Chapter 31
CHAPTER 31
Alexander
A lexander dismounted his horse outside his sister’s estate, his movements rushed as he tossed the reins to a waiting groom. He ascended the front steps with hurried strides, his mind consumed with the events of the past two days—the painful confrontation with Lydia, her impassioned rebuke, and his own helplessness in its aftermath. When she had left him, fury and sorrow blazing in her eyes, he had done the only thing his wounded pride allowed: he had let her go. Yet the moment she disappeared from sight, he had felt the unbearable weight of his mistake. He had ridden to her father’s house, fully intending to bring her back, but found himself unable to knock upon the door. What right did he have to demand anything of her, when she had been so clearly justified in her anger?
For most of her accusations were true. He had indeed once been entangled with Matilda, Fitzroy’s sister, though it was a past dalliance, long before Lydia had come into his life. And yes, he had spoken carelessly before his friends, painting Lydia as a desperate woman eager for his affections, one whom he could shape to his whims. And worst of all, he had fled from her in Hyde Park, not because he was ashamed of her but because he was ashamed of himself.
A heavy sigh left his lips as he knocked upon the door. The butler, a stately man by the name of Hubert, admitted him at once, leading him to the parlor where Hanna and Edwin were seated, engaged in their respective reading materials.
“Alex!” Edwin greeted, standing at once. “What brings you here? And where is your lovely wife?”
“She is not here,” Alexander admitted grimly. “She… she left. And I fear she will not return.”
Hanna gasped, rising swiftly. “What do you mean? Did you quarrel?”
“Yes, though not in the way one might expect. I have been a fool, Hanna, a blind fool. I should have told her the truth long ago, but now—I do not even know where to begin.”
“Good heavens, you are in need of a drink,” Edwin declared, ushering him into a chair before pouring a generous measure of brandy. Alexander took it gratefully, downing the liquid in one swallow.
“Now, tell us everything,” Hanna urged. “From your last letter, you spoke of great happiness. What changed?”
Alexander exhaled heavily, rubbing his temples. “It began with my foolish words to Wycliffe, Harrington, and Fitzroy. Matilda relayed them to her with embellishments, I am certain.”
Hanna made a noise of disgust. “That lot? You know my opinion of them. They are insufferable, and you would do well to sever ties entirely.”
“They are my business partners,” Alexander muttered. “And a gentleman does require friends.”
“You have friends,” Edwin pointed out. “Hanna, Henry, and myself. Yet you insist upon keeping company with men who are less than honorable.”
“I know,” Alexander conceded. “But at the time, I was lonely, desperate for companionship. I was careless. And so, when Lydia wished to meet them, I sought to keep her away, fearing what they might say. That decision, I now realize, was the beginning of my undoing.”
Hanna folded her arms. “And then?”
“Then Matilda took it upon herself to enlighten Lydia about my past indiscretions, conveniently neglecting to mention that our… entanglement had ended long before I met Lydia.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But it hardly matters. For worse than my past, Lydia heard how I spoke of her, and she believes I see her as naught but an object of convenience.”
Hanna’s palm connected swiftly with his shoulder, a sharp reprimand. “You uttered such nonsense? I cannot believe it of you!”
“It was a jest,” Alexander murmured. “A poor one. But one that cost me dearly. And when Lydia confronted me, I was ill-prepared. She left before I could make her understand. I followed her, but when I reached her father’s home, I… faltered. I feared she would refuse to see me. That she might already despise me beyond repair.”
Hanna sighed. “You will never know unless you try. You must go to her. Apologize. Explain. Otherwise, you doom yourself to the same misery our father suffered after losing our mother.”
“And what of Eammon?” Edwin added. “Will you let Lydia go and deprive that boy of a mother again? Will you let him suffer for your mistakes?”
The weight of his brother-in-law’s words settled heavily upon Alexander. Eammon. He had woven a flimsy tale to the child, assuring him that Lydia had left only to care for her younger sisters. But how long could he sustain such a fabrication? How long before Even sensed the truth?
“Do not let shame keep you from happiness,” Edwin pressed. “Go to her. Lay bare your heart, and let her decide.”
