Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
Lydia
T he drawing room was bathed in pale sunlight as Lydia carefully arranged the tea things on the low table. Though she had performed this ritual countless times in her life, her hands felt unsteady. Emma—a woman of poise, kindness, and undeniable intelligence—sat across from her, studying her surroundings with a composed air. It was clear Emma was waiting for Lydia to steer the conversation, and the quiet expectation made the moment feel heavier than it needed to be.
Lydia inhaled a soft breath. This is just tea. A conversation. Nothing more.
“Do you take sugar, Your Grace?” she asked, lifting the small silver tongs.
Emma smiled, a trace of amusement in her hazel eyes. “One lump, thank you. And please, Lydia, we are family now. No need for such formality. Emma.”
Lydia nodded, pouring the tea with precision. “Emma, then.”
As they settled into their teacups, the awkward silence that followed was nearly palpable. Lydia fidgeted slightly, unsure of how to begin. Fortunately, Emma broke the stillness.
“And how do you find Hayward House?”
Lydia offered a tentative smile. “It’s... beautiful, certainly. Though quite different from what I imagined.”
Emma arched a brow. “Different in what way?”
“There’s a great deal of history here, isn’t there? One can feel it in the way every room seems so carefully curated,” Lydia said thoughtfully. “Though I must admit, it feels less lively than I’d hoped. But I suppose a house adapts to the people within it.”
Emma’s smile grew faint. “It does indeed.”
The conversation drifted to simpler things—the weather, their journey to the estate, and an inconsequential detail or two about London. Gradually, the awkwardness began to fade. Emma’s openness had a disarming effect, and Lydia found herself speaking more freely than she’d expected.
Eventually, Emma set her cup aside, tilting her head curiously. “And what of Eammon? Have you had much opportunity to spend time with him?”
Lydia’s face softened. “Yes, quite a lot. So much so I fear Miss Murphy is quite threatened by me. He’s such a darling boy—so well-mannered and sweet. He warms to people so quickly once he feels comfortable. Honestly, I find it difficult not to adore him.”
Emma’s expression mirrored her warmth. “He’s a good child.”
“But he’s a child,” Lydia said carefully, lowering her voice slightly. “Which makes Alexander’s approach to him all the more difficult to understand. He’s been... less attentive than he ought to be, I think.”
Emma’s smile waned, replaced by something more reflective. “You’re not wrong,” she admitted. “He struggles with guardianship. But that’s more a reflection of his upbringing than anything else.”
Lydia tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
Emma hesitated, taking a sip of tea as though to buy herself time. Then, after setting her cup down, she spoke more quietly. “Our father was... not a kind man. At least, not to Alexander.”
That took Lydia by surprise. “I see. I had heard some about your father.”
“Most have,” Emma said ruefully. “He was always very charming in public. But at home... he made sure Alexander understood his place. My brother was a second son. The spare. And Father never let him forget it.”
The words settled over Lydia like a shadow. “Second son?” she repeated, trying to piece it together. “I thought Alexander was the only male child.”
Emma’s lips pressed together briefly before she continued. “He wasn’t meant to inherit anything. There was an elder son. His name was Edward, though he didn’t live past his first year—much less than that, in fact. It’s rarely spoken of by anyone but my father, who would praise the little one though he hardly had a chance to show his personality.”
Lydia’s breath caught, a strange pang of recognition stirring within her. “That must have been difficult. To always feel... lesser.”
Emma nodded solemnly. “It was. I suppose you could say our father treated Alexander like an unwanted placeholder. And Alexander... well, he endured it the only way he could—by keeping his emotions carefully hidden.”
Lydia stared into her teacup, her mind racing. She was the eldest daughter in her own family, but she had long been overlooked in favor of Louisa. That subtle but undeniable favoritism had left its mark on her, a mark she now realized might not be so dissimilar to Alexander’s.
“When my brother went to Ireland, Eammon’s parents were like a family to him. More so than his own. He feels a responsibility to them to raise Eammon properly. He doesn’t want him to feel less than.”
Still, she couldn’t entirely excuse his behavior. “That explains much, but surely it doesn’t absolve him.”
Emma gave a faint smile, her eyes soft with understanding. “You’re right, of course. Alexander has his faults. Many of them. But he just needs time. When he first returned to England, it was like we were strangers. After so many years apart, it took time to find our footing as siblings again. I imagine it will be the same here—with Eammon, with you.”
Lydia considered this, her expression thoughtful. “Time can’t fix everything. But I’ll do what I can to help.”
“I thought you might,” Emma said with an approving nod. “You’ve a kind heart, Lydia. I knew it the moment we met.”
A sudden flush colored Lydia’s cheeks. “You’re kinder to me than I deserve, Emma. Especially given my reputation.”
Emma’s lips quirked into a sly smile. “Oh, I wouldn’t concern yourself with that. The ladies in our family have had their share of scandals. The men too, come to think of it.”
Lydia raised a brow in amusement. “Really?”
“Oh yes. If anything, you’ll fit in perfectly,” Emma said with a wink.
Both women chuckled, the ice between them fully thawed.
Emma reached for her gloves, preparing to excuse herself. “You’ve much to navigate, Lydia, but you’re not alone. And I do believe you’re the very person who could draw my brother out of his solitude, even if he fights you every step of the way.”
Lydia watched her rise, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “Thank you for saying so.”
Emma returned the smile, a note of mischief in her eyes. “Don’t thank me too quickly. Alexander can be maddening. But, as I said—time.”
With that, Emma departed, leaving Lydia alone with her thoughts. Their conversation lingered in her mind as she stared into the half-empty teapot. Emma’s insights had offered a clearer picture of Alexander—and perhaps a glimmer of hope that things might yet improve.