Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Really, Alexander ought to have known Godwin would go overboard for his dinner. That was always the man’s way—to take an idea and stretch it right to breaking point. Because this was not the quiet, relatively peaceful dinner Alexander had anticipated.
Oh no.
This was a positively rowdy group of Godwin’s various associates from the area and London. Never mind he’d only had the scope of a single day to send invitations and secure attendees; he had managed it, apparently, without issue!
Alexander stared at the appalling number of guests in his old friend’s drawing room.
Unlike Alexander, Godwin was not the heir to a great estate, and he had no political seat.
He was, in essence, a wealthy gentleman and nothing more.
And yet, over the course of his time in genteel society, he had managed to build a collection of people around him who would travel for an hour or so out of London in order to attend his obscure dinner party.
Beside him, Lydia’s eyes went very wide. “Oh…” she breathed.
Miss Parsons came bounding up to them immediately, looking, it had to be noted, rather pleased with herself. Evidently, she did not object to a dinner engagement of this sort in the slightest.
“Your Grace!” she chimed. “Lydia, dearest, I really must steal you away. Forgive me, Your Grace.”
Alexander’s rather primal—and wholly unreasonable—impulse was to hold Lydia close. Being with her both in the lakehouse and in the bath had given rise to an unforeseen level of possessiveness that had only been fueled by her words in the carriage.
I think I want a life with you, if you will permit me.
She had no idea of what she asked. If it were merely a question of what he wanted, then he would accept. Swallow his guilt, swallow all the ways in which he was not the man she deserved, and strive to be a better man for her.
But it was not all that simple.
He was not just her husband—he was the reason behind her father’s death. The means by which the man had died, even indirectly. If he had not been there, perhaps Lord Blackmoor’s horse would never have bucked. The carriage would not have swerved. It would not have crashed.
He would not have sat beside Lord Blackmoor’s bedside after taking him home and calling for a physician, and he would not have proposed to his daughter out of guilt.
If she knew the truth behind their marriage, she would not want to continue it. And he couldn’t blame her.
How ironic that now, when reconciliation between them seemed impossible, he most wanted her. How terribly fitting that for the first time since Helena’s death, he could see himself loving another woman, and the truth about his past would make her hate him.
The best thing he could offer was to continue to give her his name, to let her live out her days in this house, and eventually provide her with children to keep her company. Otherwise, he would not interfere with her life.
That would be the best thing for her.
If only he could bear the thought of having her so near and yet so far…
Godwin came to join him, clapping him on the back with his usual joviality. “What do you think? I’ve outdone myself, eh?”
Alexander stared across the room at his wife like a lovelorn idiot, his head still aching. “When I asked for this as a favor, this was not what I had in mind.”
“Oh? Too loud? Too jolly for your liking?”
Alexander picked up a glass of wine and sipped at it. “I hope you entertain yourself with your nonsense.”
“I ought to entertain someone, at least!” Godwin guffawed, not in the least put down. Alexander was glad; there were few people on this earth prepared to put up with him when he was feeling especially crabby.
“Tell me, how is your fake engagement going?” he asked, nodding at Miss Parsons, who was, Alexander could admit, looking especially fine that evening.
“How’s yours?” his friend bit back.
“Have you accepted the inevitable and agreed to marry her yet?” he continued smoothly.
“Now who’s talking nonsense?”
Miss Parsons saw their attention and flicked out her fan with unnecessary vehemence, gesturing with it in a way that looked positively vulgar. Lydia saw the motion and giggled, her face flushing with genuine amusement.
At least she was having fun. He could endure this until then, he supposed.
“You know,” he commented, “I think there was a time when I would have enjoyed larger gatherings like this.”
“You always preferred harder entertainment,” Godwin shrugged. “You used to claim there was nothing so dull as drawing-room parties.”
“Well, I was right. And I can’t say my opinion has changed much.”
“Why the bad temper?” Godwin looked at his hands and sighed. “Still?”
“It’s been less than a week. I can’t expect such dependence to fade so soon.” He rolled his shoulders, wishing his body didn’t ache so much or that he wasn’t sweating so much. But taking off his coat in such company would be unthinkable. “I wish it would, though,” he muttered. “For all our sakes.”
“And hers, I take it?”
“Every time we converse, I misstep.”
“Ah.” Godwin’s eyes gleamed with a kind of victory. “And you wish, do you not, that you could charm her?”
Alexander tried to send his friend an annoyed glance, but he wasn’t certain the expression got through. “I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to, old boy. I could see it all over your face. She has finally gotten through to you. And now you want to save the marriage.”
“An impossibility,” Alexander muttered, still watching Lydia and the effortless way she glided through the crowd, greeting all friends and acquaintances she’d known in London. “She wouldn’t want me if she knew everything.”
