Chapter 28
CHAPTER 28
Lydia
L ydia drew in a slow breath, savoring the crispness of the autumn air. The afternoon was mild for the season, golden sunlight filtering through the trees. She sat beside Louisa on a wrought-iron bench, their hands folded in their laps, watching as Eammon and little Cressida ran ahead, their giggles carrying across the lawn to their ears.
Louisa sighed, tilting her face toward the sun. “It was a lovely thing, to have everyone gathered yesterday. Elizabeth and Maggie could scarcely contain their delight.”
Lydia smiled, warmth blooming in her chest at the thought of her younger sisters. “Indeed. It is astonishing how they have grown. Eleven years—it seems but yesterday they were babes in the nursery.”
Louisa hummed in agreement, then cast Lydia a sidelong glance. “Father kept his distance from you, I noticed.”
Lydia exhaled, smoothing the folds of her gown. “That, I confess, was no disappointment.”
Louisa chuckled. “Perhaps he has finally been cowed. His encounter with Alexander must have unsettled him. I imagine he only ever considered what it would mean to his own standing to have a duchess for a daughter, rather than what it might mean for his life.”
Lydia’s smile was wry. “That would not surprise me in the least. But regardless, it was important that he came—for the twins’ sake, if nothing else. It is good for them to see everyone together now and then.”
Louisa hesitated, glancing toward the path where Eammon and Cressida played beneath the trees. “Well… almost everyone.”
Lydia stilled, understanding her sister at once. Their mother’s absence was an ache that never truly faded, ever-present yet rarely spoken of. She reached for Louisa’s hand and squeezed gently.
“I like to think she was watching,” Lydia murmured. “I feel it, sometimes, as though she lingers still.”
Louisa’s lips parted slightly, her expression softening. “Do you truly believe that? That she can see us?”
Lydia hesitated. “I do not know,” she admitted. “But I hope so. Such a love as ours cannot simply vanish into nothing. It must remain in some way.”
Louisa exhaled, gazing toward the sky. “I wish I had your faith.”
“It is not faith so much as… a feeling,” Lydia said thoughtfully. “Do you not remember how she used to say we ought to hold fast to our faith? That there is reason in all things, though we may not always see it?”
Louisa’s brow furrowed, then a small smile tugged at her lips. “I do recall. But she said it about everything—do you remember when I fell from my pony, and she insisted it was meant to be, so that Father would be forced to purchase me a new riding habit?”
They both laughed at the memory, but soon, Louisa grew somber again. “A tiny miracle,” she mused. “That is what she called such things. But I wonder—do you believe in miracles?”
Lydia considered the question, warmth unfurling in her chest. “I do. After all, consider Alexander and me. Had you told me only months ago that we would find happiness together, I would have thought you mad. But now…” She trailed off, a gentle smile playing at her lips.
Louisa turned sharply to face her. “Happy together? Have you come to an understanding?”
Lydia’s cheeks warmed. “We… we have not spoken much of the future, but we…” She hesitated, then admitted, “We kissed.”
Louisa gasped, clasping her hands together in delight. “Faith, Lydia! You kissed?”
Lydia laughed at her sister’s excitement, though her heart quickened at the memory. “A few days past.” She hesitated, then added, “And, Louisa… I think I love him.”
Louisa’s eyes shone with joy. “Oh, Lydia, that is wonderful!”
“I think so,” Lydia said softly, her heart feeling strangely light. “I truly believe things will work out between us. I judged him at first but you are quite right, we have much in common. More than I thought possible. He is an entirely different man from the one I thought I knew.”
Louisa beamed. “Oh, I am so very pleased. I knew you would work it out in the end. And you should know, you are not the only one with good news.”
Lydia arched a brow. “Oh?”
Louisa glanced away, her fingers plucking at a fold of her gown. A shy smile played on her lips. “Lord Arlington and I… we have spent some time together of late. Proper time. Long walks, conversations – he makes me laugh and I him.”
Lydia’s eyes widened. “Louisa, that is wonderful! And do you—do you like him for a husband? Do be sure of him. Do not let him take advantage or he will have me to contend with.”
A delicate blush rose to Louisa’s cheeks. “I know you would plant a facer on any man who dared hurt me but you need not worry. I adore him and he…appears to care for me. More than I had expected.”
Lydia squeezed her sister’s arm, unable to contain her happiness. “Then I hope it is all that you wish for.”
The two sat in contentment, watching as Eammon and Cressida darted between the trees, their laughter ringing through the crisp air. But then?—
“Lydia Andrews?”
The name struck like a lightning bolt, sharp and jarring. Lydia turned swiftly, her heart jolting at the sound of her maiden name.
A woman stood before her, poised with an elegance that did not quite match the air of aristocracy. She was clad in a deep blue gown, her honey-blonde hair arranged in soft curls, her features strikingly lovely. Yet there was something about her that did not sit well—something too assured, too knowing.
Lydia lifted her chin. “I am Lydia Hayward, Duchess of Leith,” she corrected, a sudden defensiveness rising within her, though she knew not why.
