Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
Lydia
T hat afternoon after her sister-in-law had left, Lydia was seated at her writing desk, attempting to compose a letter, though her thoughts were elsewhere. The window before her framed the gardens bathed in golden light, but her mind lingered on Emma and their conversation.
She and Alexander had something in common, she knew now. They both had been victims of their fathers’ behavior. They had both been cast aside for someone else. But did that mean Alexander had a right to act as he did? No.
Yet, she could not deny that knowing how close he’d been to Eammon’s parents stirred sympathy within her.
She shook her head. She ought not feel sympathy for him. He had been horrid to her. So what if he had a sad story? Didn’t they all? Besides, hadn’t his sister perhaps told her these things to invoke just such a reaction?
Was the entire Hayward family looking to manipulate her to serve their needs? But that was surely unkind, was it not? Emma had appeared truly kind and caring. Lydia sighed when a gentle knock at the door pulled her from her reverie. “Come in,” she called, turning her head.
The door creaked open to reveal Emelia. “Good afternoon, Your Grace,” she said with a small curtsy, her tone warm as always.
Lydia managed a smile, setting down her quill. “Emelia. Please, come in. How is Eammon?”
The housemaid’s lips twitched upward. “He is well. Miss Murphy changed his clothes and then he wanted to take a visit to the land of Nod. Once he is awake, Miss Murphy will dress him for dinner.”
“Good. Thank you.” Then, a thought struck her, and she frowned slightly. “Dressed for dinner? I had planned to dine with him in the breakfast room, he told me he likes to look at the garden when he eats. Or is a dinner planned with Miss Murphy?”
Emelia hesitated for a fraction of a second, then offered a practiced smile. “No, Your Grace. With His Grace.”
Lydia blinked, momentarily unsure she had heard correctly. “Alexander?”
“Yes, Your Grace. He informed Miss Murphy that he wishes to dine with you and Master Eammon each evening.”
The color drained from Lydia’s face, and her pulse quickened. “Every evening?”
“That’s what he said.” Emelia’s expression softened. “Shall I assist you in selecting a gown?”
Lydia rose to her feet, smoothing her skirts as if to buy time. “No, no, thank you, Emelia. I can manage.” She paused, her eyes darting toward the wardrobe before landing back on the maid.
Dinner with me each night? Why?
“Did His Grace mention why the change? I thought he usually dines alone.”
Emelia hesitated, though only briefly. “That is true, but it seems he has changed his opinion on the matter. From now on, you are to dine together as a family.”
Family. Lydia always fell off her chair at the mention of the word It felt so … odd when applied to their situation. Yes, they were married but for show only. They were hardly a family. Or were they?
“He was rather insistent.”
Lydia swallowed hard, her fingers fidgeting with the ribbon at her waist. “Of course, he was,” she muttered under her breath, more to herself than to Emelia. Then she straightened her shoulders. “Very well. I’ll prepare. That will be all for now, Emelia.”
Emelia curtsied again. “Very well, Your Grace. Should you need anything, please call for me.”
As the door clicked softly shut, Lydia turned back to her reflection in the polished surface of her vanity mirror.
Dinner with Alexander—every night. Good heavens, how am I to endure that?
Lydia stepped hesitantly into the drawing room, her skirts sweeping over the lush Persian rug that spanned the gleaming floorboards. The room exuded understated luxury, an elegance that bespoke wealth without ostentation. The cream-colored walls were adorned with gilded mirrors and serene landscapes in heavy, gold frames. Above, a grand crystal chandelier hung low, catching the flickering light of the candles and refracting it in faint rainbows across the room.
She hadn’t dined here before, having instead taking her meals alone in her chamber or with Eammon but it seemed this would be different from now on.
Her gaze drifted toward the table prepared for dinner, standing in resolute formality at the center of the room. A pristine white damask cloth cloaked the surface, set with porcelain edged in cobalt blue and gold filigree. Cut crystal glasses caught the flicker of firelight like imprisoned stars, and polished silverware reflected her figure back to her—a faintly distorted likeness that felt fitting, considering how out of place she felt. A central vase of dahlias in a deep claret hue mingled with pale cream roses, their faint fragrance a fleeting reprieve from the rigidity of the scene.
It was as if the space had been set for a formal dinner rather than a small make-believe family’s gathering. Her father liked to arrange the tables at home in this way whenever there were guests, but otherwise they always ate with more simplicity.
