Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
The dining room was ablaze with light and the table well laid when they entered.
Of course, Oliver had not expected less.
Stedmore would naturally think of Lydia more as a guest than as a governess.
It hadn’t really dawned on him before that moment how it might impact his servants when they were suddenly presented with the dilemma of the woman who at one time would have been their mistress suddenly being amongst, or at least adjacent, to their ranks.
That thought prompted a frown as he helped Gemma settle into her chair, seated on a higher cushion so she could adequately reach the table. “Mind your manners tonight,” he whispered to her. “I don’t want Miss Mercer to think I’ve allowed you to become a heathen.”
Gemma giggled, as he’d intended, and Oliver straightened.
Lydia was taking her place across the table from Gemma and just over her shoulder, he saw a footman worriedly whispering to Stedmore.
Then Stedmore simply left the dining room.
To say that was shocking was putting it mildly.
Stedmore never left the dining room during the dinner hour.
He considered it almost a sacred duty to preside over the evening meal at Hartwell Hall.
“Is something wrong, my lord?”
The question came from Lydia. She was staring at him with some degree of concern.
And it wasn’t a question he could answer.
Still, there was the feeling of impending doom.
Something was about to go very, very wrong.
“Gemma, I just remembered that the first course tonight is Mock Turtle Soup, which you detest… Why don’t you go to the kitchen and see if Mrs. Weddington has something else for you?
I believe she was making lemon cakes earlier. ”
Gemma was off within seconds, scrambling down from her chair and all but running for the door that would lead downstairs to the kitchen, just as he’d anticipated.
If there was one thing he knew, it was how to distract his daughter in that particular instance.
Firstly, because she loathed the soup being served and secondly, because as much as she hated the soup, she loved lemon cake.
It had been a ploy to have her far enough away that whatever was about to occur would be something she did not have to witness.
“I’m not entirely certain, Miss Mercer,” he finally answered her. Then Stedmore re-entered the room, his face quite ashen. “What is it Stedmore?”
“My lord, there has been a minor kitchen fire at the dower house… your mother has come to stay until everything can be righted.”
It was worse than he’d imagined. So much worse. But there was no time to prepare because his mother swept into the room. Immediately, her gaze fell on Lydia who had risen from her seat, as etiquette demanded.
“You!” His mother said, her voice all but trembling with shock and surprise.
“Lady Charlotte,” Lydia acknowledged. “You are looking quite well despite the distressing situation you’ve just fled.”
His mother’s eyes narrowed. “Is that why you fled all those years ago? A distressing situation?”
Oliver closed his eyes and prayed for strength. It was going to be a very long evening.
Lydia’s heart was pounding. Confronting Oliver had been something she both feared and dreaded, but because of how it might make her feel.
Because of all the pain it might dredge up for her—for them both.
But confronting Lady Charlotte was something else entirely.
She’d always been a bit intimidated by her.
What young woman wasn’t thoroughly terrified of her mother-in-law?
Attempting to smooth things over, Lydia began, “I understand your anger, Lady Charlotte. And it is anger that you have every right to feel. I know my actions seem cowardly—.”
“They do not seem anything. They were cowardly. You ran from him, disappearing into the night a mere fortnight before you were to be married! Banns had been read. The church had been secured. Flowers and foodstuffs ordered! The whole of society was prepared to attend your wedding… and you left. Without so much as a by your leave! An explanation is in order!” Lady Charlotte demanded.
Lydia swallowed convulsively. It was all true.
Every bit of it was true. But the last thing she could give Lady Charlotte or Oliver was the thing that had just been demanded of her.
An explanation. Because everything she’d seen of him since arriving at Hartwell Hall had brought those very actions and her reasoning behind them into question. “I cannot give you that, I am afraid.”
“Why else would you be here?” Lady Charlotte scoffed.
“I have secured the services of Miss Lydia Mercer as governess for Gemma,” Oliver stated, answering for her.
Lydia was grateful in that moment for his clear head, because she was struggling to find words at all. Much less to find words that were articulate and would not escalate the already tense situation.
“Mercer?” Lady Charlotte snapped, her gaze flashing from Oliver to Lydia. “You married another?”
“Miss,” Oliver said. “Miss Mercer… it is an assumed name and it is her choice to keep or divulge the reasoning for it. Her references are excellent and Gemma is already quite taken with her.”
Lady Charlotte glowered at her son. “You should have consulted me… I would have happily come to stay and taught dear Gemma all that she needs to know to get on in life and in society! Have I not told you that?”
“Yes, mother,” Oliver agreed. “And you also allow Gemma to run roughshod over you and everyone else. A governess was the only solution that would not see Gemma more spoiled than she already is!”
Lydia listened to the exchange with interest. She’d never seen Oliver stand up to his mother in such a way.
Oh, there hadn’t been reason to do so during their previous involvement because they had all been doing precisely what Lady Charlotte wanted them to do.
But this was different. This wasn’t Oliver who was her son.
This was Oliver who was very much Gemma’s father first. That distinction was instantly obvious to her because it was so very different from her own father.
That resentment had not faded. Not in a dozen years and she’d begun to doubt that it ever would.
Lady Charlotte’s gaze snapped to her once more. “Do not think to use my granddaughter to squirm back into my son’s life. You had your chance to be his wife and you tossed it away.”
“I have no such intentions,” Lydia assured her. “I am here to act as governess for a delightful child and to impart whatever knowledge I have to her.”
“Within reason, of course,” Lady Charlotte stated, her eyes glacial and her tone even colder. “We wouldn’t want your understanding of what it means to keep a promise to take root in her, after all.”
Lydia said nothing in response to that. There was no defense for it without uttering the painful and ugly truth.
She’d failed Oliver and she’d failed herself.
Because she’d made the assumption that her squandered fortune was the only way.
She’d underestimated them both. “I will teach Gemma all the things she should know. And nothing that she should not.”
Lady Charlotte drew herself up, her spine rigid and her head held high.
To Stedmore she issued a singular command that said all it needed to about her opinion of Lydia.
“Have a tray sent to my room… For every meal until I can return to the dower house.” Then the woman turned on her heel and strode out, sparing not even a backward glance.
Oliver spoke, his deep and painfully calm voice splitting the silence of the room. “I think we shall all dine in our rooms this evening. Have Mrs. Weddington feed Gemma in the kitchen. She always enjoys that.”
“Yes, my lord. I’ll see to it.”
Lydia was still standing there. Her fists were clenched at her sides and she could not manage to put one foot in front of the other.
“Why don’t I have one of the maids show you back to your chamber, Miss Mercer? It’s been a trying day for you… no doubt you are quite fatigued from your journey.”
It was the offer of an escape. It was also a thin shred of dignity returned to her.
Lydia swallowed past the lump in her throat.
“Indeed, my lord. I am more tired than I realized. But you needn’t send a maid.
There’s little point in creating more work for someone else when I obviously know the way.
” With that, Lydia gathered her shredded pride about her, and exited the room.