The woman smiled and extended a gloved hand. “Matilda Fitzroy.”
Lydia blinked, recognition settling uneasily within her. The name was familiar—one Alexander had spoken of only briefly. The sister of one of his friends, if she recalled correctly.
“Oh,” she said carefully. “The opera singer.”
Matilda’s smile deepened, a glint of amusement in her gaze. “I am surprised Alexander told you about me.”
Lydia kept her expression serene. “Only in passing. Are they still here? He said his friends wanted to promenade. I’d rather hoped to find him here.”
“Alexander and his companions are no longer around,” Matilda said. “They left just moments ago.”
A peculiar tightness wound itself around Lydia’s chest. She’d hoped to see Alexander. Somehow seeing this woman here and knowing she’d been with Alexander not long ago bothered her. She was not accustomed to gentlemen, let alone peers, being friends with women. She’d assumed Matilda Fitzroy was no more than someone Alexander knew in passing but now he worried that perhaps she was a closer friend.
But why ought that bother me? He is allowed friends.
“I see,” she finally said, hiding her disappointment.
Matilda tilted her head, watching her with quiet interest. “In fact,” she added, almost idly, “I was rather surprised by how swiftly Alexander departed—especially when he had just caught sight of you arriving.”
A cold knot twisted in Lydia’s stomach.
Alexander had seen her? And left?
She willed herself to remain composed, but the sting of the words lodged deep. Why would he do that? Only days ago, he had kissed her, held her, made her believe—so why, upon seeing her now, had he turned away? Why would he not want to introduce her to his friends? Was he – ashamed?
Lydia forced a smile, though her voice was not quite steady. “I am certain he had his reasons.”
Matilda’s lips curled, her amusement unmistakable. “Oh, I am sure he did.”
The weight of unspoken words lay thick between them.
Matilda Fitzroy knew something she did not.
And Lydia was suddenly desperate to know what it was.
“Pray, I had wondered, would you take a turn about the gardens with me?”
Lydia hesitated only a moment before nodding, agreeing to Matilda Fitzroy’s invitation to walk with her. Louisa cast a questioning glance her way, but Lydia gave a reassuring smile before turning to follow the other woman, her curiosity piqued despite the vague unease stirring in her chest.
As they strolled along the winding path, Matilda moved with an effortless grace, her gown of violet swaying gently with each step. She carried herself with the confidence of a woman accustomed to admiration, though there was something sharp in her gaze, something assessing.
“You must know,” Matilda began, her tone conversational, “Alexander is a friend of my brother’s and a dear friend of mine. I have known him for quite some time.”
Lydia returned a polite smile, unsure what to make of the remark. “Indeed? He had not mentioned the connection beyond briefly stating you or your brother might be here this day..”
Matilda laughed softly. “No, I imagine he would not.”
There was something about the way she said it—something just short of teasing, and yet not entirely kind. Lydia felt the unease in her chest grow stronger, though she kept her expression composed.
Then, with a careful air of solemnity, Matilda turned to her and said, “I speak to you as one woman to another. You may find what I have to say unpleasant, but I would be remiss not to warn you.”
Lydia’s steps slowed slightly. “Warn me?”
Matilda nodded, as if steeling herself, then sighed. “The gentlemen tend not to be as gentlemanly around me as they might you, Your Grace. They see me as one of them but I still think of myself as thoroughly a lady and I could never turn my back on a fellow lady.”
Her words concerned Lydia more than she would have admitted. And yet, she could not help but listen on.
“I have heard Alexander say some things about you that are not proper and no husband should say about his wife. I feel you ought to know.”
Lydia’s heart sank at this. Alexander spoke disparagingly about her to others? How? Why? What had he said? A part of her did not even wish to know while another was desperate to hear what had been said.
“What do you mean? What things has my husband said?”
“He spoke of the circumstances of your wedding and your marriage since. He used rather colorful language, I must say. See, you must understand that Alexander chose you not out of affection, but rather because he believed you to be… desperate. A ruined woman in need of salvation.”
Lydia stiffened, her breath catching. “I was aware he did not marry me out of affection. We hardly knew one another, thus I am afraid I do not understand what you mean.”
Matilda turned her gaze forward, her expression unreadable. “He might have chosen you because you were unwanted. Desperate. That is the term he used. A desperate woman who would do his bidding while he continued to live the life he wanted. There are men, who find such circumstances intriguing, who seek to use them to their advantage. Alexander is one of them.”
“To live the life he wanted? What does that mean?” she asked, her heart thumping.
“I meant the sort of life a bachelor might lead. Free to continue such …adventures. Dalliance of a less than proper kind, if you understand what I mean.”
Alexander had planned to keep a mistress, is that what this woman was saying to her?
“He…he has a carte blanche?”
“Not yet, but I know he plans it. I know him well, you must understand for I was in such a position once that found me rather at his mercy. Say, has he made you feel wanted, special? As if you could draw something out of him that none other ever could?”
