Page 31 of Her Beautiful Bastard
Lydia folded her hands before her to still their shaking, her mouth suddenly dry as she attempted to form words. “Henry was a bit restless, my lady, so I thought a bit of fresh air might do him good. We practiced our French while taking a walk, then encountered Mr. Clayton at target practice. I supposed a short respite would do him more good than harm, so we joined to watch.”
The lady smiled at her, but the expression never quite reached her eyes. The blue orbs were similar to Henry’s, but colder, lighter in color. They created quite an ethereal effect with her pale hair and luminescent skin.
“A fine idea,” Lady Clayton replied. “I was just about to send for tea. Perhaps you and Henry would like to join me? We can take the time to discuss all that you are teaching my son.”
No,she wanted to insist.No, I cannot sit at tea with you, risking that you will be able to take one look at me and see that I have inappropriate feelings toward your husband.
However, she could hardly refuse or offer such an excuse, so she was left with no choice but to smile and agree. “That sounds lovely. I’d be happy to.”
“Tea!” Henry exclaimed, clinging to his mother’s skirts. “May I have sugar in mine?”
Lady Clayton cast her son an affectionate glance. “Just a bit, Henry. I wouldn’t want you to become overstimulated. Sinclair, will you join us?”
Lydia dared another glance at Sinclair, who shook his head, avoiding his wife’s stare. “No, thank you. Charles will return from Ware soon, and we will have affairs to attend. Though I am glad to see you are feeling better.”
“It is good to be out of bed,” she replied.
Neither of them sounded as pleased as they claimed, stiff formality coloring every word of their exchange. Lydia could hardly fathom such a strained relationship between husband and wife, nor the effect Lady Clayton’s presence seemed to have had on Sinclair. All the warmth had melted away from him, leaving a cold, hard man she hardly recognized in his place.
Before she could think on the matter any more, Sinclair was gone, calling out “Barkley, come!” as he set out toward the stable with long strides. Which left Lydia with no choice but to join her mistress and pupil in going inside. She did not quite understand why she felt as if she approached the executioner’s block instead of a simple drawing room for tea.
CHAPTER EIGHT
At first, Lydia realized she must have fretted over nothing. For an entire hour, she and Lady Clayton sat and shared tea, and it was lovely. There was a tiered serving platter of various cakes and biscuits, which Henry helped himself to with gusto, filling a small plate with a towering pile of delicacies. Lydia had been too nervous to eat and left her biscuit untouched on her plate, though she did sip at her tea while answering the other woman’s questions concerning Henry’s lessons and behavior.
She assured Lady Clayton that the boy acquitted himself well in the schoolroom, and aside from the occasional prank—which Lydia repaid in kind each time—proved the perfect pupil. She informed her mistress of his progress in reading and writing, as well as their splendid beginning with French. Lady Clayton offered to send for a collection of maps, as well as a globe so that they could begin Geography, a prospect that made Lydia happy. A new subject to immerse Henry in would offer a fresh challenge, something else to keep her from pining after the boy’s father.
The afternoon passed splendidly, giving her an opportunity to observe the lady with her son. Just like Sinclair, Lady Clayton was obviously fond of Henry, indulging him with tea and as many cakes as he wanted … though she did seem disdainful of the old clothes Henry had worn for their romp outdoors. She spent more time than Lydia thought necessary smoothing the boy’s tousled hair and attempting to keep him clean while seated in her pristine, white and silver drawing room. Henry bore it all with the sort of impatient squirming characteristic of a boy his age, but reveled in his mother’s hugs and kisses once his face had been wiped clean of jam.
After a while, the lady dismissed her son into the charge of his nurse, declaring he needed a nap after such an eventful afternoon. When Lydia rose to follow, wondering what she would do with her afternoon now, Lady Clayton shook her head and motioned for her to be seated once more.
“Miss Darling, stay a while longer, if you please.”
The tone was light and as sweet as the bowl of sugar cubes resting between them on a low table. However, Lydia discerned the clear command in the words and could do nothing but sink back into her chair. The ease with which the previous hour had passed seemed to flee in an instant, a sudden tension coiling between herself and her employer.
“More tea?” Lady Clayton offered, already helping herself using the porcelain pot resting on a polished silver tray.
“No, thank you,” she replied, too overwrought now for tea.
Her stomach began to churn, her palms growing damp for reasons she did not understand. Why did being alone with Lady Clayton make her so anxious? The woman could not know what had happened on the night Lydia had met Sinclair, could she? What if she did? Lydia felt as if she might faint as she imagined being confronted with the incident and losing her position. The thought of never being able to see Henry or Sinclair again made her want to weep.
“I apologize for being a bit absent during your first weeks at Buckton,” Lady Clayton continued after dropping a sugar cube into her teacup and following it with a drop of milk. Her spoon clinked against the side as she stirred, her eyes fixed upon Lydia over the rim.
“You can hardly be blamed for falling ill,” Lydia replied. “I am glad to know you are feeling better.”
“I am certain my husband informed you that it happens frequently. These illnesses.”
“H-he did,” she ventured carefully, uncertain where this could be leading. She would say as little as possible to keep from incriminating herself and allow Lady Clayton to lead.
“Nevertheless, I do endeavor to give Henry as much of my attention as I am able, and when I do not fear infecting him with whatever malady I might be suffering from at the moment,” Lady Clayton continued. “It is a relief, I must say, to have a reliable governess who might fill a bit of the void left when I am unable to tend to Henry myself.”
Lydia forced a smile, sitting up a bit straighter in her chair. “It is no trouble at all, my lady. Henry is a joy to teach. He speaks highly of you, you know. He is quite fond of his mama.”
The lady smiled at that, the expression downright angelic. The realization, yet again, that this must be the loveliest woman she had ever seen struck Lydia like a physical blow, making her all-too aware of her own flaws. Of the freckles marring her cheeks, the roundness of her hips that always showed through her gowns no matter how they were tailored, the plainness of her features in comparison to the angel sitting across from her.
“Henry is fond of you, as well,” Lady Clayton replied. “So, apparently, is my husband.”
Lydia was grateful she had not accepted the offer of more tea, as the sudden shift in the conversation would surely have caused her to choke. Furrowing her brow, she looked at her mistress and hoped she did not look as guilty as she felt.
