Chapter 27
CHAPTER 27
Alexander
A lexander stood by the window, watching as the morning light filtered through the curtains, casting golden rays upon the carpet. The past two days had passed in a manner so pleasant, so unexpectedly pleasant, that he scarcely knew what to make of it.
Since their outing with Eammon, he and Lydia had spent nearly every waking moment together. She had a way of filling the house, as though it had always belonged to her, and as though she had always belonged to it. She laughed easily, she teased without malice, and she was—much to his continued amazement—an effortless guardian to Eammon.
And yet, neither of them had spoken of that night. The kiss.
Not that he expected her to. Lydia was not the sort to dwell on something if she was uncertain of where it might lead. And where does it lead? That was the question that had begun to settle, rather stubbornly, in his mind.
He had not yet determined an answer.
Shaking off his thoughts, he turned from the window just as Lydia entered the room, dressed in a pale lavender gown with a bonnet perched atop her dark curls.
“You are going out?” she asked.
“I am.” He reached for his gloves, flexing his fingers as he tugged them into place. “I have a meeting in Hyde Park with some friends and business partners—Wycliffe and Harrington. Fitzroy shall be there as well.”
Lydia tilted her head. “Wycliffe and Harrington? You have never mentioned them before.”
Alexander stilled for a fraction of a second. Had he truly never spoken of them? It seemed inconceivable. His business dealings were no small part of his life, and yet—no, she was right. He had spoken of his import and export company, but not of the men with whom he conducted it.
“No, I suppose I have not,” he admitted. “They are fellow peers, much like myself, and we conduct business together.”
“I recall that your business is largely in trade,” she mused. “But I never realized you had partners.”
He nearly frowned at that. He did not particularly like the way it sounded, as though he had withheld something from her, though in truth, he had not given it any thought at all.
Lydia adjusted her bonnet ribbon and asked, “And Fitzroy? Is he a peer as well?”
Alexander shook his head. “No. His father is a merchant—a rather successful one, I might add. He is one of our best customers. Fitzroy’s sister is an opera singer.”
Lydia’s lips parted in pleasant surprise. “An opera singer? How impressive. I should like to meet her.”
Meet her? Alexander could scarcely imagine the scene. Lydia—clever, sharp-witted Lydia—standing in a drawing room with Fitzroy’s sister, a woman as bold and dramatic as they came. That would be something to behold.
Before he could consider it further, she continued, “In fact, I should like to meet all of your friends one day.”
And just like that, the ease of the morning vanished.
Meet his friends? All of them?
He schooled his features, keeping them carefully neutral, but inside, a coil of discomfort tightened in his chest. He had known this moment would come. It was inevitable that Lydia would wish to meet the men with whom he spent time—but he was not so certain they would extend their kindness to her. If they even knew kindness.
They were unguarded. Opinionated. They would likely pounce on Lydia, inquiring about their marriage of convenience , prying into matters that were none of their concern.
And Lydia, bless her , would not stand idly by. If they baited her, she would retaliate with that sharp tongue of hers—and while that was precisely what he admired about her, he did not relish the thought of an outright battle between his wife and his friends.
No. It would not do to introduce them all at once.
He offered her a small smile, measured and polite. “One day, I shall introduce you.”
One by one, he added silently. At a time of my choosing. And preferably in a setting where they are less likely to say something insufferable.
Lydia, thankfully, seemed satisfied by his answer.
He smirked. “I should be a poor husband indeed if I did not inquire after your plans.”
She laughed. “Eammon and I are also going to Hyde Park. We are to meet Louisa.”
His smirk faltered.
Hyde Park. Hyde Park.
The very same Hyde Park where he would be—with Wycliffe, Harrington, and Fitzroy .
As if sensing his hesitation, Lydia added, “Perhaps, if you are still there when we arrive, I might be able to meet them.”
Alexander did not outwardly react, but internally, a dozen calculations ran through his mind. If she arrives after we have begun our walk, how long will we remain? If she sees us, will she approach? Can I contrive an excuse to depart before then?
He did not fear Lydia meeting them, exactly. But the notion made him deeply uneasy. He wanted— needed —to control the circumstances of such a meeting, and this was far too haphazard for his liking.
Still, he inclined his head and murmured, “Perhaps.”
That, at least, was not a lie.
Hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere, he said, “Hanna and Edwin return this weekend. They have invited us to dinner.”
Lydia’s expression brightened instantly. “Have they? Oh, how lovely! I cannot wait to see them again.”
Alexander exhaled, relieved. If he could direct her focus toward his sister rather than his friends , all would be well. Hanna and Edwin would welcome Lydia warmly. That much he knew.
