Chapter 3 #3
At the large table which occupied the center of the room, there were a few drawings scattered about that showed a remarkably good eye for such a young child.
And there was a lovely music box, an automaton with a dancing bear on it, that tinkled slightly anytime someone bumped the table.
Beneath the far window was a rocking horse.
In its entirety, the room was a child’s dream.
And Oliver stood in the center of it, Gemma’s tiny form tucked against his leg and clinging to the tail of his coat.
Without any hesitation or even thought it seemed, he stooped and picked the child up, holding her so that she could lay her head on his shoulder.
"Thank you, Deirde. That’ll be all,” he said as the maid withdrew. Then he looked down at the little girl in his arms. ”Gemma?”
The child looked up immediately and met his gaze with one that could only be described as adoration. “Yes, Papa?"
“I'd very much like to introduce you to Miss Lydia Mercer. She’s your new governess. I’ve known her since long before you were even born and I assure you, she is a most excellent governess and a wonderful friend to have."
Gemma lifted her head and eyed Lydia with an expression that was equal parts curiosity and mistrust. “Hello, Miss Mercer… My last governess left.”
“Well, I do not have any intention of leaving unless you decide we will not suit… In that case, I would depart and leave you in peace. Though I’d like to have an opportunity to test out whether or not we might be friends. Do you think we could do that?” Lydia asked her.
Gemma tilted her head thoughtfully before looking back at Oliver. "She doesn't have grey hair like Miss Caster had. And she doesn’t look all pinch-faced, either.”
Oliver's mouth twitched despite himself. “No. I daresay no one has ever referred to Miss Mercer as pinch-faced.”
"My last governess had grey hair,” Gemma informed her, as though she hadn’t just heard the entire exchange.
“And a pinch-faced, though we probably shouldn’t say that. She likely couldn’t help the way her face looked.”
“She could help it,” Gemma protested. “She never looked pinch faced at Stedmore. Only at me and Papa.”
Lydia looked to Oliver for some sort of confirmation or rebuttal, but he just shrugged. “I paid very little attention to how Miss Caster looked at Stedmore. Or me. But she did look rather pinch-faced when speaking to Gemma and I did not care for that at all.”
“Mrs. Beaslington, our housekeeper, she says Papa is very gallon.”
“I think you mean gallant, pet,” Oliver said gently.
Gemma looked once more at Lydia, apparently reassessing her entirely. "I thought all governesses were old."
"I'm afraid you've discovered otherwise."
The little girl considered that for another moment before nodding with complete satisfaction. “Can you climb trees?” At Lydia’s nod of agreement she continued, “Will you let me climb trees?”
“If your father permits and presuming you don’t climb too high to be fetched should it prove necessary, I see no problem with that,” Lydia offered.
Gemma broke into a bright smile. ”Oh, I like you much better than Miss Caster!”
Lydia laughed, the sound escaping before she had any opportunity to restrain it. Gemma, despite her initial shyness, was an absolute delight. As she looked at them, the little girl quite content in Oliver’s arms, Lydia noted that Gemma looked nothing like Oliver.
There was no denying the child was beautiful.
Reddish-gold curls framed a lively face animated by intelligence, and eyes the clear blue of a summer morning regarded the world with endless curiosity.
Lydia looked again, expecting perhaps to discover some familiar angle of Oliver's jaw or the shape of his mouth hidden beneath the softness of childhood, but there was nothing at all that called him to mind. The contrast struck her as curious rather than troubling. Children often favored one parent almost entirely, and Gemma must surely have inherited every feature from her mother. Still, the thought lingered for a moment that when she had once imagined children with Oliver, she had never pictured one who looked quite like this. In her mind’s eye, any children they might have had together had possessed his dark, nearly black hair, and the pale green eyes that had charmed her so.
Perhaps it was just as well that Gemma looked nothing like him. If she did, it would likely break her heart all over again.
The gong for dinner sounded below stairs and Oliver eyed her over top of Gemma’s head. “It might seem unorthodox but Gemma takes her meals in the dining room, as shall you.”
“Of course, she should do that. How is a child to learn their manners if they never get to practice them?” But inside, Lydia wanted to scream.
Every moment in his presence was torture.
Every moment watching him so lovingly cradle a little girl who might have been hers had things been different, that was a pain that surpassed anything she had felt up until that moment.
Walking away from him had been a hellish decision, but being confronted by all that might have been had she stayed?
That was beyond cruel and she had no one to blame for it but herself.
After all, she’d been the one who chose to walk away, to give him the opportunity to marry and have children with another.
She could not very well bemoan the fact now.
As they made their way downstairs toward the dining room, Lydia braced herself for the storm of regret that was to come.