Page 42 of Her Beautiful Bastard
He would pull himself together. He would emerge from his chambers in the morning ready to face them all, his pretense of detachment once again in place.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The first day of the house party passed Lydia in a blur, so much so that she would be hard-pressed to remember a single detail should anyone ask. She could not think past the stunning moment she had gazed upon Lord Wortham and recognized him as Henry’s true sire. Most people looking at Henry for the first time would think he favored his mother … which he did, on the surface. The light blond hair, the pale blue eyes … both seemed taken straight from Lady Clayton and gifted to her son. There were other things marking him as her child—his hands, the shape of his eyebrows, the way he laughed.
Yet, with the viscount’s stunning presence for comparison, it was difficult to ignore the signs. Anyone paying even the slightest bit of attention would be able to see that Sinclair had not fathered the boy, and even those oblivious to that fact must be able to see the way the man interacted with Lady Clayton, displaying far too little discretion and far too much familiarity.
Lydia’s gut had churned as she’d sat beside Charles during tea. Despite the steward’s best efforts at drawing her into conversation, she had become unresponsive, unable to do anything other than sit and watch Sinclair attempt to interact with his guests. In the time she’d known him, she had come to recognize the signs that something was bothering him—the little lines between his eyebrows, the tightness at the corners of his lush mouth, the turbulence in those dark eyes. Perhaps he had not expected the viscount. Lydia could only imagine the upset such a surprise had caused him.
Her entire day had been filled with such thoughts, her mind turning over the things she’d already known and fitting them together with this new information. On the night she’d met Sinclair, Drucilla should have been pregnant with Henry, or lying in after having just birthed him. Had Sinclair known, even then, that another man had sired his child? Was that what had driven him to kiss her, charm her, woo her? Had it only been a part of the tit-for-tat that seemed to rule his existence with Drucilla?
No, that could not be it. She might not understand all that had happened, but she believed Sinclair’s feelings for her, whatever they might be, were real. They were as real as her own, which only made this all the more difficult. All she wanted to do was go to him, lay his head in her lap and comfort him, take on his burden as her own. She wanted to do something, anything, to take away the pain. She could see him in it, and wondered how others could be so oblivious to it. The man suffered right before their eyes, and his guests, his wife, could only sit about smiling and laughing over dinner while wearing their finery, ignoring his despondent expression, or the massive quantities of wine he’d drunk.
By the time dinner ended and the women all gathered in one of the smaller salons to give the men their time alone with brandy and cigars, Lydia had been worn thin. Her constant worry exhausted her, and being in the same room with Lady Clayton only made her angry. The urge to shake the woman overwhelmed her. She could not understand why anyone who’d been given Sinclair’s heart would throw it away so callously. It was the one thing Lydia wanted; yet, this woman had destroyed it without a care.
As Lady Clayton sat preening for her captive audience, sharing the details of the design for the new gown she wore, Lydia found she’d had enough. She could not endure another moment in the company of her employer without doing or saying something that might cause her to lose her position.
So, she had excused herself, feigning a headache and leaving the room after several women wished her well and bid her good night. Lady Clayton had ignored her, and for that, Lydia was glad. She had trudged to her room and fallen into bed fully clothed, not even bothering to unpin her hair. The emotional exhaustion of the day had dragged her into unconsciousness within minutes, and she awoke the next morning no better off. Her head pounded, and her chest still ached from the squeeze of so many conflicting emotions.
Yet, knowing she would be expected downstairs, she rose and peeled off her gown, taking a moment to freshen up at the washstand before donning a simple morning dress of lavender muslin.
When she arrived in the dining room, she found it filled with guests, Sinclair seated at the head of the table and Drucilla at the other end. She chattered and smiled, her focus upon the people sitting closest to her. Meanwhile, Sinclair seemed to pointedly ignore her, his deep voice lowered to a murmur as he conversed with a man seated to his left. From the looks of things, their conversation must involve business of some sort, their attention fixated upon whatever they discussed.
Lydia discovered Charles seated near the middle of the table, an empty seat left between him and a woman she’d been introduced to the previous day. Abigail, she believed the girl’s name was—a young, unmarried chit not long out of the schoolroom. She gave Lydia a bright smile as she sat and immediately engaged her.
