Chapter 15
CHAPTER 15
Lydia
“ C ome in,” his deep voice called from within.
Stepping into the study, Lydia paused just inside the threshold, struck by the room's atmosphere. She hadn’t been in this space before and now that she was, she found it not at all what she’d expected.
The firelight reflected off rows of polished wood shelves crammed with books, their leather bindings gleaming. Heavy draperies in a rich green hung at the windows, giving the space a shadowed intimacy. A large mahogany desk sat before the hearth, flanked by high-backed chairs and lit with a faint golden glow. The rest of the house had an almost modern touch – filled with delicate vases and other things that were just asking for a small child to knock over and ruin. Yet it had a more open feeling – at least when the curtains were open.
This space by contrast felt oppressive and stifling.
Alexander was seated in one of those chairs, his posture relaxed yet betraying tension in the set of his jaw and the faint furrow of his brow. His cravat was undone and his shirt slightly open at the throat, a casual state of undress that surprised her; he looked less the commanding duke and more a man weighed down by responsibility. He also looked as if he didn’t quite belong in this room, as if he didn’t want to be here at all.
He turned his gaze to her, his expression unreadable. “Please sit, Lydia.”
There was an unfamiliar note in his voice—strained, almost hesitant. For a moment, she considered refusing, but the unease in his demeanor stilled her defiance. Carefully, she settled into the chair opposite him, smoothing the folds of her gown.
“What is the trouble?” she asked softly, folding her hands tightly in her lap to hide her apprehension.
Alexander was silent for a moment, his gaze resting on the amber liquid in the tumbler he held. Finally, he set it aside on a small table, and when he spoke, his tone lacked its usual certainty. “It is about Eammon.”
Lydia blinked, her brow furrowing. He’d seen her play with the asparagus, hadn’t he? And he was going to ring a right peal over her for it. Well, she wasn’t about to let him. “Is something amiss? I thought dinner went quite well. Eammon was …”
He glanced at her, and for once, his striking blue eyes betrayed vulnerability as he raised a hand to stop the flow of words. “It went well because of your presence. Otherwise, the boy avoids me as if I were a specter. He scarcely speaks in my presence, and when he does, it’s with all the enthusiasm of a soldier awaiting punishment. He fears me, Lydia, and I... I fear I do not know how to remedy it. I am afraid you were right and I was too strict with him.”
His words, spoken with uncharacteristic humility, tugged at something in her. Alexander could be maddeningly proud, but this glimpse of uncertainty disarmed her. She softened slightly.
“He’s a sensitive child,” she replied gently. “And a cautious one. You may not realize it, but children feel deeply even when they cannot express themselves. I believe Eammon admires you, Alexander. He simply does not know how to bridge the distance.” When had they decided to use their Christan names? Or had they? She did not recall but since he chose to call her by hers, she was not going to stick with formality either. Thought she had to admit, it broke down some of the detachment between them and she wasn’t sure that was a good thing.
“There never used to be a distance between us, if I am honest. When he was a wee lad.”
“He still is,” she reminded him.
“Of course. I last saw him a year ago when he was four going on five and he was delighted to see me. I brought sweetmeats from England, which was one of the reasons, I am sure. I thought it would be easy to raise him. But as you have pointed out, I have no experience in the matter.”
Lydia shifted in her seat, a wave of shame washing over her as she recalled her unkind words to him.
“There is a distance between the two of you, that can’t be denied,” she admitted.
“Distance?” he echoed with a bitter chuckle, leaning back in his chair. “I have all but carved a gulf between us, haven’t I? I thought I was doing the right thing, focusing on his education and discipline. I had hoped one day to make him my estate steward – since he cannot hope for a higher place unless he wishes to read the law or some such thing. But I have been harsh, I can see that now.”
Lydia tilted her head, studying his downcast expression. There was a shadow of guilt there, coupled with something she couldn’t quite name.
“Children don’t hold grudges as adults do,” she said softly. “Effort and patience, Alexander, not perfection, will mend what you feel is broken.”
A faint scoff escaped him. “You speak as if it were so simple.”
“It is not simple,” Lydia admitted, her voice steady. “But it is achievable.”
Alexander exhaled, raking a hand through his dark hair. “You’re better with him than I am. I’ve seen it. He smiles with you—laughs even. I need your help, Lydia. Teach me how to do better.”
The candor of his words unsettled her. This was not the Alexander she had warred with only days ago. For a moment, she studied him, her resolve softening as she realized the sincerity in his request.
“I will help you,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Together, we shall win his trust.”
He inclined his head, his tone awkward. “Thank you.”
The informality of his gratitude caught her off guard, but before she could dwell on it, she decided to address the rift that lingered between them. “Alexander,” she began cautiously. “About the other day…I said some things I now regret. I wish to beg your pardon.”
“There’s no need,” he interrupted, his expression tightening.
She pressed forward regardless, her voice quiet but firm. “There is. I said cruel things, and?—”
“I said stop,” he snapped, rising to his feet abruptly, his tall frame casting an imposing shadow.
Lydia rose as well, defiance flashing in her eyes even as her heart panged at the hurt in his voice. “You cannot simply demand silence when matters grow uncomfortable.”
“I will not revisit what cannot be undone,” he replied curtly, his tone clipped with frustration.
She stood her ground, her voice trembling with a mix of regret and indignation. “And I cannot carry this burden without apology, Alexander. Surely even you must see the folly in such stubborn pride.”
For a moment, their gazes clashed—hers pleading, his steely. But then he turned away, running a hand down his face as though weary of battle.
“Enough,” he said finally, his tone softer, though it carried a note of resignation. “I called you here to seek your assistance, not to debate past grievances.”
Lydia’s jaw tightened, but she nodded, her voice steady. “Very well, Your Grace.” He flinched as she reverted to the formal form of address, dropping the familiarity he’d introduced.
As she moved toward the door, his voice stopped her. “Lydia.”
She paused, her fingers brushing the doorframe as she turned slightly to face him.
“You have my gratitude,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur.
For a brief moment, something unspoken passed between them—an understanding, fragile but present. She offered a small nod before slipping out of the room, her heart heavy yet curiously buoyed.
In the solitude of the corridor, Lydia exhaled deeply, her mind racing. Alexander remained a puzzle—a proud, tormented man who both infuriated and intrigued her. But one thing was certain: she could no longer view him solely as the man who had upended her life. There were layers yet to uncover, and she would face them.