Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
The journey home seemed to both take no time at all and hours upon hours. With the hot bricks under her feet and the blankets across her shoulders, Lydia was warm enough, but every time she thought of Alexander telling Marie that they needed to talk, her chest tightened.
They did need to talk. And yet, the mere thought of whatever he had to say made her feel as though she might purge the contents of her stomach everywhere.
Once they arrived back at the manor, Alexander hurried her inside. The servants were waiting, armed with sweet tea and hot cocoa, and when they finally made it up to her bedchamber, the fire inside roared a hearty warmth.
Alexander did not wait to call for Rosie, her maid, stripping her wet clothes off her himself. And Lydia, confused and concerned, stood still and mute and waited until he deemed her safe and warm enough to continue.
“Now…” she murmured, dressed in a nightgown—he had not given her naked body more than a cursory glance, despite everything they had done in the carriage on the way to the ball—and sitting on the bed. “Now can you tell me what is going on?”
He came to sit beside her. “You don’t have a chill?”
“No. Tell me.”
His shoulders slumped, and he took a deep breath. “Very well…” He scrubbed at his forehead, looking smaller than she had ever seen him. “The reason you overheard me telling Godwin that I would prepare to leave was because I didn’t know if you would want to see me after I told you this.
“But before I do, let me be clear about my intentions—I want to live here with you for the rest of our natural lives. I want to raise our children and be a better father than mine ever was, and I… I hope you will accept me as you had the first moment I stepped back into this house a month ago. There has not been a moment since returning here with you that I have regretted choosing to marry you.”
“Not even for Helena?” she asked, feeling hope expand in her chest.
“Helena was a child’s dream. You are a man’s. But—” He bit the word off, chewed it as though delaying whatever he wanted to say next. As though he was searching for words. Then he exhaled at once. “I am the reason your father’s carriage crashed.”
The words sank slowly through Lydia’s mind like sand filtering through water. The meaning was smoke in the air. For a long moment, she felt as though she was sitting suspended in that air.
“I was… I was wandering along the road when your father’s horses were spooked,” he pressed onward, and despite herself, his words painted a picture of the lonely London street. Her father’s horses, his carriage, and Alexander hobbling as the carriage approached.
She had known her father’s carriage had been upended. Had known that Alexander had happened upon them, and that Alexander had been the one responsible for bringing her father back home. For calling for a physician.
Despite that all, she had somehow never once suspected it was his doing.
“I-I know you must blame me,” he muttered when she remained silent—though what could she say? The hope that had ballooned in her chest had turned to lead, and she felt so very heavy, as though she might sink through the bed.
That sense of floating had turned into falling.
She was falling.
For months, she had grieved her father. Now, over a year on, she felt as though her grief could be easily managed, tucked into a box and largely accepted as she chased her brand new happiness.
Her lips felt numb.
“Blame…” she repeated. It was his fault; he had admitted as such. Yet still the word stuck in her throat.
The horses had been to blame; the coachman. The workers who made the carriage so easy to tip when horses were bolting.
That was to say, everyone was to blame, and no one.
“You told me it was an accident,” she croaked.
Anguish filled his expression. So much more emotion than he had let her see when it had happened, and she wondered if he’d felt the full extent of his pain then, or if he had carried it deep inside, putting it aside so he could do everything he felt he needed.
Her next breath felt as though it scraped through her entire body.
“It was an accident,” he exhaled, taking her hand and pressing it between both of his.
“I never intended to hurt anyone, and I’ve been struggling to come to terms with it ever since.
The fact that he died because of me haunts me.
And when I see you sleeping, I think that if it weren’t for me, you might still be living with your father, happy. ”
If it weren’t for him.
Her heart contracted. Her time in London had been contented, overall.
She had found a kind of peace that came from knowing her place in the world and having a laid-out future.
Then, she had believed herself a beloved daughter, even if her father rarely said so directly, and the soon-to-be wife of Lord Scunthorpe.
That had been enough. But had she been happy?
Here, she was happy.
Being with Alexander had made her happy these past few weeks. Learning him, letting him see all of her, and contemplating a future with him.
All that would not have happened if it weren’t for the terrible accident—and yes, it was an accident—that had brought them together.
If it were not for him, her father would still be alive.
If it were not for him, she would quite possibly be the uninspired, blandly contented wife of Lord Scunthorpe.
If it were not for him, she would never have married the gentleman that part of her had been in love with for nine whole years.
How could she come to terms with these facts? How could she bring them together?
She blinked, and twin tears ran down her cheeks. Her chest felt as though it was splitting apart all over again, and she drew in another shuddering breath. His warm hands came to brush away her tears.
“I’m so sorry, Lydia,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “If I could go back in time and change things, I would. Even knowing I could never be happy without you, I would.”
With another tight breath, she reached up and wrapped her fingers around his wrist, bringing his hand to her cheek. “Alex…” she whispered.
