Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
Lydia
L ydia walked beside Louisa along Hyde Park's winding Serpentine River. The air was warm but not as oppressive as it had been over the last few weeks. It was almost pleasant. Still, she could not find pleasure in this walk. It had been two days since she and her new husband had had their dreadful argument. They hadn’t spoken since. In fact, she hadn’t seen him since. Was her plan already working?
“Lydia?” Louisa called beside her, drawing her from her thoughts. Their younger sisters were already playing on the nearby lawn, giggling as they attempted to knock the pall mall ball in the correct direction. Cressida was there too, giggling with a tiny version of a mallet. Even Eammon was there. Lydia had to take charge of the child, despite her argument with Alexander. After all, someone had to and she couldn’t deny that she’d already grown fond of the child, even in the short time she’d known him.
He was kind, sweet natured and had a good sense of humor, especially when considering his circumstances. Thus, she’d taken over his daily schedule, arranged with Miss Murphy who had then presented the changes to Alexander. She had expected Alexander to interfere with that, given he seemed to believe she was raising a wild animal rather than a little boy, but he hadn’t. She wasn’t certain why. Perhaps her words had stirred something within him?
“It is so good to see you, but you have been lost in your thoughts this entire time,” Louisa said.
“Not the entire time,” Lydia replied. “I spent the first half hour telling you all about the estate and drilling the little ones.”
“But since we started this walk, your thoughts have been elsewhere. I asked you about Alexander. I feel as though I know everything about Hayward—about the gardens, the house, the library, and the servants—but I know nothing about your husband.”
“He is dreadful,” Lydia said, “just as I thought. He treats the little boy as though he were a grown gentleman shrunk down into a five-year-old’s body. He expects him to learn about history, languages, and Greek mythology.”
“At his age?” Louisa said with a chuckle. “Haven’t his sisters told him that that’s not appropriate? They have children already, don’t they?”
“I believe the older ones do. Arabella and Hannah. But they are in the country. I am to have tea with his older sister, Emma, next week before she sets out to… I cannot recall, France or Spain or India—or the moon…”
“The moon?” Louisa said, chuckling. “Well, if she’s going there, she’d certainly never come back. But from what I’ve heard, he doesn’t have any experience with children, so it makes sense that he wouldn’t know what to do with the poor boy.”
“Please do not defend him,” Lydia sniffed. “He is outrageous. He scolded me like a prison warden because I allowed the little boy to throw rocks into a puddle. He got a little dirty, and so did I, and you would’ve thought we were about to have an audience with the queen!”
“And I’m sure you ran a right peal over his head for daring to speak out in such a manner.”
Lydia grinned. “Yes. One could say that.” She hesitated, something that did not go unnoticed by her sister.
“Lydia, what did you do?”
She clicked her tongue. “He set my bristles up rather severely, and so I said some things I perhaps should not have.”
“Such as?” Louisa asked, tilting her head to one side as the sound of the children playing drifted toward them.
“I might have told him that he abandoned his sisters when they were young children, and therefore has no idea how to raise a young child. It is true,” she said, with emphasis.
“Oh, Lydia, what an unkind thing to do, and so unlike you. Why would you do such a thing?”
“He was horrible to me. He forced me out of my home and into his for the sole purpose of raising a child he has no interest in. Why should I be kind to him?” she barked back. But the truth was, she knew Louisa was right. She hadn’t any right to say such a cruel thing to him. She had seen the way he flinched for just one second, as though she’d landed a blow directly to his heart. No, she shouldn’t have said it. And if her mother were alive, she would be gravely disappointed in her.
“You ought to apologise,” Louisa said but Lydia rounded on her at once.
“No, I shall not.”
Apologies? No. She couldn’t. Her pride would not allow that. In any case, her goal was to ensure he regretted their marriage, and what better way to make him regret their marriage than by saying something truly awful to him? Something that truly hurt him?
“But it was very unkind,” Louisa insisted. Her sweet natured sisters words cut deep, there was no denying it. Still, her resolve stood firm.
“Well,” she said, squaring her shoulders as she looked at her sister. “It might not have been kind, but it works to my advantage. I want him to regret making me marry him. I want him to long for the end of this charade. And if he hates me in the process, then so be it.”
“You’re not the sort of girl who wants anyone to hate her. I know you. Do not let him make you bitter.”
Was she allowing him to make her bitter? She couldn’t deny it. It was true. She hadn’t felt such deep resentment for anybody in a very long time. Yes, she had been cruel to him, but at the same time, he had caused this. He had made her feel this way. He was making her bitter, and for that, her resentment for him grew even stronger.
“I will not apologize,” she told her sister again, who shook her head in disappointment. Lydia didn’t like disappointing Louisa or any of her sisters, but it couldn’t be helped. “Now, let us not waste any more time talking about that man. Let us enjoy the day, for who knows when we will all be able to be together again?”
