Page 24 of Her Beautiful Bastard
They had come back into view of the house now, the path winding toward the looming structure in the distance. Yellow light bathed the lane from its windows, creating an inviting picture.
“You must admire him,” she observed, turning to glance at her companion. “You speak highly of him.”
“He is my dearest friend,” Welby said with a sheepish smile. “Seems odd to befriend a man I work for, but Sinclair does not treat me as if I am beneath him. He might tell you himself that he sees no difference between us other than the privileges he’s been afforded. So, he endeavors to treat people as equals, from the lowest scullion to the educated governess.”
She smiled at that, thinking of the exorbitant salary she’d been offered. Now that she knew more about Sinclair, his increasing her wages did not seem like the salacious move she had named it. In fact, she now felt ashamed of herself for even suggesting it.
Lydia wanted to ask more questions, her curiosity over The Claytons’ burning her up inside. However, they were ascending the front steps now, and night had fallen. Besides, she did not want to risk upsetting the man by prying into things that were not her affair. What did it matter if Sinclair and his wife were estranged? Lady Clayton was still his wife, and Lydia no more than a governess in his household. That was all she could ever be.
Turning to face her once they’d reached the front door, Welby smiled at her. “It has been a pleasure, Miss Darling.”
She smiled back at him as easily as ever, in no hurry to return inside, even though Amberly lingered in the open door, watching and waiting for her to come back into the house.
“The pleasure was all mine, Mr. Welby,” she replied. “Thank you for accompanying me on my walk.”
Taking her hand, he lifted it to his lips. “Please, you must call me Charles.”
For a moment, she could not respond, shock rippling through her as he kissed her knuckles. It was quick, warm, and chaste; yet, it took a moment for Lydia to respond. He’d caught her unawares, the kiss seeming to come from out of nowhere. But, as she met his gaze, she saw it … the unmistakable gleam of attraction, admiration. Her face flushed.
“Very well … Charles. Then you must call me Lydia.”
“Lydia,” he murmured, his voice deepening a bit, caressing her name.
She could not help but notice that it did not affect her half as much as when Sinclair had said her Christian name. Shaking her head, she tried to send the thought flying from her mind. What a ridiculous thing to dwell on at a time like this!
“I shall see you again on Monday,” he declared, reluctantly letting go of her hand.
Recalling that tomorrow was Sunday, and that they would both be free from their duties, she nodded. “Yes, Monday. Good evening, Mr. Wel—Charles!”
His smile widened, and he tipped his hat to her before turning to trot down the front steps. “Good evening to you, Lydia.”
She waited until he had disappeared in the direction of the stable before turning to go inside.
“Good evening, Miss Darling,” Amberly said to her with a jovial grin. “Enjoy your walk?”
“I did, thank you.”
“Very good. Dinner is being served, so you returned just in time.”
“Splendid,” she said, a hand coming over her rumbling stomach. “Thank you, Amberly.”
The man gave her a little bow, as if she were a grand lady instead of a governess, then winked at her. She waved, then went off toward the dining room. Her heart leapt into her throat as she neared the open door of the dining room. Some evenings, Charles remained for dinner, providing a much-needed barrier between herself and Sinclair, the only other occupant of the room. Henry often ate in his chambers with his nurse while Lady Clayton still remained abed, recovering from her illness.
However, this evening, it would seem she would eat alone. She found the dining room empty, save for the footmen standing like sentinels in separate corners. There were no courses served here at Buckton for so few diners. Instead, various dishes were left on the table between the chairs flanking the one at the head of the table, and those who came to eat could serve themselves at will.
She sat in the chair to the left of where Sinclair might sit if he were here, unable to decide whether she was relieved or disappointed at having to eat alone. Without either man here to fill the room with the deep tones of their voices, the space seemed far more cavernous, almost cold. She ate quickly, not relishing so much time spent alone at a table large enough to seat twenty. Once she had finished, shunning another measure of wine being offered by the nearest footman, she glanced over at Sinclair’s place setting. On her way to the dining room, she’d spotted the open door of his study, candlelight spilling over the landing. Perhaps he toiled over his work late into the night and had not realized he’d missed dinner.
Her brother did it often, and some well-meaning servant typically took the time to deliver a meal to his study so that he could be sustained through a late night’s work. Oftentimes, she’d seen her sister-in-law taking his tray herself, ensuring her husband did not go hungry.
Had anyone seen to it that Sinclair did not go hungry in his own home? Did anyone care enough to make sure he took an evening meal?
Clearing her throat, she stood and turned to the nearest footman. “Excuse me. Would you happen to know whether a tray has been sent to Mr. Clayton’s study? It is rather late.”
The footman blinked, seeming taken aback for a moment before answering. She was acutely aware that she overstepped her bounds here, and the footman recognized this as well. However, she hoped the unconventional relationship between Sinclair and all his servants would offer her a bit of leeway here.
To her relief, the footman did not call her out on it.
“I do not believe so, Miss.”
