Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
Lydia
T he ceremony was mercifully brief, though Lydia wasn’t certain how she managed to keep her composure, let alone remain upright. Every word spoken by the vicar resonated like the ringing of an anvil, each syllable forging a chain that bound her irrevocably to this fate. Beneath the delicate folds of her gown, her fists clenched tightly, nails digging into her palms, a silent reflection of her inner turmoil. Her jaw ached from remaining firmly set, lest the screams inside her found their way out.
When the moment came to seal the vows with a kiss, her breath caught, a wave of revulsion threatening to overtake her. As Alexander leaned forward, she froze, the world narrowing to that single unbearable moment. She braced herself for disgust, for loathing, for anything that would match the storm raging within her.
But when his lips met hers, she was struck with unexpected tenderness. His kiss was soft, almost hesitant, devoid of arrogance or triumph. It was the warmth she had not anticipated that startled her most, though it did nothing to soothe her anger. For the briefest moment, her fiery resentment hesitated, as if an ember flickered in its place.
No. No such foolishness would take root.
She stiffened, pulling away the instant propriety allowed, the veneer of calm tightly intact. Whatever sensation had briefly sparked was crushed beneath the weight of her fury.
The murmurs of approval from the onlookers grated like sand against her nerves. She knew his entire family was here to watch this debacle unfold, though she’d not been able to speak to any of them as of yet, other than a brief introduction.
She’d looked at each of the women with bewilderment. She knew they’d each been tricked into their marriages one way or the other. Though they all appeared happy now, she had to wonder what they made of this.
Why, knowing how it felt to be forced into a marriage, had none of them put a stop to this? Was it because they were now duchesses, elevated from mere earl’s daughters, and they thought it a privilege? A privilege she too should be grateful for?
Balderdash. These women were as bad as their brother if this was the case.
She forced her expression into neutrality, though her thoughts churned ceaselessly. Her gaze strayed to the front row, where her younger sisters sat with her father, who beamed as though he had won at the derby. Louisa offered her a small, encouraging smile, but tears streaked Cressida’s cheeks unchecked. Beside her, the twins clung to each other, their small shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.
They hadn’t taken the news of Lydia’s marriage well. Initially, they’d thought they too could go to live with her at the duke’s large home. But no. She’d had to crush those dreams at once.
Or rather, her father had.
For he’d made it very clear that Lydia had a new role now: Duchess of Leith. And that would leave no time to look after her sisters. In fact, he’d declared it a necessity that they hire a governess post haste. For the time being, Louisa and Mrs Baines would be taking care of the children. With Louisa about to embark on a courtship, however, she knew the elderly housekeeper – who had no children of her own and did not particularly like them either – would be in charge.
As the congregation began to disperse, Lydia made her way to her sisters, each step growing heavier with the weight of their tearful gazes. Elizabeth reached for her, gripping Lydia’s hand tightly, her little fingers trembling.
“Don’t go, Lydia,” she begged, her voice cracking with desperation.
Maggie joined in, her cheeks flushed and damp. “We need you. Don’t leave us!”
Lydia knelt to their level, smoothing Elizabeth’s hair with one hand and clasping Maggie’s trembling fingers with the other. Her throat tightened painfully, the words she needed to say caught amidst the tempest in her heart. “My pets,” she whispered, forcing her voice into something steady, “I do not want to leave you, but I must. The Duke requires my presence at Hayward House. It is expected.”
“It’s not fair,” Cressida murmured angrily, stepping forward to throw her arms around Lydia’s neck. Her embrace was fierce and unyielding, as if clinging to Lydia could keep her there.
Lydia closed her eyes and returned her sister’s grip with equal force. “I know, my love,” she murmured into Cressida’s hair. “I know it isn’t fair. But you are strong, and I know you will look after Elizabeth and Maggie for me, just as I’ve always looked after you.”
Cressida pulled back slightly, meeting her gaze with a tear-streaked but defiant expression. Lydia knew it was a silly notion that the little tot could look after her sisters, but she needed a task. Lydia’s resolve nearly shattered then, but she forced herself to rise.
Mrs. Baines stepped forward gently but firmly. “Come now, girls. Let’s not trouble your sister further.”
Elizabeth whimpered as she was drawn away, and Maggie burst into fresh sobs that echoed painfully in Lydia’s ears. It took everything she had to hold herself together, to keep from breaking entirely.
As she straightened, her eyes sought Louisa, who stood apart from the others, her expression burdened with understanding. Lydia walked toward her younger sister, gripping her hands tightly. “You must watch over them, Louisa,” she implored, her voice low but firm.
Louisa’s face softened with determination. “I will do everything in my power to ensure their well-being. But, Lydia, what will you do? How will you manage?”
Lydia’s lips pressed into a thin line, the familiar heat of anger rekindling in her chest. “This will not stand, Louisa. Mark my words, I will find my way back. He cannot think to steal me from my family so easily.”
Louisa’s brow furrowed, her hands tightening around Lydia’s. “Lydia, do not act rashly. He is a powerful man?—”
“I am not afraid of power,” Lydia said fiercely. “I am afraid of leaving the little ones unprotected. But I swear to you, I will not be kept away from them long. This farce cannot endure.”