My father is bitter. My unwanted husband is bitter. Do I truly wish to imitate them?
That afternoon, Lydia and Eammon returned home thoroughly fatigued, yet buoyed by the enjoyment of the day. Eammon had delighted in the attention lavished upon him by Maggie and Elizabeth, who doted on him with the enthusiasm reserved for an adorable younger brother. Even Cressida, despite her initial reluctance to entertain a boy, had softened and grown fond of her impromptu playmate. It seemed that her natural inclination for companionship—especially a companion of her own age—outweighed her apprehension.
For Lydia, the hours spent in the company of her sisters had been as comforting as they were bittersweet. Parting, as always, had proven painful, with Elizabeth and Maggie shedding tears that pricked at Lydia’s heart. She hated these farewells, for each seemed to solidify her growing fear that she could not always protect them.
Louisa had assured her that their father had engaged a governess for their care—someone who, according to him, was precisely what the children required. Lydia found herself dreading the arrival of this woman, imagining an austere, joyless presence dictating her sisters’ every move.
Yet, what could she do? For now, Lydia had to content herself with her immediate circumstances: securing Eammon’s well-being and advancing her quiet plans to free herself from Alexander’s sphere of influence. Perhaps, when the time came, she might even persuade Alexander to relinquish charge of Eammon entirely. Would her father agree to take him in? He had always longed for a son, and surely a ward could suffice if the son was not to be by birth.
As her thoughts churned, Eammon’s voice interrupted them. “Lydia?” he piped up, glancing at her as they neared the house. “Can we play with the girls again soon? I think I’m rather good at palm ball.”
Lydia smiled at his enthusiasm. “ Pall-mall, ” she gently corrected, unable to resist the maternal tone that crept into her voice.
“Yes, that! Do you think His Grace would play with us? I mean, ever?”
The question gave her pause. She blinked and looked down at Eammon as she began untying her bonnet’s ribbons, the ornate silk bow having loosened slightly on their walk.
“I do not know,” she admitted slowly, considering Alexander’s reserved demeanor. “I cannot imagine him as one who delights in sport or games of that nature.”
Eammon tilted his head, a thoughtful frown furrowing his brow. “He used to, you know. He and my daid played cards, and billiards. Sometimes they’d ride out together, and there was that game with the rackets—oh!” He struggled to recall. “The one with the mallets and the net!”
Lydia stopped on the landing, giving him her full attention as the revelation painted Alexander in a new light. “Shuttlecock, perhaps?”
“Yes!” Eammon’s eyes lit up. “My daid said he was rather good at it.”
They reached the doorway just as the butler opened the door, bowing slightly in greeting. The boy’s remarks lingered in her mind as Lydia handed over her bonnet and pelisse, her thoughts drifting to questions she had never thought to ask. How frequently had Alexander visited Eammon’s parents? Surely often enough for such memories to take root in Eammon’s young mind.
She was still pondering this when the red-haired maid approached, her demeanor pleasant and inviting. “Your Grace, Master Eammon, how wonderful to have you home. Would either of you care for tea?”
“No, thank you,” Lydia replied politely, though inwardly she winced at her ignorance of the maid’s name. It was a poor reflection on her as the lady of the house not to know.
As the woman retreated with a curtsy, Lydia turned to Eammon, her tone light yet conspiratorial. “Eammon, would you do me a favor?”
His eyes brightened with eagerness. “Of course!”
The earnestness in his reply stirred her heart, though she was also keenly aware that his eagerness likely stemmed from a desire for approval—something Alexander’s sharp edges had surely not made easy for the boy to obtain.
“Can you tell me,” she began, lowering her voice, “what my maid’s name is?”
Eammon looked up at her, his eyes widening in surprise. “You don’t know it?”
She arched an eyebrow at his teasing. “I do not, and I should very much like to rectify that without causing embarrassment.”
“It’s Emilia,” he said with a soft chuckle.
“Emilia,” Lydia repeated. Relief swept over her as the knowledge settled into her mind. It wasn’t one of the half-remembered names she had hesitated over that morning. Goodness, how mortified she would have been to bungle it in the maid’s presence.
Turning back to Eammon, she smiled warmly. “Thank you. I owe you a debt of gratitude, young sir.”
The boy laughed, then took her hand as they walked further into the house. Lydia’s thoughts lingered not only on her sisters and the governess awaiting them but also on Alexander. A man who could wield a mallet with skill and laugh with friends over a simple game was scarcely recognizable from the distant, brooding figure who governed the household now.
“Where did that man go?” she wondered aloud, though Eammon didn’t seem to notice her words, already skipping ahead toward the staircase.
Lydia shook her head as she followed him, pondering whether time, grief, or something even more mysterious had transformed Alexander from the boy Eammon remembered into the man he was today.