“If you need time, then you can have it. I’ll give you space to consider whether you can bear being with me or not. And if the answer is you can’t, I… I will try to understand. That is why you heard me that night saying I would have a bag packed—so I could leave at any time.”
If he left, she would be all alone in this big house with her new grief. And as conflicted as she felt about Alexander and the numerous roles he had played throughout her life, she didn’t want to be alone…
What she needed was to grieve. Openly, unafraid of asking for comfort…
“D-don’t go,” she managed, her voice choked. “Don’t leave me.”
“I’m right here.” He pulled her against his chest immediately, one hand in her hair, the other banding around her waist. “As long as you want me, wife. As long as you’ll have me.”
Wife.
She hadn’t forgiven him, not yet. But she would. And knowing that he intended to stay eased some of the pain inside her.
“I know I don’t deserve you,” he mumbled against her hair, as his voice began to break into a million pieces. “But I will do everything in my power to make your life the best it can be from this point on.”
Clarity came to her in a burst of light. Alexander might hold himself responsible for her father’s death, but he wasn’t the only one to have been walking about that day. If her father’s carriage hadn’t encountered him, then it may well have encountered someone else.
And if that had been the case, Alexander would never have gone out of his way to help. When she got home, it would be to the news that her father had perished; there would have been no helping hand in the form of Alexander or his offer of marriage.
So many things might never have happened. Much as she grieved her father, how could she say that this was not the way it ought to be?
Cupping his face in her hands, she leaned back and gazed into his red-brimmed eyes. Loving him felt complicated and difficult now, but that feeling would fade with time. Then, all she would feel would be adoration.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered somberly.
His eyes searched hers, damp with his own tears. “If it weren’t for me, it-it wouldn’t have happened—”
“And if it weren’t for the horses, or the coachman’s control over them, or God’s will, the carriage would never have tipped.
” She slid her fingers along his cheekbones, down the sharp planes of his face, until she reached the corner of his mouth.
Until recently, she hadn’t seen him smile.
For so long, he had been bearing the chains of his guilt.
No longer.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she repeated. “You said it yourself—it was a terrible accident. Would you intentionally hurt me?”
“No, never! Of course not.”
“Then please stop punishing yourself over something you had no control over.” She brought her hands to his shoulders, using him to hold herself up.
Her throat felt thick, but as she looked into the face of the man she loved, she knew she was making the right decision.
“Release yourself from this guilt, Alex. You married me; you absolved yourself over and over again.”
“I married you, then abandoned you out of shame…” he rasped brokenly.
Not over Helena, after all. Or at least, not entirely. He had always vowed never to marry, and he had, but worse than that, he had married the daughter of the man he felt responsible for killing. As though he had taken a gun and pointed it at her father’s heart.
They still had so much to work through, but at least they could work through it together now.
“You married me…” she murmured. “You saved me when I would have had no other recourse. My life would be bleak if you hadn’t.
And perhaps not happy if you had never been walking down that road on that specific night.
All we have is now; all we can ever have is this.
” She pulled him closer so his nose brushed hers.
“I want to make the best of it,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “Even if it is hard for the moment.”
His large hands came to cradle the back of her head. “The things most worth doing are hard, sometimes…” he murmured. “And no matter how hard it is, if you can forgive me, then I will fight for you.”
All the tension left her body. That was what she had wanted—what she had needed. Alexander, to stay and fight, even if she got angry. Even if, sometimes, she lost herself again to the pain of losing her father.
She would so much rather that than loneliness.
“Stay with me tonight,” she said, the words thick. “Hold me.”
“Always.”
As she watched, he stripped off his outer layers that were still damp from the blistering rain, remaining in his shirt only.
Untucked, the hem brushed his upper thighs, and for a moment, she wondered whether she wanted something else.
A distraction. A continuation of what she had started in the carriage.
But her heart hurt too much for that. And by the way Alexander took her hand and guided her gently to lie back against the pillow, he understood as much.
“It may take time,” he told her as he enfolded her in his arms, holding her against his chest. “But you waited ten years for me, utterly alone. An eternity of waiting would not be a penance for my sin.
“As long as it takes, my little dove.”
For the first time since her father’s death, she clung to someone and let herself cry without shame.
The whole night, he held her, stroking her hair and murmuring reassurances.
Mostly, though, he kept quiet, letting her give voice to the grief she had been suppressing for so long.
When she had first come, she had been a ghost in these halls and unable to allow herself to grieve.
His mouth grazed her temple as she finally softened toward sleep. “Thank you…” he murmured, so softly she thought she must have imagined it. She wanted to rouse herself and demand his meaning, but exhaustion had its claws into her, dragging her further into unconsciousness. “I love you.”
Her mouth opened to return the sentiment, but sleep finally claimed her, and she knew no more.