in no greater charity with each other than they were before they had been left alone. It then began to occur to Emily that Sedgewick was as fond of melodrama as her sister. Emily believed that he harbored genuine feelings for Lydia, and Alexander had confirmed that belief, so his hesitance in declaring himself did not seem to spring from lack of affection. Indeed, Emily had observed him closely over tea, and his eyes appeared to follow Lydia’s every move, in such a way as to confirm his regard. Yet, when it would become obvious to him that he was regarding Lydia tenderly, his entire countenance would change, and he would steadfastly refuse to peer in Lydia’s direction for an extended time, until once again his feelings would overcome his resolution, and he would begin peeping in her direction once again.
Lydia herself added nothing to the occasion, as she had resumed her tragic role and was playing it to the hilt, with frequent glances in Sedgewick’s direction to see how he responded to the airs she had assumed. Emily and Alexander watched the two of them with much amusement, but then became so involved in their own conversation that they were able to forget that Lydia and Sedgewick were present, for the most part. Emily was doing her best to forget a great many things; that Alexander was a penniless curate, for one, and that she had just allowed a gentleman whom she had no intention of marrying and suspected of being a highwayman to embrace her in a graveyard, of all places. She resolutely put those thoughts from her mind and determined to enjoy this one last glorious afternoon in his company, and even Lydia’s sighs and Sedgewick’s disapproving glances could not weigh on her high spirits, which had an almost frenzied quality about them.
Alexander himself could not remember ever having spent a more glorious afternoon, and resolved to put an end to this charade by declaring himself at the earliest opportunity, unaware of the doubts that plagued his beloved.
It was with regret that Emily announced that they must return home. Lydia was by this time in such a morose state that she was barely cognizant of her surroundings. She awoke to them with a start, agreeing that their visit had been much too long and that their mother would be concerned about them if they did not return with all possible haste.
Lydia was correct in her assumption that their mother was concerned about them. However, it was not fears for her daughters’ safety that troubled Lady Smithfield. She was highly disturbed that her two girls had spent an entire afternoon, most of the day, really, in company with a vicar and a curate, when a highly eligible marquess lay languishing in his chamber. Although not the most observant of women, generally speaking, she had noted Lydia’s lack of enthusiasm for Lord Wesleigh’s company and was dismayed by what she had observed. Her previous conjectures about the match had been as romantic as Emily’s. Lydia and Lord Wesleigh were to fit into their parents’ plans for them by falling in love at their first meeting. After all, a rich young lord was the embodiment of a girl’s dreams. How could he be other than handsome and charming?
She had been a little stymied by the actual appearance of Lord Wesleigh, but only for a moment. He was given a little too much to matters of dress, but while Lydia and Emily saw a fop, Lady Smithfield, in all her romanticism, saw a man quite distinguished by his attire, one who would always stand out in a crowd, a peacock among vultures. His being ill, too, while at first thought of as an impediment to the progress of his relationship with Lydia, was soon romanticized as well. In many cases love was kindled by sympathy, and Lydia, in particular, was the most sympathetic of young ladies. She could not help but commiserate with Lord Wesleigh in his sickness, and such a tender feeling was bound to lead to one even more tender. And, with Lord Wesleigh confined to his chamber, he and Lydia had the opportunity of spending hours in close association, quite removed from any other society.