Page 21 of Her Beautiful Bastard
“That is very generous, Mr. Clayton. I have been meaning to write them and inform them of my new position. I will have a letter to give to Mr. Welby tomorrow morning.”
“Very good.”
He should have been satisfied with that, but the mention of her family had opened a door. He might not have another opportunity like this one.
“Might I ask …” He cleared his throat, now unable to maintain her gaze as he prepared to delve into her personal life. “That is … the young lady I met four years ago was … I would never have thought to find her applying to work as a governess.”
She made a little sound, and when he glanced up in response, he found her smothering her shock with a mask of annoyance.
“That is hardly any of your business.”
Her brusqueness did not put him off. If anything, it only made him want to pry further. He had obviously struck a nerve.
“Perhaps not. However, any servant of Buckton can tell you that I take a personal interest in the people who work for me. You are no exception. It simply puzzles me that someone who might have made an advantageous marriage has found herself here. If something happened … if there might be anything I can do to help—”
“There is nothing for you to do,” she interjected, laying her teacup in its saucer with a bit more force than was necessary. “As you can guess, I did not make a match my first Season. I decided not to pursue a second as I found the process to be tedious. And instead of becoming a burden upon my relations, I decided to strike out and make a life for myself. I enjoy teaching young children, and am quite fulfilled by my work.”
For a moment, he grappled with words. He wanted to tell her that he doubted she could ever be a burden upon anyone. He wanted to tell her that the men who had refused to offer for her were bloody fools, and that if he were free, he would have claimed her as his own the night they’d met.
However, she already thought of him as a lecher who had attempted to prey on her despite being married. He couldn’t stand for her opinion of him to sink any lower.
“I see,” he said. “Thank you for enlightening me, Miss Darling. Please know that we treat our staff like family here at Buckton. So, if there is anything you need … anything at all … please inform Charles, and he will consult me about seeing it done. We want you to feel at home here.”
Pushing her chair back from the table, she rose. “That is kind of you, Mr. Clayton. I will bear it in mind. I should go now. Henry will be wondering where I’ve been.”
“Of course. I hope you have a pleasant day … and that your prank has frustrated Henry to no end.”
As he watched her breeze toward the door, he could not help but notice the twitching of her lips, as if she held back a smile. She paused in the doorway, swiveling in an instant to look at him. He flinched at being caught staring after her, but could not look away once those eyes of hers met his. They were like a clear summer sky—cloudless and bright blue.
“The men of London,” she said, her voice low. “They liked me very much. Many of them told me so. But, as a man might like another man—one he indulges in card games and cigars with, one he hunts and rides with. I was not … I wasn’t the sort of woman any of them wished to marry. That is why I did not make a match. After the Season, I decided there was no use trying again. None of those men desired to wed me, and I did not desire to shape myself into something I wasn’t to snare a husband.”
Her face flushed after she’d finished, and he realized that the words had come to her mouth unbidden. That she’d confided in him, even without wanting to, touched a part of him he’d thought long dead. He smiled at the realization that there were parts of him Drucilla had not yet destroyed, parts that weren’t beyond salvaging.
“Those men were fools,” he replied. “If any of them knew what it was like to marry one of those perfect porcelain dolls, those ladies with pristine manners and flawless bloodlines, well … they would long for a different sort of marriage. One where a man might talk to his wife as if she were his best friend, instead of talking to her as if she were a stranger. They would have flocked to you in droves, giving everything they had to win and keep you. You would have become the standard by which all other debutantes are measured.”
He clamped his lips shut too late, his mouth having run away with him. Just as it had on the night he’d climbed that wall and sat on a tree limb beside her. Just looking at her brought something out in him, something that he could not seem to stifle.
Her lips parted, but no words were forthcoming. Her brow furrowed as she seemed to try to think up a response.
At last, she settled upon a simple “thank you.” Then, she turned to leave, hurrying through the open dining room door, her footsteps fading down the corridor.
CHAPTER FIVE
For several days following Mr. Clayton’s arrival at Buckton Manor, Lydia went through her routine in a bit of a fog. It felt as if her body moved around on its own, working from memory, while her mind wandered about, removed from the rest of her.
To the eyes of Henry and the other occupants of the manor, she probably seemed like her usual self. Quiet, unassuming, strict when her pupil required it. She rose each morning, took breakfast in the dining room with Mr. Welby and Sinclair—remaining silent while the two chatted about matters of the estate—then spent her day in the schoolroom with Henry. Her evenings were her own, but even then, she could not seem to find contentment in her usual hobbies. None of her books appealed, and the bit of needlepoint she’d been working on failed to keep her interest. She often stared listlessly through her window, mind racing as Sinclair’s words echoed through her mind.
If any of them knew what it was like to marry one of those perfect porcelain dolls … they would long for a different sort of marriage … You would have become the standard by which all other debutantes are measured.
While she wanted to believe his words were no more than the empty flatteries of a rake, something within her had latched onto them. Yet, in the time since he’d been home, Lydia had not heard a single note of laughter coming from the floor above hers, where the suite of the master and his lady were situated. In fact, Sinclair seemed to spend most of his time outdoors or in his study while Lady Clayton lay abed nursing croup.
The last time Lydia had visited Oakmoor, her sister-in-law, Hesper, had come down with a cold. Her brother, Archie, had spent every waking moment at her bedside, feeding her broth and helping her to take sips of tea. That sort of devotion seemed to be a mainstay of Oakmoor, where her parents had filled the manor with love and laughter. Her brothers and their wives carried on in the tradition.
When comparing her experiences back home to the atmosphere here at Buckton, she could not help but wonder what had happened between Sinclair and his wife. Lady Clayton had insinuated that her husband rarely inhabited Buckton. Lydia had assumed he traveled to his various estates on matters of business, but perhaps there were other reasons—some explanation why he did not wish to live under the same roof as his wife.
None of this should matter to her. She’d come here to teach Henry, and things were going well. Sinclair even maintained his distance, just as she’d asked him to. Understanding the complexities of the Claytons’ marriage would not aid her in her duties. Yet, she could not seem to stop thinking of it, along with the impassioned words Sinclair had spoken to her over breakfast.
On the fourth day following Sinclair’s return, Lydia ended her lessons with Henry an hour earlier than usual. He seemed restless after three days of constant rain, and itched to go outside now that the sun had begun to shine. Standing at the schoolroom window and gazing out at the immaculate landscape, she decided a bit of time out of doors might do her some good, as well. Rushing to her room to retrieve a shawl, she then exchanged her slippers for sturdy boots as the grass might still be a bit wet after all the rain.