And if he was fortunate, Lydia would think less of meeting Wycliffe, Harrington, and Fitzroy—at least for the time being.
He offered his arm. “Shall I escort you downstairs?”
She took it, looking at him with a glint of amusement in her eyes. “You are rather eager to be off, are you not?”
“Business waits for no man,” he replied smoothly.
And certainly not for a husband attempting to outrun a potential disaster.
As they stepped into the hall, Lydia gave him a sidelong glance. “If I do not see you in Hyde Park today, then I shall expect a full account of your companions later.”
He managed a chuckle. “Ever so inquisitive, my dear.”
“Naturally,” she said breezily.
He pressed a light kiss to her hand before departing, already forming a strategy to ensure that by the time Lydia and Eammon arrived at the park, he and his friends would be long gone .
Hyde Park was bustling that morning, filled with the usual array of elegant carriages and well-dressed promenaders taking their leisure along the tree-lined avenues. A mild breeze rustled through the leaves, carrying with it the scent of damp grass and horses, mingled with the more delicate perfumes of passing ladies.
Alexander walked at an easy pace alongside Wycliffe and Harrington, the two of them as insufferably pleased with themselves as ever. Their laughter had been near constant since their meeting began, each jest more self-congratulatory than the last.
“Ah, but you have missed a grand opportunity, old man,” Wycliffe declared, shaking his head with exaggerated regret. “I should feel sorry for you, truly. If I possessed a kinder heart.”
“Which you do not,” Alexander replied dryly.
Harrington chuckled. “He does not, indeed. But in this case, he need not! We shall be the ones enjoying the spoils while you sit comfortably at home, tending to your… domestic concerns.”
There was a glint in Harrington’s eyes, one that implied far more than his words revealed, but before Alexander could press for an explanation, they were joined by a fourth rider.
“And what is this talk of missed opportunities?” came the voice of Matthew Fitzroy, as he and his sister Matilda arrived.
Fitzroy was as easygoing as ever, dressed with a touch more flamboyance than the average gentleman, but carrying it off with the effortless confidence that had long defined him. Matilda, for her part, was much the same as she had always been—golden-haired, sharp-eyed, and entirely too pleased with herself.
Wycliffe smirked. “It is nothing. Merely that Alexander has grown too high in the instep to join us in a most profitable endeavor.”
“High in the instep?” Matilda repeated with a laugh. “That hardly sounds like the Alexander I know.”
“It is the new Alexander,” Harrington said, with mock solemnity. “The one who sits at home with his—” He caught himself, glancing at Fitzroy and Matilda before choosing a more measured phrase. “—his modest little household.”
Alexander kept his expression neutral, unwilling to take their bait. “It is not a question of being too high in the instep. I simply have no interest in your scheme.”
Matilda’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “No interest? None at all? That is unlike you.”
Wycliffe leaned toward her, affecting a conspiratorial tone. “He pretends disinterest, but it is only because he is too respectable now. He has turned over a new leaf.”
“Respectable,” Matilda repeated, wrinkling her nose. “What an unfortunate fate.”
Fitzroy grinned. “I take it, then, that your profitable endeavor is something less than strictly legal?”
Harrington chuckled, but before he could answer, Matilda waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, they are smuggling. It is always smuggling.”
A sharp silence followed. Wycliffe and Harrington both straightened in their saddles, looking around with exaggerated nonchalance, as though afraid someone had overheard her.
“Must you say such things aloud?” Wycliffe hissed.
Matilda laughed, entirely unrepentant. “Oh, do not look so scandalized. It is not as though you are particularly discreet about it.”
Alexander shook his head. “I knew you could not be discreet it is one of the reasons I wanted no part in it.”
Wycliffe rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, we have gathered that much. A pity, truly. But I suppose you must think of your little family now.”
Matilda turned her sharp gaze back to Alexander, her lips curling into a knowing smile. “You surprise me, Alexander. I should have thought your wife would enjoy some fine French perfume. Perhaps a bit of wine? Surely she is not so prim as all that.”
Wycliffe chuckled. “Oh, I doubt he is in the habit of making such gifts to a glorified governess.”
The laughter that followed was easy, careless—none of them thinking much of their own words. But Alexander did not join in.
Instead, he sat quietly, his hands curling into fists, nails digging into his palms. The words glorified governess rang unpleasantly in his ears, settling in his chest like a weight. He had expected some teasing but this? This was something else entirely.
Matilda seemed to sense the shift in his mood. She clicked her tongue and stepped closer to him.
“Oh dear,” she murmured, “have we wounded your pride?”
Alexander exhaled slowly. “It is not pride. I simply do not care for such talk.”