Alexander inhaled deeply and rose to his feet. “You are right. I must see her. I must make her understand.”
And with that resolve, he turned and strode from the room, determined to set things right before it was too late.
Alexander dashed from the house and made his way to the stables. Once atop his spirited saddle horse, he rode forth. Lydia’s residence lay but half an hour’s ride away, and he was obliged to traverse fields and a thicket of trees to reach her. The truth must be spoken; he had to make her listen.
In the distance, Andrew Manor rose majestically, and his heart raced—not merely from the exertion, but from the weight of the conversation he knew they would soon engage in.
Upon arriving at the manor, he dismounted and ascended the steps with purpose, rapping upon the front door. To his astonishment, it was not the butler who greeted him, but Lord Bristol.
“My Lord,” Alexander began, “I—where is she?”
“I take it your visit pertains to your wife?” Lord Bristol inquired.
“Indeed, I must ask—Is she here?” Alexander pressed.
Her father shook his head solemnly. “You have just missed her. She has taken her sisters to the park.”
“Which park?” he inquired with growing frustration. Lord Bristol raised an eyebrow, seeming reluctant to furnish the information.
“Your Grace,” the older man continued, “my daughter has confided in me regarding the recent events. She is a spirited young woman, and for that, I bear some blame. I do sincerely hope that all you were told is not the truth, for it was exceedingly unkind.”
Alexander felt incredulous. He had acted foolishly, he knew that, yet to be rebuked by a father who had never quite seemed fond of Lydia was particularly disheartening.
“I regret the pain I have caused,” he confessed. “I merely wish for Lydia to forgive me, to allow me the chance to explain. No excuses—merely explanations of my mistakes.”
“You and I both,” Lord Bristol replied with a chuckle. “But I shall say this: I firmly believe my daughter loves you dearly. Were she not genuinely invested, her distress would be far less pronounced. As for myself, I had my doubts about your compatibility, yet I hoped she would find some measure of happiness—perhaps that is the case after all. Should you find a way to justify your past words, I can only hope she will forgive you.” He paused and leaned forward.
“She told me about those friends of yours. Lord Harrington and Lord Wycliffe are known to be rather troublesome characters from grand houses which makes them think they can do as they please. Should they inspire any unkindness toward a woman for whom you evidently care—they are not worthy of your association.”
“I am aware, indeed,” Alexander replied, feeling both the weight of his father-in-law's censure and the humiliation of the situation. “Please, if you would only tell me where she has gone, I shall do all in my power to amend my actions.”
“Very well—Green Park,” Lord Bristol relented.
Alexander nodded and began to descend the stairs when his father-in-law called him back.
“I ought to inform you, as we are now family, that your so-called friends are embroiled in quite a dreadful smuggling affair. They shall be apprehended within weeks. If you have any involvement in this affair, I suggest you distance yourself promptly.”
Taken aback yet not surprised, Alexander nodded. “I am not involved in their dealings—not in this affair, at least. It is my intention to sever ties as it is.”
“See that you do so, and swiftly,” his father-in-law urged. “Now, I do hope you manage to convince my daughter to forgive you. It would be an unfortunate fate if this marriage were to fall apart.”
With a nod, he galloped down the drive and onto the road leading to town. In merely ten minutes, he caught up with them. The carriage rumbled slowly ahead.
“Lydia!” he called as he approached. “Lydia!”
After a moment, one of the windows opened, and one of her sisters—one of the twins—peered out.
“Your Grace,” she exclaimed, and then Lydia’s visage appeared.
“I have nothing to say to you,” she declared, though there was a distinct lack of conviction in her tone.
“Please, halt the carriage and speak with me.”
“Nay,” she retorted.
Taking a deep breath, Alexander sped ahead, drawing his horse to a halt before the carriage. The coachman cursed at him, but upon recognizing him, offered his apologies.
Alexander leaped from his horse and rushed to the carriage door, pulling it open.
“Lydia, I beg your pardon.”
“Beg your pardon?” one of the twins mocked, while the other added, “If he begs, you must listen!” The two chuckled joyfully though Lydia threw them a glare that silenced them both.
