Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
Alexander
I t had been six days since the argument with Lydia and the atmosphere in Hayward House was as icy as the winter wind that swept across the moors in January – though outside the August sun still beat down on their heads.
Alexander had retreated into his own routines, taking his meals alone in his study or the smaller dining room and avoiding Lydia whenever possible. When their paths did cross, their exchanges were polite but strained, marked by an undercurrent of tension that neither seemed inclined to address.
Even Eammon’s presence had done little to soften the sharp edges of Alexander’s days. He had dutifully spent time with the boy—an hour here, a short walk through the grounds there—but the interaction felt as hollow as always. Eammon, bright-eyed and eager to please, seemed to sense Alexander’s distraction and became increasingly reserved. Even more so than he had already been.
Lydia had undertaken changes to Eammon’s schedule, something that had bothered him but he’d said nothing. Because the truth was, her words had stung him more so than he’d thought possible. He truly did not know anything about children and he had abandoned his sisters.
Alexander was alone in his study, staring blankly at a stack of correspondence that demanded his attention, when Emma arrived unannounced. She swept into the room with her usual self-assured grace, the scent of lavender trailing behind her.
“Good morning, Alexander,” she greeted, settling into a chair opposite him without waiting for an invitation. She regarded him critically, taking in his tired expression and the stiffness in his shoulders. “You look as though you’ve been locked away from the world for weeks.”
Alexander set his pen down and rubbed a hand over his face. “Emma. To what do I owe the pleasure? Are you not busy preparing for your trip?”
“Evan has entirely taken over that venture, you know how he likes to feel as though he is in control,” she said chuckled. “But the truth is, I could use the help. I do not enjoy planning lengthy trips, it gives me a megrim and Evan is so much better at it. In any case, I’ve come to have tea with your wife. And to see what you’re doing to yourself—and to your household,” she replied with blunt candor. “How long do you intend to go on like this?”
“Like what?” Alexander asked, his tone defensive.
“Isolated. Miserable, I’ve heard that you have been miserable since the wedding,” she replied, ticking off the words as though they were facts in an inventory. “
“I have not been miserable. I’ve enjoyed much time with my companions,” he said, aware he sounded defensive.
Emma rolled her eyes. “Wycliffe and Harrington? And those Fitzroys? I do not know why you keep their company; they are thoroughly unpleasant.”
He wanted to defend his friends, but didn’t have the heart—for his sister was quite right about the matter.
“They are so unlike you,” she said.
“They were there when I needed them. It is not as though our families was thoroughly welcoming when I first returned. Not that I blame any of you.”
“Yes, but all is well now, so I do not know why you need to have these people in your vicinity. You are not yourself when you are with them.”
He knew this to be so but did not want to admit it. Instead, he waved a hand, dismissing the topic.
“It is not my friends you have come to see me about, I take it?”
“No, it is you. I know you had thought that you’d be contented with the marriage but I’ve heard you are not. The servants talk.”
“They talk entirely too much,” he replied, wondering which of his servants could have talked with Emma’s.
“Be that as it may, you’ve taken a bride and a ward into your home, and yet you’re living as though you’re alone. Is this what you envisioned when you insisted on marrying Lydia?”
Alexander sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair. “No, it isn’t. But she doesn’t make it easy, Emma. You’ve met her. Lydia is…” He paused, searching for the right word. “Unyielding. Contradictory.”
Oddly enough, these were not the only words to enter his mind. Strong willed was another – and this was a word he did not usually associate with anything negative. Indeed, he rather liked strong minded women. He’d enjoyed many a dalliance with a strong willed, fiery lady, preferring them to marriage-minded misses or society widows.
In that regard, Lydia Andrews was just what he’d want.
“Alexander?”
He looked up, mortified by these thoughts and rubbed his thumb over his eyes, as if to rub out the image of the woman who insisted on intruding into his thoughts at every turn. Emma tilted her head, her expression softening. “I’ve met her briefly once but I am to have tea with her later. Besides, I can’t help but think that her defiance is merely a reflection of her frustration. Can you blame her, Alexander? You’ve brought her here, away from her sisters, and placed her in a role she didn’t choose. She’s lost in a world she doesn’t understand, and you’ve left her to fend for herself.”
“I tried,” he said, the defensiveness slipping into a weary tone. “I thought keeping my distance would be best—for both of us. I spend a little time with Eammon when I can. As for Lydia, I’ve left her to settle in as she wishes.”
Emma frowned, her gaze steady. “And how is that working out for you?”
Alexander hesitated, then shook his head. “It’s not. This house feels emptier than it did before they arrived. I can’t say I care for the arrangement, but what else am I to do? We seem incapable of anything but antagonism when we speak. She said some rather unkind things to me.”
“Was it unprovoked?” she asked in a tone that told him she already knew the answer.
“Perhaps not,” he admitted.
“Well then, is avoiding her the answer?” Emma countered sharply. “You’ve been retreating, Alexander, hiding from the responsibilities you insisted on taking on. This isn’t about being her duke. It’s about being a companion—and a father figure to Eammon. Your ward needs you, and so, whether she admits it or not, does Lydia.”
Alexander raked a hand through his hair, his frustration warring with the sense that Emma was, as always, annoyingly correct. “And what would you have me do?”
“For one,” Emma said, leaning forward, “stop treating Lydia like a problem to solve and start seeing her as a person. And spend real time with Eammon. He’s not merely an obligation, Alexander. He’s a child who needs connection, guidance, and yes, even affection. Life can’t be reduced to rules and responsibilities, Alexander. You married Lydia for a reason. If you truly regret it, then let her go to a country home where you can ignore one another in peace. But if there’s even a part of you that sees the possibility of making this work you owe it to both her and yourself to try.”
Alexander stood as well, his thoughts heavy as Emma reached for her gloves and bonnet. “You’ve left me with much to consider,” he admitted.
“Good,” she said with a small smile. “Perhaps you’ll come to see that there’s more at stake here than pride or stubbornness. Now, I shall seek out your wife, for I intend to have tea with her.”
As she left, Alexander returned to his desk, staring blankly at the unopened letters. For the first time in days, he found himself thinking less about how to avoid Lydia and more about how to approach her with something other than frustration. Perhaps Emma was right. Perhaps it was time to stop retreating and start finding a way forward.