Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
“Please John, calm down,” Lydia said.
The baby was crying again although this time the cause was not a mystery.
He had dirtied himself and needed changing, but it happened to be his bathtime anyway, and the maids were drawing one for him.
Lydia was prepared to cope with this by herself.
When she was rested and had a full stomach, it was easier to manage the crying.
Georgia was nowhere to be seen at the moment.
The door opened, and Lydia assumed it was Georgia.
“You can help bathe him if you like, but he doesn’t need a feeding. I think you can smell what’s wrong,” Lydia said.
“I did not come here to feed the boy. I came here to see if I could help quieten him down. He is creating a racket, and it’s impossible to think,” Victor said.
Lydia twisted around, surprised to see him. She gasped a little and felt foolish for suggesting that he could have fed John.
“I thought you were Georgia.”
“I’m not,” he said bluntly and then recoiled as he sniffed the air. His nostrils flared, but then he quickly pinched his nose and turned to the side, expressing his disgust.
“How is it possible that something so tiny can produce something so wretched?” he said, backing away.
“He just needs changing. My sister told me that there is a kind of savage intimacy that comes with having a family… and marriage,” Lydia said, the short pause giving her words extra dramatic weight.
“Hmm, well, I do not see why such things hold appeal to so many people,” he muttered then rolled up his sleeve.
“What are you doing?” Lydia asked, mystified.
“I’m helping,” Victor replied, his hands hovering in the air near the child. His forearms were revealed. They were long and thick, covered in manly hair. Lydia felt guilty for glancing at them and quickly averted her gaze.
“I can oversee this by myself. I am capable.”
“I thought you wanted me to take more responsibility. This is what that looks like,” he argued, and Lydia had to concede that he had a point. She should not take this as a judgment against her skills as a caregiver but as someone willing to help. It was just uncharacteristic of Victor.
She held him up while the Duke stripped John of his clothes.
They both gagged at the pungent smell which was heavy and thick in the air.
John seemed to find the whole thing funny and was giggling away which Lydia preferred to him crying, even if it made undressing him complicated.
He also had the habit of kicking out his legs, and so he flung his soiled nappy into the air.
It landed flat on the rug, and Victor recoiled as though someone had thrown a spear.
“It’s quite all right. It won’t hurt you,” Lydia said. Victor straightened his clothes and cleared his throat, twisting his head to the side.
“Yes, well, one can never be too careful. I don’t wish to have to buy a new wardrobe,” he replied. Then he stared at John’s dirty bottom. “I think it’s best if I hold him now.”
Lydia giggled and did not decry him for not wanting to take on this grim task. He took the baby, and their fingers brushed together. John laughed again and stared at Victor. The Duke moved his head from side to side, watching John’s eyes follow him as Lydia cleaned John.
“It’s fascinating, isn’t it? Watching them watch you, thinking about what they’re learning and absorbing.”
“I’m not sure he is learning anything. Can he learn anything?”
“Of course. He’s taking it all in,” Lydia said.
When she finished, she stared at them, trying to see any resemblance now that they were face to face.
Perhaps there was something in the nose or the chin, but it was difficult to say.
Some babies came out of the womb looking like their parents while others had to grow into their looks.
And even when they were older, it was sometimes hard to tell.
Clara, Mary’s daughter, bore a resemblance to her biological father, who passed away some years ago.
However, her mannerisms were so alike to her stepfather’s that anyone who did not know their family history assumed that she was Alfred’s child.
Even if John did not favor Victor, it did not preclude Victor from being the father. It might just be that John favored the mother. Then, Lydia was filled with a profound sense of loss as she realized she might never have the joy of finding herself in the face of her child.
“Are you finished?” Victor said.
Lydia’s musings were interrupted, and for a moment she believed that Victor was taunting her to stop dwelling on sad things before she remembered that he simply referred to her cleaning John’s bottom. When she confirmed that she had, Victor carried John over to the bath.
Lydia was about to remark that she could bathe John but caught herself. It was selfish of her to chastise Victor for shirking responsibility but then push him away when he wanted a chance to bond with the boy. So, she held her tongue, and they stood on either side of the bath.
The water was shallow because John was so small. He kicked out his legs with surprising strength, and it sent a swell of water rising up. Victor had been leaning over the bath, making sure that John would not hurt himself or sink below the surface of the water, and so he was caught by the spray.
“Hold him for a moment,” Victor said. Lydia did as he asked and was about to taunt him for stepping away when her mouth dropped open.
Victor undid the buttons of his shirt and let it slip away.
He wore an undershirt beneath, but it clung to his sturdy torso.
Her eyes drifted over the shape of his biceps, and she couldn’t fail to notice the curled hair seeking to escape the edges of his vest. Her throat ran dry as she swept her gaze along the outline of his muscles, and she started to feel unduly warm.