As she hovered in the center of the room, the door opened with purpose. Lydia stiffened, her posture reflexively straightening as she turned to see Alexander enter.
The sight of him made her breath hitch—though she told herself it was merely surprise at his formality. His dark evening coat, precisely tailored, molded to his broad frame. His snowy-white cravat, intricately tied, emphasized the sharp angles of his jawline, while a waistcoat embroidered with the barest hint of silver added just enough flourish to speak to his rank. His breeches and black polished boots completed the ensemble, exuding the air of a man meticulously dressed to rule. Yet there was a faint imperfection—his hair was just slightly disheveled, as though he had run a hand through it in frustration or thought. That tiny, human detail stood at odds with the composed mask he wore.
Indeed, there was no denying that Alexander looked rather handsome this night. She did not like that her thoughts instantly produced such ideas, but it was true.
“Your Grace,” Lydia said, her curtsy swift but graceful. Her tone carried the faintest edge of coolness. She was his wife, yes, but she would not be cowed into docility.
“Lydia, please do call me Alexander,” he replied, bowing briefly. His voice was calm, measured, betraying no emotion. “Where is Eammon?” he asked.
Lydia blinked. Had she been in charge of bringing him down?
“Here he is,” Miss Murphy said then, saving her some awkwardness. She ushered Eamon inside, the child looking rather uncomfortable in his little suit which was a miniature version of his guardian’s.
He looked up at her. “We eat here now?”
“We do. Come, sit by me,” she said and pulled out the chair next to her.
“I meant for him to sit in the middle,” Alxander said and then nodded to the other end of the long table. “And for you to sit there.”
She looked from one end to the other. There was space for at least twelve people on either side.
“We shall have to shout to hear one another,” she said. “Surely it would be more appropriate for us to sit on either side of you?”
He looked at her, his eyes twitching slightly.
“I suppose. Masters, move Her Grace’s plate here to my right and Master Eammon’s to my left.”
The footman nodded and set out to complete the task at once. When they were settled, Alexander tucked his napkin into his collar and she watched Eammon follow his lead, his eyes never leaving Alexander’s hand as he copied the motion.
“I trust tea with my sister proved agreeable?”
“It was... enlightening,” she answered, lifting her chin just a fraction. The tension between them was palpable, like taut strings that would snap under any real weight. Folding her hands in front of her, she added with mild civility, “I thank you for the opportunity.”
“It was her idea. My sisters rarely ever follow my advice,” he said dryly. “They are rather…”Alexander inclined his head, but whatever remark he might have made was interrupted by the butler and he and the footman served the first course, a rich white soup with freshly baked bread.
Lydia smoothed the linen napkin over her lap and picked up her spoon. Her movements, though poised, betrayed the restlessness of her thoughts. She sipped delicately, letting her eyes stray to Alexander. He ate with precision, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond his plate, as if he found the presence of his own dining room as tedious as she did.
The only sounds were the faint clink of spoons against porcelain and the soft shuffle of servants’ shoes. Eammon, to her relief, did not appear prone to slurping, a habit she’d had to break Elizabeth and Cressida out of to avoid a censure from their father.
It was so quiet that the scrape of cutlery seemed to echo. The oppressive formality weighed heavily on Lydia until she could bear it no longer.
“I was quite intrigued by your sister’s tales of her travels,” she said, breaking the silence with an airy tone that belied her rising irritation.
Alexander paused, his spoon poised above his bowl. “Emma has a penchant for wandering,” he replied. “I trust her tales were not too... unconventional.”
“Not at all. In fact, they reflected well on her fortitude.” Lydia tilted her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. “She seems very devoted to you and speaks of you with great regard.”
Alexander’s dark eyes flickered with a trace of something—surprise, perhaps—but he masked it quickly. “My sister has always been inclined toward effusion.”
“She did not strike me as exaggerated,” Lydia countered firmly. “Though I admit, she painted a rather vivid picture of your family’s resilience.”
A muscle in Alexander’s jaw tightened. He dabbed his lips with his napkin and replied with quiet finality, “Emma is inclined to optimism.”