She gulped. This was how he’d described his feelings for her several times.
“I can see from your crestfallen expression he has. Fret not. Alexander made me believe he loved me too, that I was special to him. But he is a man who enjoys the game more than the prize. When he tired of me, he left.” She glanced at Lydia then, her eyes dark with something unreadable. “He has no heart for anyone. And I feel as a woman it is my duty to warn you for he has told us that he has plans for the future that do not include you.”
Lydia came to an abrupt stop, the words striking her like a physical blow. For a moment, she could only stare at Matilda, unable to comprehend the accusation.
“You are mistaken,” she said at last, her voice uneven. “I do not believe you.”
Matilda smiled, but there was little warmth in it. “Then ask him. Ask if he told his friends that he was marrying you out of equal parts pity and self-serving. Ask him if he thought you desperate enough to use you as a glorified governess. Ask him why he left here, rushing his friends away the moment he saw you.”
Her lips parted. “He rushed them away.”
“With a promise of a hot meal and spirits on his own purse, yes. Your Grace, you are good enough to look after his ward and shield him from overly eager ladies looking to have their daughters set their caps on a duke. But nothing more. You should know that.”
“I can’t …I can’t believe this,” she muttered.
“But you ought. He has said dreadful things about you and he has no intention of staying faithful to you, none at all. I even attempted to convince me to pick up where we had once left of. I am sorry to tell you.”
Lydia stared at her. This could not be true. It could not….
Lydia shook her head, willing herself to find some semblance of clarity amidst the whirlwind of emotions threatening to consume her. “I do not believe you,” she whispered, though even as she said it, doubt curled in the pit of her stomach.
Matilda merely arched a brow, an infuriating air of pity about her. “Then ask him,” she said smoothly. “If you do not believe me, confront him yourself. See how he squirms beneath the weight of his own words. But be prepared, Your Grace—men like Alexander do not change. They do not marry for love. They do not remain faithful. And they certainly do not concern themselves with the hearts of those they use.”
With that, she dipped into a graceful curtsy. “Good day, Your Grace,” she murmured before turning and walking away, her skirts swishing softly against the gravel path.
Lydia remained rooted to the spot, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. The world around her felt suddenly foreign, the sun too bright, the laughter of children in the distance too sharp. A painful lump formed in her throat, and without warning, tears pricked at her eyes.
It couldn’t be true.
It simply couldn’t.
And yet, the words burrowed deep, lodging themselves where her fragile hope had taken root. Had Alexander truly spoken of her so cruelly? Had he deceived her so utterly? She had begun to believe in the life they were forging together, begun to let herself dream of a marriage built on more than duty. Had it all been an illusion?
A soft sob escaped her lips before she clamped a gloved hand over her mouth, willing herself to silence. Not here. Not now.
She inhaled sharply, forcing the tears back. Whatever turmoil clawed at her insides, she had no time to indulge it. She needed to compose herself—for Eammon, if nothing else.
With sudden resolve, she turned on her heel and strode toward the bench where Louisa sat watching the children play. At the sight of her approach, Louisa’s smile faded, replaced by a look of immediate concern.
“Lydia, what is it? You’ve gone dreadfully pale.”
“I must leave,” Lydia said swiftly, reaching for her bonnet ribbons with trembling fingers. “I must return home at once.”
Louisa stood, frowning. “What has happened?”
“I cannot speak of it now,” Lydia replied, her voice uneven. “Please, do not ask me.”
Spying Eammon near the flowerbeds, she hurried toward him, her skirts brushing against the gravel as she moved. He turned at the sound of her approach, his face lighting up in a smile. “Lydia! Look, I found a beetle with gold on its back!”
Lydia’s throat tightened. She could not ruin this moment for him, but neither could she remain.
She forced a smile. “That is wonderful, darling,” she murmured, bending slightly to brush a stray curl from his forehead. “But we must go now.”
Eammon’s face fell. “Go? But why? I thought we were to stay for a walk with Lady Louisa and Cressida.”
“I am unwell,” Lydia said, the words barely above a whisper. “We must return home.”
Immediately, his small hands reached for hers. “Are you very ill?” he asked earnestly, his brow furrowing in concern.
The tenderness in his voice nearly undid her. This child—so sweet, so trusting. She had allowed herself to believe that this life, this family, could truly be hers. And now, in a matter of moments, everything had begun to slip away.
She swallowed the ache rising in her throat and squeezed his hands. “I shall be well,” she lied, her voice wavering. “Come, darling.”
Eammon hesitated but nodded. As they walked toward the waiting carriage, he clung to her side, looking up at her with worried eyes. “Shall I read to you when we get home? That always makes me feel better.”
A sharp pain lanced through her chest. Oh, what a dear boy he was. How could she bear to lose him?
She could say nothing—only clasp his small hand tightly in her own as they stepped into the carriage.
As it rolled away from Hyde Park, Lydia kept her gaze fixed on the window, blinking against the tears that threatened to fall.
She had come to believe in Alexander. To believe in them.
Had she been nothing more than a fool?