Chapter 20
CHAPTER 20
Lydia
D ressed and ready, Lydia descended the staircase, the faint swish of her gown accompanying each step. The chandelier above cast its golden light upon her, catching the shimmer of her pale gold dress and the glint of the laurel comb nestled in her hair. As she reached the last few steps, she saw him—standing in the entryway, as handsome as ever.
He looked up, and for a fleeting moment, his expression stilled, the habitual sternness replaced by something far gentler, almost stunned.
“Where are you going?” he asked at last, though his tone carried an unusual hesitancy.
“To the ball,” Lydia replied simply, her chin lifting in quiet defiance. “Louisa’s paramour, the Earl of Arlington’s cousin, is hosting it and she has asked me to come. I take it you were invited but did not wish to attend?”
He didn’t answer immediately. His eyes traveled over her, lingering on the intricate embroidery of her bodice, the graceful line of her shoulders, and the faint blush of her cheeks. There was something in his gaze that unnerved her, not critical or calculating as usual, but almost… unguarded.
After what felt like an eternity, he said, “I did receive an invitation for the both of us. Though I did not think you wished to go with me. I assumed your sister would ask you once I knew of the Arlington connection. But as I look at you now, I see that I can’t let you go alone looking like that.”
Her brow furrowed, surprise flickering in her expression. “Looking like what?”
“Looking so lovely,” he replied softly. Again he looked from her head to her toes, slowly and deliberately. A shiver raced down her spine as she realized he was examining her the way a man who liked what he saw looked at a woman. Despite the many layers covering her form, she felt oddly naked under his eye. It was a feeling she thought she would have hated, but oddly, she did not.
His voice, usually a cool baritone, now held a warmth that seemed to settle in the space between them. Moreover, the deep tone that accompanied his words made the hairs on her arms stand up in a way not at all unpleasant. His voice was the sort of voice she’d always envisioned would whisper to her at night, as she went to sleep beside the man she –
No! What was she thinking? Had she lost her mind entirely? Why did he have to sound as if he cared about her, inspiring such thoughts?
Here he went again. Sounding as though he cared for her. She blinked, unsure how to respond. Teasing laughter escaped her lips—a defense against the uncharacteristic compliment. “Surely you exaggerate, Your Grace.”
“I believe in uncompromising honesty and that demands I state the truth, no matter how disarming,” he countered with a faint smile that, to her further confusion, did not hold its usual edge of aloofness. “And the truth is that if I were to allow you to attend looking as you do, half the gentlemen present would fall over themselves for a chance to partner you in the quadrille.”
She tilted her head, arching a brow. “And what of it, Your Grace? Would that trouble you so deeply? I thought this marriage was merely for convenience.”
He took a step closer, his eyes fixed intently on hers. “It would,” he said simply, though his voice held a note of quiet authority rather than jest. “More than I can easily explain.”
Her heart tripped over itself. Lydia glanced away, hoping her poise had not deserted her entirely. “Well,” she began, attempting levity, “if your concern is so profound, perhaps you had best accompany me to ensure no calamities occur.”
The suggestion had been half-teasing, but to her shock, his expression shifted, firm with resolve. “Perhaps I shall.”
That silenced her more thoroughly than any sharp remark could have managed. For a moment, she stared at him, struggling to reconcile the man before her with the distant, imperious figure she was so accustomed to.
“Why?” she found herself asking, her voice quieter now. “Why would you wish to join me tonight?”
“Perhaps for the same reason I—” He stopped himself, an almost imperceptible flicker of unease crossing his features. His jaw tightened, and when he spoke again, it was with a measure of caution. “Because it would be improper for you to attend alone.”
Lydia drew back slightly, a cool smile on her lips. “Impeccable logic, as ever,” she murmured. “How fortunate I am to have a husband who concerns himself so ardently with propriety.”
He frowned. “Do not twist my words, please.”
“Why not?” she replied, her tone breezy, though her chest was tight with an unfamiliar mix of emotions—exasperation, confusion, and something perilously close to hope. “They often seem made for it.”