Matilda arched a brow, studying him. “No? You were never so thin-skinned before. I wonder…” She leaned in slightly, her voice turning lower, more suggestive. “Perhaps you are not so happy in your little domestic life as you pretend.”
Alexander turned his head, giving her a measured look. “You misunderstand me.”
Her smile was slow, familiar. “Do I? You know, we could leave all this behind. I could help you take your mind off your troubles. As I used to. You recall?” she smiled at him in what he knew was meant to be a seductive manner. “My parents are away. You and I could ? —”
“Matilda.” His voice was firm, but not unkind.
She tilted her head, waiting.
“I am not unhappy in my marriage,” he said quietly. “I am unhappy with this —the teasing, the way you speak of her. I care for Lydia more than that. I think…” He hesitated, but only briefly. “I think I love her.”
For once, Matilda was silent.
She studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, ever so slightly, she sighed. “Well. That is unexpected.”
“What is unexpected?” Matthew Fitzroy asked, arching a brow as he glanced between them.
Matilda smirked, tilting her head toward Alexander. “Why, that our dear friend is now evidently in love with his wife.”
A chorus of laughter erupted around the group, Wycliffe and Harrington slapping their thighs in amusement while Matthew merely shook his head in mock sympathy. Alexander, however, remained silent, his jaw tightening. He ought to have expected this. It was their way—to jest, to poke, to pry. He had once been the same, had laughed just as loudly at some other unfortunate man who had fallen into the so-called trap of marriage. But now, standing on the other side of it, the mirth rang hollow.
“I should like to speak of something else,” he said at last, his voice even but firm. He had no desire to explain himself to them, nor did he wish to defend Lydia as though she were some affliction he had succumbed to rather than a woman he had chosen.
Before they could press him further, movement at the park gates caught his eye.
Lydia.
His breath hitched. There she was, making her way inside with Louisa at her side, Eammon skipping just ahead of them with little Cressida, her golden curls bouncing as she chattered excitedly.
Damnation.
He felt the blood drain from his face. If she came any closer—if she overheard—if Wycliffe, Harrington, or worse, Matilda, spotted her and deigned to include her in their sport?—
No. He would not allow it.
“Well,” he declared, abruptly rising to his feet, brushing nonexistent dust from his coat. “I find myself rather famished. I do believe I shall take luncheon at the club.”
The others blinked at his sudden shift, but Harrington, never one to turn down a free meal, leapt to his feet with enthusiasm. “Luncheon, eh? Excellent idea! On your purse, of course.”
Alexander exhaled sharply through his nose but nodded. “Yes, yes, on my purse. Let us go.”
Matthew laughed, rising as well. “A fine trait in a friend, indeed.”
Matilda, however, did not move. She sat there, arms crossed, her lips pursed in irritation. “How convenient,” she mused, tilting her head. “The gentlemen scurry off to their precious club while I am left to entertain myself.”
Matthew, ever the charming scoundrel, patted his sister on the shoulder with exaggerated sympathy. “Do not despair, dearest. I shall smuggle you out some scraps.”
The men chuckled, but Alexander barely heard them. His eyes flickered back toward Lydia, who was still some distance away, thankfully distracted by Louisa and the children.
“Go on ahead,” he said to the others. “I shall join you in a moment. I need a private word with Matilda.”
“Oh, a private word,” Wycliffe said and snickered. “We shall leave you be.”
Harrington shrugged and walked off with Wycliffe and Matthew, the three of them already falling into their usual talk of wagers and women.
Alexander turned back to Matilda.
She regarded him with wary amusement. “Have you changed your mind, then?” she teased. “Decided I am worth missing your luncheon for?”
He exhaled, shaking his head. “No, Matilda. I only wish to make something plain.”
She arched a brow, waiting.
“I never intended to give you the wrong impression,” he said carefully. “If I have done so, I am sorry.”
Matilda studied him for a long moment, then let out a soft huff of laughter. “Oh, Alexander,” she said, her voice light but tinged with something he could not quite name. “No harm done. You are not the first man to disappoint me, nor will you be the last.”
He inclined his head. “Good day, Matilda.”
She only smiled, though there was something in her gaze that told him she was not as indifferent as she pretended to be.
Still, he had done what he must.
With that, he turned on his heel and strode away.
As he reached the path leading toward the club, he cast one last glance over his shoulder.
Lydia and Louisa had turned in the opposite direction, walking leisurely as they chatted, Eammon and little Cressida skipping ahead.
Relief settled over him.
She had not seen. She had not heard.
For now, at least, he could keep these two worlds apart.
But for how long?
The thought sat uneasily in his mind, but he pushed it aside. There were greater matters to attend to—such as surviving luncheon with his so-called friends.
And, more importantly, how he would ensure that Lydia never had to endure their company at all.