The second course was brought in—roast lamb with a fragrant herb sauce, accompanied by golden-roasted vegetables. Lydia’s appetite dwindled in the smothering quiet, though she dutifully lifted her fork. She couldn’t help noticing that Alexander moved through his meal with military precision, his focus unnervingly deliberate. As the silence stretched, she set her fork down.
What in the world was the point in having this dinner if they were not to talk? The foreseeable future would be rather strenuous if this was what each evening’s meal would look like.
Lydia cast a glance toward Eammon. He was behaving impeccably, sitting upright and cautiously managing his fork and knife. Too impeccably for his age, she thought. The boy’s eyes occasionally darted toward Alexander, as though gauging the duke’s reaction to his every bite.
Something twisted in her chest at the sight. For all the grandeur surrounding the boy, Eammon appeared less a carefree child and more a small, overly-conscious gentleman desperately trying to measure up.
When the next course arrived, a platter of roasted vegetables adorned with asparagus spears, inspiration struck. Waiting for Alexander to be occupied with a request to a footman, Lydia took an asparagus spear and quickly held it under her nose, mimicking the long snout of an elephant. She wriggled her nose, crossed her eyes slightly, and tilted her head to face Eammon.
The boy stared for a heartbeat, eyes wide with surprise, before a giggle bubbled up. He quickly clapped his hand over his mouth to stifle it, darting a glance at Alexander. Fortunately, His Grace seemed too absorbed in cutting into his lamb to notice the exchange.
Emboldened, Lydia returned the asparagus to her plate and arched an eyebrow at Eammon, giving him a conspiratorial wink. She lifted her spoon dramatically and, with deliberate elegance, used it to tap a rhythm on her plate. The antics were subtle, her face schooled into apparent neutrality, but Eammon’s lips twitched before another laugh slipped out.
Alexander’s head lifted, his knife pausing mid-air. His sharp eyes moved first to Eammon, then to Lydia, who had already composed her expression into one of polite attentiveness.
“Something amusing, Eammon?” he inquired, his tone more curious than stern.
The boy squirmed slightly, glancing at Lydia before replying. “No, Your Grace. I—it was just… the flowers. They look like the ones in the garden,” he finished lamely.
“They do,” Alexander replied, though his gaze lingered on Eammon for a moment longer. The faintest line appeared between his brows before he looked to Lydia. “I trust the garden itself proved diverting today?”
Lydia felt Alexander’s scrutiny as keenly as the warmth of the candelabra nearby. Forcing her nerves aside, she responded lightly, “Indeed, Your Grace. The rose trellis is particularly lovely this time of year. Eammon made it his mission to find the largest bloom among them, and I daresay he succeeded.”
Fortunately for her, Eammon appeared to think her embellishments were a game and he quickly decided to play as well. The boy straightened in his seat, the sudden pride lighting up his face evident. “It was this big!” he said, holding his hands apart to illustrate.
Alexander’s lips twitched—just a flicker, but enough for Lydia to notice. “Commendable,” he said, his deep voice softening ever so slightly. “It seems you’ve an eye for detail.”
Eammon flushed with pleasure but remained silent. The boy’s earlier tension seemed to ebb, the rigidity in his shoulders relaxing as the courses progressed. Lydia caught his eye and wiggled her fingers at him discreetly in mock applause, prompting another grin.
Encouraged by the change in atmosphere, Lydia ventured further. “Eammon informed me today that you used to play billiards. And he wondered if you might join us in a game of pall mall.”
“Oh?” Alexander asked, arching a brow. “You have taken to the game, have you?” he asked, addressing the boy for the first time directly.
“Yes, Your Grace,” he confirmed, holding his gaze. “You did play, yes?”
“I have been known to, on occasion,” Alexander replied with the faintest shrug.
“You might still surprise us,” Lydia quipped, her smile faint but challenging. She had the oddest urge to provoke him into genuine laughter—a sound she suspected had grown rare.
Alexander said nothing for a moment, then turned back to his plate. “Perhaps I shall,” he murmured.
The rest of the dinner passed in relative warmth, the earlier tension diminished into a more tolerable civility. While the heavy silence of earlier meals had dissipated, the scrape of knives and forks still filled much of the room. Yet this time, it was a gentler sound, softened by the tentative beginnings of companionship.
As the final course was cleared away, Lydia rose, offering her usual curtsy. “Good evening, Your Grace.”
