Chapter 27 #2
Alexander stepped closer, something nagging at the back of his mind. The girl's expression—that particular tilt of her head, the way her hands were clasped before her... There was something achingly familiar about it, like a melody he'd once known but could no longer quite recall.
“When was this painted?” he asked, his voice sounding distant to his own ears.
“I believe shortly before Lady Blackmoor's passing. A year or so before father and daughter left for London.” Lord Harrogate paused. “A difficult time for the family, by all accounts.”
A year before they left for London. Alexander's chest tightened inexplicably. He couldn't tear his eyes from the portrait—from those eyes that seemed to look straight through him, carrying a weight no child should bear…
“Your Grace?”
Alexander blinked, the moment breaking. He turned from the portrait, though his mind remained unsettled. “Forgive me. Thank you,” he said to Lord Harrogate, his voice not quite steady. “I’ll let her know. I should find the duchess now. If she would have me, I would like to dance with her.”
The lord furrowed his brows. “You… think there is a doubt she would have you?”
“I think she is not much in the mood for dancing.” Alexander ran a hand through his hair as they reached the stairs. “Tell me something, Harrogate. What did you do to woo your wife?”
“To woo her?”
“I understand it was not a love match in the beginning.”
“Ah, no.” Lord Harrogate hesitated. “In truth, it might never have been a love match if it were not for Lady Harrogate herself. She decided she wanted more from me, and as she did, I came to realize how lucky I had been to marry her—and how much of a fool I had almost been.” He gave a gentle smile that Alexander had never seen on his face before.
On any man’s face, in fact. “I would do anything to ensure her happiness.”
“But… there was no thing in specific?” Alexander pressed.
“Is every lady the same? What does she prize above everything else? For my Marie, it was poetry. Fortunately, for my lack of ability in that area, she more than accepted my seeking out poetry for her, and copying it down.” Lord Harrogate clapped Alexander on the shoulder.
“If she cares for you, old man, she won’t require you to become someone you are not.
Just try for her sake. Learn the things she likes and offer them to her. ”
What did Lydia like?
She loved the library and her friends. He had rarely seen her as happy as around that small kitchen table, eating pies with his tenants. She was no great lady; she simply sought acceptance and love from the world around her.
That was all she needed from him.
“I should return to the ballroom,” he murmured at last.
“Good luck with whatever you are planning, Your Grace,” Lord Harrogate said, but Alexander was already striding away, back down the large, open stairway.
They would come together to decide the future of their home. He would build her a library of her very own. He would move into her bedchamber entirely—or perhaps move her into his. No more pretending he didn’t need her the way he did.
When he entered the ballroom, he looked around for her. At first, at the ladies seated around the edge, then at the dancing couples.
Lydia was nowhere to be seen.
Perplexed, he skirted the room until he finally found Miss Parsons on Godwin’s arm, leaning into him and looking up at him adoringly.
Odd, seeing that expression on her face. Still.
“Miss Parsons,” he greeted, bowing. “I am sorry to interrupt, but have you seen the duchess?”
The smile slid off Miss Parson’s face almost immediately. “Excuse me,” she murmured to her party, then stepped away to speak with him in private. Her arms folded stubbornly across her chest, and he had the impression she was about to interrogate him. “Why are you looking for her?”
Alexander arched a brow. Miss Parsons might think she could intimidate most people in the room—and perhaps she was right—but it would not work on him. “Is that any of your business?”
“After hearing the things she has had to say about you, I would say it is.” She tipped her chin up. “She doesn’t want to see you, Your Grace.”
Alexander felt taken aback. “What do you mean she doesn’t want to see me?”
“She knows you intend to leave tomorrow, and I think she would rather wait until you’ve left.” Miss Parsons gritted her teeth, looking very much as though she would like to strike him. But Alexander was distracted by the other thing she said.
“She knows I intend to leave?”
“Were you intending to keep it a secret?” Her lip lifted. “Well, I am sorry to say you failed.”
Alexander inhaled, keeping his temper with every force of will he possessed. She thought he was leaving? Was that why she had been so cold to him? And if so, why did she not say so?
“What made her think so?”
“She overheard you telling Samuel.” Miss Parsons flicked her finger at her beloved. “I pressed him for details, but he informed me that it is between you and Lydia. I had hoped you would tell her yourself, but when you arrived here, you evidently had not.”
She’d overheard him telling Godwin he intended to leave? If that was the case, she had only overheard the very end of a very damning conversation from a few nights ago, and nothing that came before. He wasn’t sure if he ought to feel relieved or even more concerned.
“Let me get one thing straight,” Alexander snapped at Miss Parsons, and at the cold anger in her voice, she looked up at him in surprise.
“I have no intention of leaving Lydia unless she desires it. The preparation to leave is a contingency plan, so if she were to decide that she can’t stand the sight of me any longer, I can leave without further delay. Do you understand?”
“I—” Miss Parsons’ brows descended over her face. “You have… something terrible to tell her?”
“That is my business and my business alone. But rest assured, I have no intention of leaving if Lydia does not command it.” He resisted the urge to shake her stubborn, angry friend, but only just. “So where is she? Has she returned home?”
“I—I don’t know,” Miss Parsons stammered, her composure well and truly shattered. “She told Marie and me that she wanted some time and space alone, and we offered that to her, but I don’t know where she went. Marie offered her the use of her carriage, but—”
Abandoning her, Alexander strode to the great doors leading into the rest of the house. From there, he spoke to the butler, ascertaining that his carriage had not been summoned, but that one of Lord Harrogate’s carriages had been called for one of the guests. The butler was not sure which one.
That settled the matter—Alexander was now adequately certain that Lydia had returned home, no doubt hoping to retire before he got back, and with the thought that he would leave in the morning without ever bidding her farewell.
After all their time together, was that truly what she thought of him?
He endured the stab of pain and disappointment, sending for his carriage and waiting by the door, heedless of the lashing rain. The heavens mimicked his mood.
All he wanted to do was go to bed in his wife’s arms.
All he wanted was to tell her the worst parts of himself and for her to understand.
It took altogether too long for the carriage to arrive, and when it did, he already felt jittery from nerves and fear.
No, not just the nerves and fear.
The remnants of withdrawal had slowly begun siphoning in his blood, and his cravings had returned with a vengeance.
“Go!” he commanded tersely as he climbed into the coach, gripping his wrist to stop his hand from shaking. “Spare me no comfort; take me home as soon as possible!”
“Is Her Grace not accompanying you, sir?” the coachman asked, collars turned up against the bitter wind and driving rain. Alexander’s gut twisted.
“Not tonight,” he muttered.
“As you say, sir.”
The carriage lurched into motion, and Alexander tried to plan in his obstreperous mind what he would tell Lydia when he saw her again—about how much he cared for her, about how much he wanted to stay.
And then, perhaps, necessarily, the reason he may never be able to…