Louisa’s gaze was solemn as she nodded. “I pray you are right.”
With one last embrace, Lydia turned to follow the Duke, who lingered near the chapel doors with an air of uncertainty.
Her steps toward the carriage were resolute, but her mind churned furiously. The sound of her sisters’ sobs still echoed in her ears, feeding the flames of her rage. By the time she reached the waiting vehicle, her hands were trembling with fury.
As she climbed inside, her gaze swept past Alexander without acknowledgment. She would endure this journey, she decided. She would endure whatever lay ahead. But she would not yield.
The clatter of the carriage wheels on the uneven road was the only sound between them, the silence heavy and stifling. Lydia sat stiffly on the opposite bench, her back straight as a rod, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her gaze was fixed resolutely on the window, watching the blurred countryside pass by.
The late afternoon sun beat down mercilessly, turning the interior of the carriage into a sweltering oven. The heavy velvet curtains at the windows seemed to trap the heat, smothering the already tense atmosphere. A bead of sweat rolled down Lydia’s temple, and she quickly brushed it away, resenting the indignity of it. The discomfort, however, only sharpened the edge of her fury.
Alexander, seated across from her, shifted awkwardly. He was clearly feeling the weight of the oppressive air—both the physical heat and the emotional chill she radiated. Finally, he cleared his throat, the sound startling in the heavy silence.
“You should know,” he began, his voice steady but cautious, “that you are welcome to visit your sisters whenever you wish. I won’t deny you that. And they can come to Hayward House as often as they please. My sisters are at my home often when they are in town.”
For a moment, Lydia did not respond. The heat pressed down on her like an iron lid, her dress clinging to her skin uncomfortably. Her fingers dug into her palm as she slowly turned to face him, her expression cold as a winter gale.
“And what good will that do them, Your Grace?” she demanded, her voice low and cutting. “My visits will not shield them from what they must endure in my absence.”
Alexander blinked, her words—and the venom with which she spoke them—visibly taking him aback. “I’m not certain I understand,” he replied, his brow furrowing. “They will be cared for. The housekeeper?—”
“The housekeeper,” Lydia snapped, interrupting him, “is a kind woman but cannot stand in my stead. She does not know what small children need. And my father...” Her voice faltered momentarily before hardening again. “My father is a brute. Who knows what sort of dragon he will hire as governess.”
Alexander straightened slightly, his discomfort giving way to a flicker of concern. “If there is something I should know, Lydia?—”
“There is nothing to know,” she interjected sharply, her tone brooking no argument. “What’s done is done. You’ve taken what you wanted. The rest is no longer your concern.”
He hesitated, clearly debating whether to press the matter further, but her hardened expression and clipped tone must have persuaded him otherwise. With a slight incline of his head, he sat back against the bench, though his brows remained knit in thought.
The silence that followed was suffocating, heavier than the heat itself. Lydia returned her gaze to the window, her fingernails biting into her palms as the countryside blurred into meaningless streaks of green and brown. She wanted to scream, to throw open the door of the infernal carriage and flee into the open air. But such theatrics were beneath her, and so she remained rigid, unmoving except for the shallow rise and fall of her chest.
She glanced at Alexander through the veil of her lashes. How composed he seemed, even in this oppressive heat. His cravat was perfectly tied, his posture relaxed—he looked every inch the unshakable duke. And yet his very presence felt like a stone pressing on her chest, stealing the breath from her lungs.
This man has ruined my life , she thought bitterly.
The words thundered in her mind like a drumbeat. For years, she had worked carefully to orchestrate her independence, to make herself as unappealing to suitors as possible so her father might finally cease his relentless matchmaking with horrid men. She had endured whispers about her behavior, about her reputation—all of it a carefully crafted defense for her freedom.
And now, in a single stroke, Alexander had dismantled everything.
She clenched her teeth, rage flaring like a wildfire in her chest. Worse, he seemed to believe he was doing her a kindness—offering her visitation rights, of all things, as if that small mercy could erase the reality of what she had lost.
Turning her head slightly, she cast him a glance full of disdain. The sun painted his profile in sharp relief, highlighting the proud line of his jaw and the faint glimmer of sweat on his temple. He did not seem cowed. No, despite her rebuke, he appeared rather pleased with himself.
Fine. Let him have his victory, she thought with acid resolve. Let him think he’s won.
But in time, he will come to regret it.
Her gaze flicked back to the window. Whatever his reasons for marrying her—be they duty or convenience—he would find she was no docile companion. She would be relentless. Difficult. Impossible. She would make every step of his life a challenge he could not win.
And when he tired of her, when the discomfort of their union outweighed its advantages, he would abandon her. She would ensure it. Then, she’d return to her family. And her father would not be able to make a match for her again for she’d be a fallen woman once and for all.
Lydia exhaled slowly, her fingers loosening slightly as the carriage jolted over a particularly rough patch of road. The battle had only just begun, but in her heart, she vowed it would end on her terms.
For her sisters.
And for herself.