Alexander’s reply came with surprising softness. “Good night, Lydia.” His gaze lingered just long enough to make her stomach flutter in unfamiliar ways.
Later, as she shepherded Eammon upstairs, his hand snug in hers, she replayed the evening in her mind. Alexander’s rare and fleeting warmth gave her hope—a fragile yet determined spark—that the barriers between them might someday lower, if only brick by cautious brick.
The nursery was cloaked in a gentle quiet, the kind only found in the twilight hours. A solitary candle burned low on the nightstand, its golden light casting soft shadows across the room. Miss Murphy moved with quiet efficiency, her hands busy folding a few scattered clothes and tucking them neatly into a drawer. The scent of lavender wafted faintly from a sachet near the bed, soothing and calming.
Lydia sat beside Eammon on the edge of his bed, her hand lightly smoothing the quilt tucked up to his chin. He looked up at her with drowsy, half-lidded eyes, his earlier energy drained by the adventures of the day.
“What will it be tonight? A story or a song?” Lydia asked, for they had established this as their nighttime routine. Each evening, after he was tucked in, he’d decide which of the two he preferred.
“A song. “His small hand brushed hers as he adjusted his grip on the quilt. Lydia’s heart ached a little at the simple, earnest gesture.
Settling herself more comfortably, she began to sing, her voice quiet and steady, the melody a lilting Irish tune Miss Murphy had taught her a few days ago:
"Sleep, my treasure, under starlight’s gentle gleam,
Rest, my darlin’, and drift to sweetest dreams.
Though shadows play upon the hills so high,
Angels guard thee till the morn draws nigh."
The soft notes lingered in the air as she finished, her voice fading into the comfortable silence of the nursery. Eammon’s eyelids fluttered once, then closed. His breathing deepened, and soon he was asleep, his small body relaxing into the bed.
Miss Murphy, standing near the wardrobe, paused in her work and smiled at Lydia. “That was lovely, Your Grace,” she murmured.
“Thank you,” Lydia replied softly. She leaned down to place a gentle kiss on Eammon’s brow. “Good night, sweet one,” she whispered before carefully rising.
Taking the candlestick from the nightstand, she crossed to the door. Miss Murphy followed quietly, giving the room one last glance to ensure everything was in order. Lydia turned just outside the door and exhaled softly, extinguishing the candle’s flame with a faint puff of breath.
As they walked down the dim corridor together, Lydia’s thoughts wandered. The familiar tune she had just sung brought back a pang of homesickness for her sisters, especially Cressida. She had sung songs to her youngest sister countless times, easing her into sleep with promises of angels and sweet dreams.
Now, that duty fell to Louisa. Or whoever the governess that was soon to arrive would be. If she sang at all. Knowing her father, the woman would be stern and unfeeling. Or perhaps she would be kind and loving and her younger sisters would prefer her. That was somehow almost worse. The thought made her chest feel tight.
She could feel the bittersweet ache of separation settle deep in her chest, gnawing at the fragile hope she had briefly felt during dinner. This life, far removed from her sisters, was Alexander’s doing. No matter what small kindnesses he showed, his machinations had placed her here, divided from her family.
“You’re doing him a great service, Your Grace,” Miss Murphy said suddenly, interrupting her thoughts.
Lydia glanced at her, the corners of her mouth tilting faintly upward. “Eammon deserves as much,” she said simply.
“He does indeed,” Miss Murphy agreed, her expression warm. “He’s taken to you so naturally, and I can already see the difference. You’re good for him.”
A small flush crept up Lydia’s cheeks. She looked away, the praise unsettling her in a way she couldn’t name.
“I only do what anyone should for a child in need,” she murmured.
Miss Murphy opened her mouth to reply, but her attention shifted abruptly. Lydia turned to follow her gaze and found Alexander standing at the far end of the corridor. His imposing silhouette was unmistakable even in the low light, and his dark eyes settled on Lydia with calm intent.
“Lydia,” he said, his tone quiet but carrying. “A word, if I may. In my study.”
Miss Murphy bobbed a quick curtsy before excusing herself. Lydia, clutching the extinguished candlestick, inclined her head toward Alexander.
“Of course,” she said smoothly, though her voice betrayed nothing of the apprehension stirring in her chest. She stood tall, and smoothed her skirts carefully, letting the measured motion settle over her as she prepared herself for whatever her husband wished to discuss.