Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
Lydia
T he carriage rolled to a halt in front of Hayward House, its facade as imposing and cold as Lydia had imagined. It was a magnificent estate, to be sure—its pristine symmetry and painstakingly trimmed gardens spoke to wealth and care. Yet, to her, it exuded a strange lifelessness. It was too perfect, too controlled, with no room for spontaneity, and certainly none for the innocent frolic of a child. The thought saddened her.
When they descended from the carriage – during which she made sure not to take her new husband’s outstretched hand—Lydia noticed a small figure waiting near the stone steps. The boy’s dark curls bobbed in the breeze, his wide blue eyes catching the sunlight as he looked between them with cautious excitement.
Eamonn.
Her heart softened immediately, but Alexander stiffened beside her, his shoulders drawn back in a way that seemed almost... defensive. He inclined his head toward the child but made no move to embrace him.
“Eamonn,” Alexander said in a voice far too formal for addressing a boy of five. “Why are you not indoors? I believe you were instructed to remain within until summoned. Do you not have reading to do?”
The child’s face fell slightly, though he kept his gaze steady. “Miss Murphy said I might greet the new duchess,” he replied, his Irish lilt adding a musical note to his explanation.
Alexander’s frown deepened. “Miss Murphy should have known better. This is not the place for such liberties.”
Before the boy could shrink any further beneath his guardian’s disapproval, Lydia stepped forward, her heart twinging at the sight of his small, nervous figure.
“Your Grace,” she said, casting Alexander a sideways glance, her tone light yet pointed, “perhaps an exception can be made on so unusual an occasion.”
Without awaiting his consent, Lydia crouched to Eamonn’s level, her skirts pooling gracefully around her. She extended a gloved hand toward him, her expression warm and inviting. “Hello, Eamonn. I am Lydia. Perhaps you remember me from the park? We played Pall Mall a few weeks ago.”
“I do,” he replied in a shy tone.
“Well, very good, because I most certainly remember you. I am ever so delighted to meet you again.”
The boy blinked, his wide eyes flickering with uncertainty as he studied her. “Delighted?” he repeated softly, as though testing the word.
“Indeed.” Lydia smiled, her voice gentle and steady. “I have heard so much about you. I suspect you are very clever, and perhaps very brave, too? You certainly were at the park when we played.”
The smallest hint of a smile tugged at his lips, though he did not yet speak. Encouraged, Lydia rested her hand lightly over his smaller one. “I hope we shall have many adventures together, you and I,” she continued. “Tell me, do you enjoy games?”
The smile widened, albeit shyly. “Aye,” he murmured, ducking his head.
“Well then, we shall have much to plan,” she said brightly, giving his hand a little pat before releasing it.
The moment was interrupted by the sound of footsteps as a sharp-faced woman in serviceable attire approached them, her demeanor efficient yet harried. She curtsied swiftly to Alexander before placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“My apologies, Your Grace,” the governess said. “Master Eamonn was most insistent on coming outside.”
Alexander waved a hand dismissively. “He told us you allowed it.” He looked at the boy, then at the governess who could not meet his eye. “See that it does not happen again, Miss Murphy,” he said curtly, though his gaze lingered on the boy, unreadable.
Miss Murphy dipped her head, her grip on Eamonn’s shoulder firm as she led him toward the house. Before they disappeared through the door, the boy glanced back, his blue eyes meeting Lydia’s. She gave him a small wave and was rewarded with a fleeting grin.
Alexander cleared his throat, drawing her attention. “You’ve a way with him,” he said quietly, his tone unexpectedly neutral. “Though I imagine indulging him won’t do him any favors.”
Lydia straightened, brushing imaginary dust from her gloves, and fixed him with a level look. “He is five, Your Grace,” she replied evenly. “He need not always behave as though he were fifty.”
Alexander’s mouth twitched, though whether in amusement or irritation, she could not tell. With a faint shake of his head, he gestured toward the house.
“Shall we?”
As Lydia followed him inside, Eamonn’s forlorn little face filled her thoughts It seemed the child’s world was as meticulously cold and confined as the estate itself—a reflection of the Duke of Leith’s philosophy, no doubt.
For Eamonn’s sake, she resolved, there must be change. Whatever else this union might become, she would not allow the boy’s childhood to be suffocated by such austerity.
As Lydia stepped into Hayward House, the first thing she noticed was the artwork—an abundance of it. Portraits of stoic figures adorned nearly every available wall space, each rendered in painstaking detail. Landscapes in heavy gilded frames filled the gaps, their serene imagery a sharp contrast to the oppressive atmosphere. Fine vases and sculptures were displayed on various pedestals, as though daring a careless hand to come too close. Crystal sconces and elaborate chandeliers sparkled faintly in the dim light filtering through tall windows.
Its grandeur didn’t invite, it admonished. Lydia couldn’t help but compare it to her own childhood home, which, for all its austerity under her father’s rule, still felt more suited for the chaos of a large family than this museum of restraint.
As Alexander guided her further into the space, he finally broke the silence. “I trust Hayward House meets with your approval?”
Lydia clasped her hands before her, the layers of her gown rustling faintly as she turned her head to survey the room. “It is… curated,” she said after a pause, her gaze resting on a porcelain figurine perched precariously on a narrow console. “Yet, it does not strike me as welcoming. Particularly for a young child.”
Alexander frowned slightly. “I see no fault with it. Eamonn is a good boy. He will not disturb anything—he knows better.”
Lydia spun toward him, her expression tight with disapproval. “Your Grace, he is a child . Not an officer cadet to be whipped into line at the slightest infraction. He should be allowed to climb, to play, to stumble now and again without fear of damaging your fine decor.”
Alexander’s eyes darkened, though his posture remained calm. “Great care went into making this space my own rather than my father’s. And besides, children need boundaries, Lydia. Discipline shapes their character and ensures their safety.”
She stepped closer, tilting her chin as she held his gaze. “Forgive me, I was unaware you had such experience when it comes to raising children.” She blinked at him and saw him realize the error of his words. “Discipline without tenderness hardens the heart,” she continued. “Is that what you want for him? A joyless, rigid existence?”
“I admit, I did not design the space with Eamonn’s needs in mind. It serves its purpose.”
“That purpose being to intimidate any who enter it?” Lydia challenged lightly, lifting an eyebrow.
Alexander allowed a slight smirk to tug at his lips, though his eyes remained cool. “If I were attempting to intimidate you, Lydia, I would hardly be subtle.”
The exchange ended abruptly as he gestured toward the grand staircase. “Your chambers are on the east wing. We’ll find the housekeeper to see you settled.”
They ascended the sweeping staircase in silence, the heels of their shoes echoing faintly against the polished wood. At the landing, Alexander turned to her with a neutral expression. “As for the matter of arrangements, I presumed you’d prefer your privacy. We will not be sharing a bedroom.”
Relief swept through Lydia, and she met his gaze with unflinching honesty. “I am quite glad to hear it,” she said firmly.
Alexander took a deliberate step closer, his dark eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Unless, of course,” he said, his voice lowering, “you want to.”
Was he jesting? The anger she’d felt in the carriage rose once more. Now he was trying to intimidate her with this? Or did he think himself amusing? Well, she certain did not find him either entertaining or amusing.
Her breath caught, but she refused to falter. Their eyes locked, and for an instant, the air between them thrummed with tension. The heat from his proximity was palpable, almost daring her to flinch. She did not.
Instead, she lifted her chin defiantly. “I prefer to be alone, Your Grace,” she replied coolly.
His lips curved faintly, more in amusement than affront, before he stepped back and inclined his head. “As you wish.”