Despite her words, she knew one thing with startling certainty: she would rather go to the ball with him. And that certainty left her as shaken as his presence always seemed to do.
Even now, the memory of their almost-kiss flared, unbidden, in her mind—the faint graze of his breath, the tension of the moment before he had drawn back. Why did she want his company so much, when he was so infuriating ? And yet…
“Very well,” she said at last, brushing her hand over the hem of her shawl to steady herself. “You may join me, provided you’re swift. I have no intention of being late because of you.”
His brow quirked, and for the first time that evening, a faint spark of amusement played in his expression. “Then wait here, madam. I shall not keep you long. My valet is rather adapt at dressing me for balls.”
He strode away, leaving Lydia to stand alone in the hall, her pulse a turbulent rhythm in her chest.
Lydia waited near the staircase, her hands nervously toying with the fine lace edge of her shawl. The grand clock in the hall ticked steadily, each passing second a reminder of the uncertainty she faced. Her mind churned with a tangle of emotions.
This would be their first public outing together as husband and wife—a fact that sent an uncomfortable knot tightening in her stomach. People would stare, murmur behind fans and gloves, scrutinize their every interaction. More troubling was the certainty that her father would be in attendance, ever critical and sharp-eyed, ready to undermine her with a single well-aimed barb.
She groaned softly and pressed a hand to her forehead. Her father's presence aside, the thought of attending with Alexander brought its own peculiar unease. Though she had only just moments ago insisted on his company, the prospect of navigating a crowded ballroom with him by her side now filled her with doubt. How were they to keep up appearances when they barely understood the nature of their relationship themselves?
And yet... she wanted his company, even if she could not precisely articulate why. There was a strange sort of weight to that realization—a faint pressure building in her chest, almost like expectation, though she dared not call it hope.
The sound of footsteps drew her from her thoughts. Lydia looked up sharply as Alexander appeared at the top of the stairs, his dark tails impeccably tailored to his broad frame, the faint sheen of his cravat lending an understated elegance to his attire. His usual air of cool composure was firmly in place, yet tonight there was something different about him—an assuredness that felt magnetic, as though his very presence had drawn the light of the chandeliers to him.
She swallowed, unable to muster words as he descended the steps. For an unguarded moment, he caught her gaze, and the faintest flicker of warmth broke through his polished veneer.
“You are ready, I see,” he said smoothly, offering her his arm. His tone was measured, but there was a glint of something in his eyes that set her pulse racing—not shockingly or jarringly, but like the steady hum of tension before a storm.
“Yes,” Lydia replied, quickly averting her eyes to steady herself. “I trust you are as well?”
“As much as one can be for such a spectacle,” he remarked with a faint smirk. Then, he leaned slightly closer, his tone dipping low. “Though I suspect you will make every moment worth enduring.”
Heat crept up her neck, and she stiffened slightly, unsure how to respond. To her relief—or perhaps her dismay—he said nothing further, merely guiding her to the waiting carriage.
When they stepped into the cold evening air, Lydia was acutely aware of the strength beneath his lightly gloved hand as he escorted her to the carriage. He held the door wide, then reached for her hand, his touch firm yet unfailingly gentle as he helped her inside. The brush of his fingers against hers was slight, fleeting, but it left a vivid, lingering impression. She suppressed the urge to draw a sharp breath at the intensity of the moment, like the tension of strings just before they were plucked.
As she settled onto the bench, the heavy silence inside the carriage swallowed her, charged not with words but with what was left unsaid. Her thoughts spiraled again—about the ball, about the watchful eyes awaiting them, about her father, about him. Alexander followed, closing the door behind him with careful precision. Their shoulders nearly touched as he sat, and the small space only magnified her awareness of him.
The horses stirred, the wheels creaking as they began to move. Alexander turned to her, his expression unreadable, and for an instant, Lydia forgot entirely what lay ahead.
