Spare Brides Read Online Free PDF Page B

bring an heir to the nursery? None at all. She loved and respected her husband in the appropriate way. He was a decent, well-mannered, intelligent man, but he had never set her on fire. She had never expected him to. It was a good match. It had turned out to be a glittering one in terms of prestige and wealth, titles, all that, but it was an appalling one if she did not produce a baby. A failure. What would they do? What would they talk about as they aged, if there weren’t children and grandchildren? She did not want to be remembered as the woman who brought a three-hundred-year dynasty to a grinding halt.

5
    L YDIA AND LAWRENCE stayed at the ball until one in the morning, a better show than Sarah and Beatrice, who had both left just after eleven, but pathetic in comparison to Ava, who would still be partying when the kitchen maids started to light the fires for the New Year’s Day breakfast of bacon and eggs.
    ‘Is Ava quite all right?’ Lawrence asked. He stood by as the butler held his wife’s mink wide, waiting for her to shrug her way into its softness.
    ‘She’s fabulous.’ They headed to their car and sat still while another two manservants placed large tartan blankets over their legs. The temperature had dropped below zero and the drive home would take an hour. Lydia was beginning to wish she’d agreed to stay for the weekend after all. She had been tempted, because it was so convenient, only she wasn’t keen on party aftermaths. The morning after always seemed so horribly real in comparison to the glamour of the night before; the men smelt and the women regretted. Everyone had a headache. It wasn’t pretty.
    ‘Who is taking care of her?’
    Lydia smiled. ‘I think she rather takes care of herself.’
    ‘You know what I mean. Who is she with?’ Lawrence wasn’t reassured.
    ‘A whole gang, as usual. Freddie, Johnnie and Doug.’ There seemed to only ever be a handful of men at these parties, but however many or few attended, they were guaranteed to be found clustered around Ava.
    ‘Are they sober?’
    ‘Absolutely not. But they are game and they’d rather die than leave her side. I don’t think we need to worry. She’s not travelling home tonight. She’s staying for the hunt on Monday.’ Lydia was usually thrilled with her husband’s caring attitude towards her friends, but she wished he’d just give the driver the nod; it was late and she was tired. No, more than that: she was bone-sore weary, the way she so often was in company nowadays. She didn’t know how to explain her mood, even to herself, so she simply struggled to disguise it. Harder when it was deathly cold and her feet were blistering.
    ‘I really don’t know how they do it,’ commented Lawrence.
    ‘Do what?’
    ‘Stay up so late.’
    Lydia decided not to mention the cocaine; her husband wouldn’t approve. The fact of the matter was that many had turned to alcohol or drugs since the Great War to numb pain or as a means of escape.
    The combination of five glasses of champagne, the rattling windows and the rumbling of the wheels fought against the freezing air and won. Lydia was rapidly lulled to sleep, only waking as they pulled up at Dartford Hall. Grateful to have lost the icy hour inside the fusty car, she stumbled out into the pitch-black night. The butler and a footman had, as ever, been on the lookout, and as they spotted the car approach they came outside to assist, their breath and impatience just visible against the night’s blackness. Lydia shivered for them; they were only wearing waistcoats and jackets, as coats would have been improper.
    ‘Happy new year, Jenkins,’ she murmured sleepily.
    ‘Happy new year, my lady. Can I give Cook any instruction as to what time breakfast ought to be served tomorrow?’
    ‘Midday. I’m so tired. I need a glass of water.’
    ‘Dickenson is up, my lady. She’ll attend to everything.’
    ‘Excellent. Good night.’ Lydia nodded to the footman but didn’t wish him a happy