Page 63 of Her Beautiful Bastard
His eyes widened at the sight of her, his mouth dropping open in shock. “Miss Lydia, is that you?”
Removing her hat, she beamed up at him. “So it is, Shaw.”
He held his arms open as she approached, chuckling as she graced him with a hug. He smelled like tobacco and the polish he used upon the silver, just as he always had. The memories that scent brought up made her want to weep. She had not realized how much she’d missed home until she stood on its threshold.
“Come in, come in,” Shaw urged, releasing her and stepping back to let her inside. “We were not expecting you. Your mother will be so elated.”
“There was not time to send word,” she told him, allowing him to take her hat and gazing about the familiar vestibule. “I have been given a short holiday and decided to come home for a visit.”
Shaw opened his mouth as if to reply, when a familiar voice came booming at her from the corridor stretching farther into the house.
“Lydia!”
She glanced up to find her eldest brother, Michael, descending upon her, a wide grin stretched across his face. Tears filled her eyes at the sight of him, perhaps her favorite person in the world, second only to Sinclair. He reminded her so much of their father, tall and broad, his bulky farmer’s frame wrapped up in deceptive finery—the doing of his valet, no doubt. Long, blond hair was clubbed back from his face, his merry blue eyes twinkling like sapphires in a handsome but friendly face.
Lydia threw herself at him with a sound that was half a laugh, half a sob, her elation at coming home overwhelming her along with guilt for having stayed away for so long. Michael caught her up easily, holding her against him with massive arms that were surprisingly gentle. That was her brother … a gentle giant a person could not help but love. The tenants of Oakmoor adored him, and with good reason.
The two of them had always been close, Michael having filled the shoes of her father in so many ways after Phillip Darling’s untimely death.
“Well, now,” he murmured, setting her back on her feet. “To what do we owe the sudden visit?”
Taking his hand, she sighed. “It is a long story. One I think I could only tell once. Where is everyone else?”
“Amelia is in the garden with the children,” he told her, tugging her hand and already leading her in that direction. “Mother is in her drawing room—making candles, you know how she loves it. We’ll send for her from the garden. You will be a nice surprise for her. Archie and Hesper have taken their children off visiting neighbors and will not be back until later.”
“That is quite all right,” she said, following Michael through winding corridors leading toward a set of doors opening onto the terrace, which overlooked the gardens. “You, Amelia, and Mama are the ones I really wish to speak of this to. No offense to Archie.”
“Much offense to Archie, always,” Michael joked, tousling her hair. “I will be sure to let him know you did not think him important enough to await his return before telling us your news.”
She scowled at him, knowing he was only jesting. “Brute.”
“Imp,” he fired back as they stepped onto the terrace.
Her response died on her tongue at the sight that greeted her. On the stretch of grass separating them from the walled-in garden was Amelia and Lydia’s niece and nephew. They were quite a sight, Amelia tall and slender, still svelte even after birthing children, in her usual attire of men’s breeches and boots, hair unbound and flying about her face as she chased the two children. Their son, Phillip, took after Amelia, and at four years old, already stood taller than most boys his age. His hair was dark, nearly black like his mother’s, his face made in Amelia’s image, complete with a dimple in the left cheek and the too-wide, mischievous smile.
Their daughter, Diana, had just passed her second birthday, her little legs much shorter than her brother’s as she toddled after him and her mother, struggling to keep pace with them. She looked as if Michael had created her himself—all blonde curls, big, blue eyes, and a cherub’s face. As a babe, she’d even displayed Michael’s sunny disposition, smiling more than she cried, and generally wrapping every person who encountered her right around her chubby little fingers.
“Oh, Michael,” she whispered as she stood at the stone railing surrounding the terrace. “How they’ve grown.”
He draped an arm over her shoulders and smiled, his gaze heavy with affection as he watched his wife run about with their children, the evidence of the one now growing inside her already showing against the front of her breeches and shirt.
“Perhaps it would not come as such a surprise if you visited more often,” he said.
While his voice was light and carried not a hint of accusation, Lydia still felt wretched. It had been so long since her last visit.
“I know,” she murmured. “I haven’t wanted to stay away, but … Michael, it has been so hard. I’ve missed home, I’ve missed you all.”
He leaned down from his substantial height to kiss the top of her head. “Well, you are here now, and that is all that matters. Go to them. I will send for Mama.”
She did as he said, leaving the terrace to approach her sister-in-law. Amelia happened to glance up, halting in her tracks at the sight of Lydia coming across the slightly sloping lawn. A shocked huff of laughter left her, and she bent to lift Diana into her arms and rush forward to greet her, Phillip hot on her heels.
“Lydia!” she exclaimed, her silvery eyes twinkling with mirth and mischief. “What are you doing here? Not that I am not glad to see you, but …”
Lydia smiled. “It is a long story. Michael is fetching Mama so that I can tell you all about it.”
Little Diana began reaching for Lydia, so Amelia handed her over, while Phillip wrapped himself around her leg, chattering excitedly about the pony his father had begun teaching him to ride. As the four of them began making their way toward the terrace, the burden resting heavily upon her shoulders began to ease a little. For the first time in years, coming home did not feel so daunting, after all.
Hours later, Lydia sat in her mother’s favorite drawing room, where tea had been ordered, the children sent off with their nurse. Her mother had wept at the sight of her, making her feel even worse about staying away for as long as she had. Once she had calmed, she had ushered Lydia and the others inside, insisting they have tea while they took the time to catch up.