As the wheels rumbled over cobblestone streets, Lydia found herself growing increasingly restless. Her hands, poised at first, now fidgeted with the edges of her gloves. Her gaze darted from the shadowed view outside to her lap, then briefly to Alexander, who studied her in silence. Finally, he broke the quiet, his voice smooth but touched with curiosity.
“Something weighs on you,” he said. “What is it?”
She hesitated, her lips parting to respond, but the words caught in her throat. After a pause, she reminded herself that he had opened up to her before—albeit fleetingly. Perhaps she owed him the same honesty. Taking a steadying breath, she finally met his gaze.
“It is my father,” she admitted softly, her eyes flickering downward. “I have not seen him since...since the wedding.”
Alexander frowned, his brow furrowing slightly. “But you have seen your sisters. I thought?—”
“Yes, I’ve seen them,” Lydia interrupted quickly, “but only in the park or at other outings. Not at home.”
“And why is that?” His tone was mild, but his gaze sharp as he leaned slightly forward, clearly puzzled.
“It is not an easy thing to explain,” she said with a wry smile, her fingers now twisting tightly in her lap. “Our relationship has always been...strained. My father is a cold man, distant, and quick to favor Louisa, as I told you the other night. I daresay he could hardly find time to spare for me, even in childhood.” She glanced out of the window as the streetlamps flickered past. “He prefers her, and I?—”
She faltered, the memory of a thousand small slights prickling at the edges of her mind. After a moment, she steeled herself and continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “I never felt good enough.”
Alexander’s jaw tightened. He sat back, his arms crossing as his expression grew stormy. “I understand.”
Lydia looked at him, truly looked at him, and something in his guarded demeanor softened at her scrutiny. “I know you do,” she said quietly. Her voice trembled just enough to betray how much it cost her to continue. “I loved my mother deeply, after she died...” Lydia trailed off, swallowing hard. “Well, without her, my father had no use for me at all other than to care for my siblings. Even that was more out of his convenience. It was as if I ceased to exist entirely for him. Louisa thinks it is because I am like my mother and he and she had a rather unhappy marriage.”
For a long moment, Alexander did not respond. His fingers tapped thoughtfully against his knee, and his gaze seemed to focus on some distant memory only he could see. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and deliberate.
“Your father was wrong to treat you so,” he said firmly. “Just as mine was wrong. Men like that—fathers like that—fail to see what is right before them. It is their failure, Lydia. Not yours.”
Lydia stared at him, his words threading through her like an unexpected breeze. Her lips parted slightly as she tried to make sense of the sudden warmth his understanding brought. But before she could think of what to say, his expression turned rueful, his voice quieter. “I am sure there are others who see your worth, even if he does not.”
Her mouth twisted into something caught between a smile and a grimace. “Not you, surely. You think me reckless, turning Eammon into an animal instead of a gentleman.”
Alexander stiffened, a flash of guilt in his eyes. “I should not have said that,” he admitted. “It was—unfair. There are times when I speak without thinking, as though...” He exhaled heavily. “As though I do not know myself at all.”
“You are not alone in that,” Lydia said after a pause. Her tone softened. “I scarcely know myself these days. For so long, I was simply my mother’s daughter. When she was gone, I was left as my sisters’ caretaker. But now...now, I feel unmoored.”
He met her gaze, something dark and flickering in his expression. “I did that to you,” he said, his voice roughened by emotion.
She nodded, though her own feelings swirled too chaotically to offer much else. “You did,” she answered truthfully. “But what is done cannot be undone.”
For a heartbeat, Alexander’s eyes locked on hers, his mouth parting as though an apology lay waiting to be spoken. Yet before either could act, the carriage jolted to a stop, cutting through the charged silence with all the grace of shattered glass.
“We’ve arrived,” he said quietly, glancing toward the door. With careful precision, he stepped out first, then turned to offer his hand to her.
As Lydia placed her hand in his and stepped onto the lantern-lit drive, the night seemed to stretch endlessly before them, full of promise and peril.