“Hard to know that without telling her.”
“Easy to know without the burden of telling her,” he countered. “If I chose to stay and make a go of it, I’d have to tell her everything. You know that. But if I were to leave, then she could continue to live in ignorance. And that would be preferable.”
Godwin turned to also watch Lydia, though he did keep glancing at Miss Parsons as he went. “Yes…” he said slowly. “I suppose so. But do you ever stop to wonder what could be if you let it?”
“Do you?” Alexander countered.
For once, Godwin didn’t produce his ready smile. “Do you know,” he murmured, “I think I might finally be starting to…”
To Lydia’s surprise, she found Lord Scunthorpe in attendance; he must have been another of the guests who had traveled down from London especially for the event. And, by some design or other, she found herself seated by him at dinner.
“Duchess,” he said upon seeing her, inclining his head in greeting. “How unexpected—yet may I say how delightful—to see you here, and in such good spirits.”
“Lord Scunthorpe.” Lydia smiled, genuinely delighted to see her old beau.
There had never been much affection between them; their bond had been one of friendship, and although she had hoped once that he would marry her, she did not feel as though her life was in any way worse for him having not.
She knew as well as anyone that his interest in her had in part been from a desire to know her father better.
Once her father had passed away, that connection no longer existed.
One of the reasons she had agreed to Alexander’s offer was because she knew Lord Scunthorpe would not be so keen on marrying her immediately. Or, indeed, marrying her at all.
But for all that, there were no hard feelings between them. At least, she hoped there weren’t.
“What a wonderful surprise,” she chimed, smiling up at him. Twenty years her senior, she supposed she had always seen him as somewhat of a fatherly figure. “Do you know Mr. Godwin?”
“Who doesn’t, my dear? He is a very up-and-coming young man, you know. I believe he knows about everyone in London.” Lord Scunthorpe’s eyes lingered on her face. “I was very sad to hear the news of your father.”
“Yes, it was very sudden and very tragic…”
“Fortunate indeed that you had such an old friend on hand to help.” Lord Scunthorpe gestured to Alexander, who was watching their conversation from across the dining table, his eyes narrowed. Eliza was doing her best to speak with him, but he hardly looked as though he noticed.
“An old friend?” Lydia asked.
“The duke. I presumed—forgive me if I made an improper assumption.” He cleared his throat, glancing away from them both. “Your marriage was very sudden, you know.”
The irony of it was, of course, that he was not precisely mistaken. She and Alexander were not childhood friends as such, but she remembered him from her childhood, and if they hadn’t met—if he hadn’t saved her—then she would have felt entirely differently about trusting him to be her husband.
“That was—it was a period of adjustment, to be sure,” Lydia said, and out of friendly affection, she placed her hand briefly over his.
“I am sorry I didn’t formally write to let you know of my change in circumstances.
That must have been a shock to read about in the papers, and it was really up to me to—”
He shook his head, patting her hand clumsily. “Not at all, dear girl. There was no formal agreement in place. Nothing for you to break. I entirely understand why you acted as you did, and you were quite right to.”
Lydia could practically feel Alexander’s glare from where she was sitting, but she refused to give in to it. This was nothing she ought to be ashamed of, and it was only right that they were having this closure now, after their courtship over a year ago.
“Are you well?” he asked. “Are you… happy?”
Lydia glanced into the eyes of the man she would have married if her father had not died and Alexander hadn’t stepped up, and found that she had an answer ready and waiting. And more, that she regretted nothing.
“I am,” she smiled softly.
“A duchess.” Lord Scunthorpe gave a wry smile as he returned to his dinner. “I could not have done half as well for you as you have done for yourself, and it’s all for the best.”
“Have you any thoughts as to a future Lady Scunthorpe?” Lydia asked politely.
“Not at the present time. Debutantes do not get any older, and alas, neither do I. But I find myself perfectly contented with my lot in life, which is all any man can say for himself.”
“So you, too, are happy?”
“Now that I know you are, it is not churlish to admit, is it?”
“It wouldn’t have been, regardless. You and I were good friends, and I hope we may continue to be good friends, but I think it’s safe to say we were never in love.” She picked up her knife. “Which is all to the best, I think, given the circumstances.”
He nodded, and she thought she saw relief on his face that they were both in the same position, feeling the same way about their prior courtship and their current situation.
She wanted nothing but good things for him and his future; equally, she had no desire to be married to him and could not regret agreeing to marry Alexander instead, even if her future was still a little in the air.
When she glanced across to see Alexander watching her, however, his hands clasped before him and that customary expression on his face that made her think he had certain thoughts about her conversing with Lord Scunthorpe—she couldn’t say she felt any different.