He lifted his head, and she was so afraid of being caught looking at him that she turned back to John, hoping that the heat did not make her glow. She could feel it crawling over her skin and resting at the base of her neck.
It was wrong.
It was unwanted.
It was instinctual. It came without warning, and she had to try her hardest to stop it.
Lydia was quickly distracted as John wriggled and almost slipped away from her palms. She had to lean over the bathtub and reach low, making sure to cradle his head and prevent water from surging over his face.
She cried out. Victor quickly plunged his hands and wrapped them around John’s body.
The water was shallow but deep enough for their fingers to find each other beneath the surface.
Lydia drew back. When Victor brought his head up, she noticed that he was staring at her, and for a moment, she wondered if her thoughts were exposed.
How humiliating!
But then she realized that she was sopping wet.
Leaning over the bath had dampened her dress all over her chest, making the light fabric cling to her skin as though it was little more than a shadow.
The weight and intensity of his gaze made the air sizzle.
She could almost feel the desire, but surely that could not be.
Victor did not like her and hated being married to her.
She felt the same way. And yet she found it difficult to take her eyes off him. She could not prevent the thoughts from rampaging through her mind, so many mysteries, the answers of which were tantalizingly close.
She wondered about the warmth of his skin, how his biceps would feel against her fingertips.
She considered the hardness of his muscles and the way it would feel to stand so close to him, running her fingers through the thick hair, gazing into his eyes, and feeling his hands roam around her body as fiercely as his eyes did…
It was enough to make her feel light-headed.
“You must excuse me,” Victor said abruptly, leaving the room before she could say anything else. He closed the door firmly, and she wondered if she had done anything wrong.
Perhaps it was for the best. Everything had threatened to careen away from her, and the last thing she needed was to make matters between them even more complicated. She must just be tired from looking after John, and the air was humid.
Yes, that must have been it. It certainly couldn’t have been that she was attracted to her husband.
She could never be attracted to the Duke.
That was impossible.
Lydia was disappointed when Victor spent the rest of the day in his study.
He even took dinner there, the servant citing that he had work that was unavoidable.
Lydia only wished that she were unavoidable.
So many men made business their priority.
In all the books she read, the heroes eschewed that and lavished all their attention on their romantic partners.
After dinner, she spent some time with John until he fell asleep.
Lydia left the room and was startled when she bumped into Victor.
He held her arm to steady her. The touching caused lightning to crackle beneath her skin.
His sleeves were rolled up, and his cravat was loose. He looked softer than normal.
“You should take more care in dark corridors,” he said quietly, letting go of her arm. Lydia found herself missing the touch.
“I didn’t think I was in any danger,” she replied.
A smile curled at his lips. “I have ordered a footman to remain at your door tonight. If John wakes, send the footman to me. I shall watch over John while you sleep.”
Lydia furrowed her brow. “I thought such things did not concern you.”
“They do. When I said that John was under my care, I perhaps did not realize the breadth of those words, but I am beginning to see things more clearly. Even though he is a baby, he is still a person, and we must take care of him together.”
“Yes, we must. Thank you, Victor; it means a lot,” she said.
The Duke inclined his head. “It’s important that you rest, and if you would like any food, just tell the footman, and he shall fetch some for you.”
“I shall do that. Victor, I know this has not been easy for either of us, but I feel as though we are finding our way, and we must remember that John is the priority. He relies on us. He cannot do anything himself.”
“Well, there are some things he can do for himself. Very smelly, disgusting things,” Victor joked.
Lydia chuckled. “But I take your point. I know you think I am unkind, but that is not the case. I am stringent when it comes to protecting my family and my name. For now, John is a part of that family, I suppose, and I shall do my best to take care of him as well.”
Lydia wondered if he was trying to admit that he was John’s father or if his words should just be accepted plainly.
“I’m sure John will be grateful for that. But if he does become difficult, then do not let me rest. I want to help. I want John to know that I am there for him. He has been abandoned by one parent. I don’t want him to feel that either of us has abandoned him either.”
“I’m sure he won’t. I will see you in the morning,” Victor said, opening his palm, gesturing for her to leave. Lydia paused for a moment, feeling as though there was something more that she ought to stay although the instinct did not coalesce into words.
So, she bid the Duke farewell and entered her room.
As she was closing the door, she saw Victor enter John’s room.
Perhaps there was hope for him yet, and it might well be the case that his heart was softening because of the child.
Lydia smiled at the notion, and she just hoped that whatever happened to John, he ended up with people who would care for him as much as she and Victor did.
Of course, for all she knew, John was with his real father now. For some reason, she could not dismiss the notion, and she recalled how Victor was upset with Georgia for rummaging through his belongings.
Was there something he was hiding in there, some link to the woman who gave birth to John?