Lydia remained steadfast. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“Lydia, do not be thus,” her sister interjected. Lydia shot her a glare, but Louisa merely averted her gaze.
“Perhaps, Your Grace, this is your moment to say all that you wish while she cannot escape,” Louisa suggested.
Realizing this might indeed be his only chance, Alexander seized the moment.
“Lydia, I was a fool—a fool to utter the words I did. They were not all true. I confess, yes, I called you that despicable term, but it was in a moment when we were not yet wed. It originated from a desire to impress my companions—all of whom are of ill character. Having associated with them, I allowed myself to be drawn into their wickedness, and I vow they shall have no claim upon my life henceforth. I was alone and melancholic upon my return from Ireland, and they were my sole companions. Even your father has told me no one holds them in esteem.”
“And I trust you now regret those words,” Louisa interjected quietly.
He regarded her with gratitude; at least she seemed to stand in his favor.
“I do, more than anything. I have never felt such regret in my life. I should never have spoken so—I was foolish, unkind, and cruel. I did not mean it then, and I certainly do not mean it now. I love you, Lydia.”
“But it is true, you married me for the sake of Eammon and because you knew I could not refuse. We both know this. How do I know none of the other accusations ring true?” she demanded, though her tone spoke of hurt feelings more so than anger.
“That is true. I married you out of necessity, yes, in need of a mother of my ward. It is also true that I had no designs on matrimony until then. You may inquire of my sisters; they have attempted to press me toward it for ages. I feared I would not make a suitable husband, and I was terrified of loving anyone, for my father—he was not always thus. I recall a time when he was simply harsh with me, never the beast he later became. The loss of my mother shattered him, and I dreaded that the same fate would befall me if I were to lose the woman I cherish most. And now, I am perilously close to losing you, the woman I love.”
Her gaze softened, and a spark of emotion flickered within her.
“He loves her! He loves her!” the twins cried in unison, clapping their hands, soon joined by five-year-old Cressida.
“What of Matilda? I had heard you attempted to rekindle your affair with her,” Lydia remarked.
“She fabricates! She pursued me, and I rebuffed her most firmly, affirming my happiness in wedlock. That must be the reason for her untruths.”
“Why did you never confide in me regarding her—about any of them? Were you ashamed?”
“Never. I could never feel shame for you. You are a treasure, and I did not wish my soon to be former acquaintances to speak ill of you or reveal the injurious words I uttered when I did not yet know you. I sought to distance you from them; I did not wish our worlds to collide.”
He paused, watching her intently. “I promise you, I shall never see them again,” he urged. “I understand that they are not true friends and bring out the very worst in me while you bring out the best. All I desire in life is you, my child, and my sisters and their spouses—I would be fulfilled. Lydia–” All his prepared and pretty words deserted him. “Will you forgive me?”
“I was foolish to run away. I ought to have trusted you to explain. I should have—” Lydia hesitated for only a moment before she stepped down from the carriage.
The crisp autumn air wrapped around her, but she hardly noticed as she moved toward Alexander. His arms were already open, and she fell into them without reservation.
His embrace was strong, his breath warm against her temple as he held her tightly, as if anchoring himself to her. “You came back to me,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.
She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her hands gripping the fabric of his coat. “Of course, I did,” she whispered. “I have missed you.”
A half-laugh, half-sigh escaped him, his forehead resting against hers. “And I have done nothing but pine for you. I was a fool,” he confessed, his hands framing her face. “But if you will let me, I will spend the rest of my life making amends.”
Tears welled in her eyes, but they were no longer of sorrow. “I should be angry still,” she teased, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “But I find that I cannot be.”
His responding smile was boyish, hopeful. “Then come home with me.”
Behind them, Louisa cleared her throat. “If you two are quite finished…”
Lydia turned, cheeks warming, but Louisa only smirked knowingly. “Go,” she said. “I shall see to our sisters. You and His Grace have much to discuss, I am sure.”