Between Abigail and Charles, she was able to lose herself in pleasant conversation over breakfast. As she ate, she noticed the men had dressed in hunting attire, and supposed that this morning would find them out for the anticipated hunt. Envy had her wishing she attended this event back at Oakmoor, where no one would think anything of her and Amelia joining the hunting party in breeches and boots, rifles slung over their shoulders. She fought not to sigh at the thought of spending her day inside with the women, writing letters or reading or doing some useless activity meant to pass the time while the men had all the fun.
As if he’d read her thoughts, Charles turned to her then. “I do wish you were accompanying us on the hunt this morning, Miss Darling. Sinclair tells me you are a crack shot.”
At her side, Abigail gasped. “Truly, Miss Darling? You hunt?”
She smiled at the younger woman and nodded. “It has been an age since I indulged in an actual hunt, but yes. My sister-in-law is quite the rifleman. When I took an interest in learning, she was gracious enough to teach me. Whenever I am privileged to visit home, my brothers invite me to join them on their hunts.”
“How intriguing you are, Miss Darling!” Abigail exclaimed, staring at Lydia with wide curious eyes.
“I’ll say,” called out one of the men seated across from them—Mr. Grenville, a gentleman farmer from a neighboring county. “Why on Earth would you not join us, then?”
Lydia’s face flushed as the man’s query brought even more attention to her, many other men adding their agreement. Of course she should join them, they insisted. It would be a ripping good time for them to be treated to a show of her skill. Naturally, she realized that most of them thought they humored her. It was always this way whenever she revealed her interests. The men would indulge her, right up until she showed them she was as good as, or better, than most of them. At which point, they became quite fond of her … but, only as a dear friend, of course. What man did not wish to befriend a woman who liked whisky, billiards, and shooting rifles? She might as well be one of them as far as they were concerned.
“I think that is a fine idea,” Charles chimed in, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he gave her one of his charming smiles. “Won’t you join us, Lydia?”
Glancing about the table, she found just about every eye on her now, including Sinclair’s and Lady Clayton’s. Her mistress looked as if she wished to speak against it, to insist that Lydia remain behind with the women. As Lydia’s employer, she would have every right. Yet, Sinclair spoke first, putting to rest any objection his wife might have made.
“You are welcome, if it is your wish to be a part of the hunt, Miss Darling,” he declared, before turning back to the man he’d been speaking with earlier.
Lydia was quite taken aback by his dismissal, as well as the ghost of a glance he had given her. He spoke as if he cared not at all whether she took part in the hunt. It stung, but she also knew why he did this. He could not risk allowing anyone to see what went on between them. Not that anything of any substance had happened. Nothing that others might not see as innocent or at least within their own moral boundaries. They had never been intimate beyond a few kisses and whispered words. Nevertheless, she felt the weight of each encounter, every word ever spoken between them, and each one felt momentous to her. Standing under the moonlight with his hand upon her face had been one of the most significant moments of her life, and yet, no one could ever know.
Her heart sank, but she put on a brave face, offering Charles and the others an agreeable smile. “I would love to join you.”
Breakfast continued, with Lydia now forced to entertain the curiosity of those who wished to know more about her interests. Several of the women became even more curious once they were informed that she was sister-in-law to the sister of the Marquis of Ashton—a notorious figure in London whose eccentricities were whispered about far and wide. Lydia did not think she’d ever been so popular at any party.
Once the meal had concluded, Lady Clayton urged all the women to join her in her favored white and silver salon, where they would await the return of the men.
“Miss Darling, I would urge you to be cautious during the hunt,” Lady Clayton said to her. “But knowing your … background, I daresay you shall fare just fine with the men, so I shall not worry for you at all. Do enjoy yourself.”
Lydia felt the lash of those words, even as wrapped up in sweet honey as they sounded. She glared at the other woman’s back as she exited the room, leading the others with her. Yet, she maintained her composure, as always. It was no greater a slight than any she’d suffered while in London, and truly, she would rather be outdoors with the men than cloistered inside, anyway.
She declared her intentions to meet the hunting party outdoors once she’d had a moment to change, and Sinclair assured her they would wait. Lydia rushed upstairs as quickly as she dared, a smile pulling at her lips as she thought of being able to hunt again. It had been so long, and despite the circumstances, she found herself more excited about this than she’d been about anything in quite some time.
