Page 64 of Her Beautiful Bastard
She had been too anxious to eat much of anything, but had taken sips of tea as she told them of Lady Clayton’s illness and demise, which had led to her unexpected holiday and reappearance at Oakmoor. That part had been easy, telling them the facts which had led her back home for a short time. Yet, she could feel both her mother and Amelia watching her, then trading glances with one another, as if communicating silently. The two had grown close since Amelia’s marriage to Michael, and she could see that they both understood there was more going on here … something Lydia was not telling them.
They waited until Michael had left them, declaring he had some affairs to tend to, before joining them this evening for dinner. Pausing to kiss both their mother and his wife, he tousled Lydia’s hair again, before tugging on her earlobe in a way he knew set her teeth on edge.
“Welcome home, imp,” he teased before leaving the room and closing the door behind him.
“Now that he is gone,” Amelia declared, turning to face Lydia’s mother. “Perdita, shall I ask her, or will you?”
Lydia frowned, her hands breaking out into a sweat. They knew something.
“Ask me what?” she hedged.
Her mother gave her a stern expression, before reaching for the teapot to pour herself another cup. “You were never any good at playing coy, Lydia.”
“It is true,” Amelia declared, polishing off her biscuit and reaching for another while rubbing her swelling belly. “One of the few things I tried to teach you that you couldn’t quite master. Pistols, you excelled at … playing coy and keeping your feelings out of your eyes, you failed at time and time again.”
She scowled, uncertain whether to be insulted or relieved that they’d broached the subject. “It wouldn’t be a proper homecoming without your tactlessness, Amelia.”
Shrugging, Amelia took a bite of her biscuit while her mother stirred milk into her tea.
“Something has happened,” her mother declared. “I can see it all over your face. A mother is rarely wrong about such things. What is it, Lydia?”
Sighing, she arranged herself more comfortably on the loveseat she occupied, kicking off her slippers and folding her legs beneath her. “This is difficult. I have wanted to tell you about this so often … but worried you would not understand.”
Her mother eyed her over the rim of her teacup, her gaze far too knowing. She’d always been that way, able to look at one of her children and decipher just what they needed. She’d been told she was Perdita’s image, with the same blonde hair and features. Though, on Lydia, the features could often appear downright girlish, while her mother had grown into those same traits with age, the silver in her hair and lines around her eyes marking her with wisdom and grace.
“My dear, I am your mother, and Amelia is your sister,” she said. “Even when we may not completely understand you, we will always love you.”
She’d known that, but the reminder of her mother’s unconditional love gave her the courage she needed to tell them everything. And Amelia, who had indulged in her share of affairs before marrying Michael at the age of thirty, might even know something of what Lydia had been through.
“Four years ago, at a ball in London, I met a man,” she began. “We … we were only together for a short time. No more than an hour, if that. I cannot explain what happened, but I do believe I fell quite madly in love with him.”
Amelia choked on her tea, eyes wide with disbelief, while her mother raised her eyebrows.
“I see,” Perdita said, clearing her throat and setting her cup aside. “Did you … were you compromised?”
She wanted to tell them that, yes, Sinclair had ruined her. A single kiss from him had been enough to ruin her for any man who came after him.
“No,” she said instead. “But my time with him left an impression. So much so that I was miserable the rest of the Season for want of him.”
Amelia wiped her mouth with a napkin, setting her teacup and saucer aside. “Is that why you were so miserable? I had wondered what it could be, but thought you simply had a difficult time adjusting. London can be daunting for a young girl fresh from the country.”
Lydia nodded. “That was part of it. I will admit that I did not feel I belonged. I missed home. But more than anything else, I missedhim. A man whose name I did not even know.”
Perdita moved to sit beside Lydia on the love seat, concern wrinkling her brow as she reached out to take her hand. “Oh, Lydia. I had no idea it had been so difficult for you.”
She offered her mother a little smile. “I did not want you to worry for me. You already seemed concerned about my marriage prospects.”
“Because I wanted you to find happiness,” her mother insisted. “But if remaining unwed would have made you happier, you could have remained here with me. I would never have pushed you into a Season.”
“You didn’t,” Lydia assured her. “It was what I thought I wanted. After realizing none of it was enough to stop me from thinking of this man … I did not believe I could ever make a match. The idea of marriage no longer pleased me, and no matter how many men I allowed to court me, none of them could keep my interest. Living at Oakmoor had become difficult for me. Seeing Michael and Archie so happy with their families … it just made me mourn the things I thought I’d never have.”
Amelia rose and came to sit on the floor near Lydia’s feet, taking her other hand and giving it a squeeze. “I wish you would have come to me, Lydia. We were always close, you and I.”
A lone tear streaked down Lydia’s face, and she sniffled, trying to keep the rest at bay. “I wanted to, but you and Michael were so happy, and I know how difficult it was for the two of you in the beginning. I did not want to burden you. So, I left. Becoming a governess seemed like the best way to escape living at Oakmoor while making my own way in the world. Living here as an unwed spinster would make me feel like a burden before long, and I wanted to feel useful.”
“I would insist that you could never be a burden,” her mother said. “But I know you. You will insist otherwise, even now.”
“I would,” Lydia agreed. “It was what I felt I needed to do. But then, I was hired by Lady Clayton. Things were going so well at first … until I discovered that Mr. Clayton was none other than the man from that ball in London.”