Lydia exhaled a laugh, gratitude shining in her eyes. She squeezed Louisa’s hand before turning back to Alexander, who had already summoned his horse. With practiced ease, he swung into the saddle, then reached down to her. Without hesitation, she placed her hand in his, and he pulled her up in front of him.
“You are certain of this?” he asked softly, his arms tightening around her waist. “You forgive me?”
She leaned back against him, tilting her head slightly to catch his gaze. “Yes. I have never been more certain Alexander, I love you. I have for some time. That is why it hurt so much to hear these things. And Matilda…”
“Matilda wanted me to take her as a mistress, I am certain of that. My rejection made her angry and she sought to take you from me. But she will not succeed, my love. For I love you, and I will fight for you if I have to.”
“I am already here on your horse. I dare say you have won this battle against her,” she said with a laugh.
“Then, may we seal this new start with a kiss?” he asked and when she nodded, placed his lips gently upon hers. His entire body tingled with delight and then, when he looked into her eyes, he felt a peace wash over him he’d never before felt.
Then, he urged the horse forward, and they rode toward home, the wind cool against their faces, but warmth spreading between them.
As they approached the house, the heavy front doors burst open, swinging back against the stone with a resounding thud. A small figure tore down the steps, his coat flapping behind him like a banner in the wind.
“Lydia!”
Eammon’s voice rang through the crisp afternoon air, high and desperate, his little legs carrying him as fast as they could. Behind him, Miss Murphy hurried to keep up, her skirts rustling, calling after him—but he did not slow. He had only one thought, one destination.
Alexander barely had time to rein in the horse before Lydia all but flung herself down, her feet scarcely touching the ground before Eammon barreled into her. The force of him sent her stumbling back a step, but she caught him, her arms closing around his small, trembling frame.
His fingers dug into the fabric of her gown as he pressed his face against her stomach, his whole body quaking. “I thought… I thought you left forever,” he choked out, his voice muffled in the folds of her dress.
Lydia’s heart clenched painfully, tears prickling her eyes as she dropped to her knees, pulling him even closer. She smoothed his unruly curls, pressing desperate kisses to the crown of his head. “Oh, my darling boy, never,” she murmured, rocking him gently. “I would never leave you.”
Alexander dismounted swiftly, his boots hitting the ground with purpose. In two strides, he was beside them, lowering himself until he was level with Eammon. His large hand rested against the boy’s trembling back, solid and warm. “She is home now,” he said, his voice steady, firm. “And home is where she will stay. We are a family, forever.”
Eammon hiccupped, lifting his tear-streaked face, his wide eyes darting between them. “Truly?”
“Truly,” Alexander vowed, the weight of his words sinking deep. He met Lydia’s gaze over the child’s head, and in her eyes, he saw the same certainty—the same promise.
Eammon sniffled, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his coat before looking between them with something close to hope. “Will it be like before?” he whispered. “Like when I had my parents?”
Alexander’s throat tightened. He swallowed hard before cupping the boy’s cheek. “Indeed,” he said softly. “We shall be just as they were to you.”
Lydia stroked Eammon’s hair, her voice gentle yet unwavering. “And perhaps,” she suggested, “you might even begin calling us ‘Mama’ and ‘Papa’—if you wish it.”
Eammon’s lips parted slightly, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and longing. He glanced at Lydia, then Alexander, studying them both as if measuring the truth in their words.
Alexander smiled, recalling the first time Lydia had mistaken him for Eammon’s father. Then, it had been an amusing misstep. Now, it was a truth he was ready to embrace.
For the first time, Eammon let out a watery giggle. “Really?”
Lydia nodded, pressing a final kiss to his forehead. “Really.”
The boy sniffed again, then, after a moment’s hesitation, threw his arms around Alexander’s neck, clinging to him just as fiercely as he had to Lydia. Alexander exhaled, pressing his lips together as he wrapped his arms around the small, fragile body now tucked against his chest.
In that moment, it was no longer a matter of duty, of guardianship, or of convenience.
This was their family.
He was Lydia’s husband, Eammon’s father, and he would protect them both with every fiber of his being.
Nothing—nothing—would ever tear them apart again.