‘Yes, I do. I also know that you asked her to marry you.’
‘I did. She refused.’
‘I know that, too. Do you still want to marry Lydia?’
‘Why?’
‘Because she is carrying your child.’
Alex was struck dumb. His heart pounding with disbelief, he experienced a wrenching pain of unbearable guilt and a profound feeling of self-loathing. Getting to his feet, he walked to the window while he gave himself over to his thoughts. What had he done? Yes, she had given herself to him willingly, but he should have practised more restraint. How could he have done this to her, when all he wanted was to love her, to be her husband and her friend, to share her hopes and dreams, her laughter and her tears?
When he turned to face Samuel Brook once more, he was thoughtful, impassive—the expression he normally used to shield his thoughts when troubled or angry. A muscle began to twitch in his cheek.
‘And this was in the letter?’
‘Yes. She wanted you to know—said it was your right. But that does not mean she will marry you—even though she loves you.’ He smiled when Alex started at this information. ‘Yes, she does. She doesn’t know it herself yet, but my instinct tells me this is so. You will have your work cut out persuading her to be your wife. I do not have the power to compel you to do what is right. All I can tell you is what I learned while I was doing brutal, back-breaking penance in Australia. It opened my eyes to the truth of my real crime—that which I did not want to see—the betrayal of the two people that I loved most in the world. They suffered a wound I can never heal. I was a failure and a fool, and I have to live with that for ever. What I want now is for my daughter to be happy. After all she has been through she deserves to be.’
‘The possibility that she might refuse to marry me is beyond the bounds of feasibility in my estimation. I would as soon end my life than see her come to harm.’
‘Think about that when you go and see her. She values what she has—what she has achieved. She will fight tooth and nail to keep that. But whatever argument she puts to you, don’t lose her—or you will end up being the kind of fool I was.’
* * *
Lydia was in the shop when Alex came in. Her father had told her that he had paid Alex a visit. She would rather he had left well enough alone and let her deal with it in her own way, but it was done now. One lady being attended to by Emily was in the process of choosing fabric for a new gown and another was browsing through some designs. Lydia stopped what she was doing and gave Alex her full attention.
Conscious of those searing blue eyes on her, she watched him come towards her. Everything was obliterated but that invisible physical force exploding through her body, so that she felt her every nerve spring to a trembling awareness of him—and instinctively she knew it was the same for him.
An unbidden flare of excitement rose up in the pit of her stomach, followed quickly by dread when she thought of the reason that had brought him here. Warily, she watched him, wishing she could cool the waves of heat that mounted her cheeks—wishing she could run away.
Everything about him spoke of control and command. He was aloof, his eyes icy, metallic. His gaze swept over her, narrow, assessing, as if expecting to see her waistline already thickening with child. She stood quite still, her hands folded quietly in front of her, and with her large eyes, which were as wide and solemn as a baby owl’s, she had an ethereal quality. Her head was poised at a questioning angle, the darkness of her hair framing her face. But there was a shadowed hollowness to her cheekbones and she was pale, which told Alex that the first weeks of her pregnancy were not going well.
But apart from this he thought she was different, somehow, and his heart took a savage and painful leap at the sight of her. She seemed younger, like a child, making it hard for him to believe he had made love to her—and yet it was a woman who looked at him, with a woman’s eyes.
‘Can we talk—in your office, perhaps?’
Lydia couldn’t help recalling what had happened the last time they went into her office. If she had not succumbed to temptation that day, then she would not be in this predicament now.
‘Of course. Please come this way.’ When the door had closed behind them she looked at him directly. ‘You have spoken to my father.’
‘Yes. He came to see me. He told you?’
She nodded. ‘I wish he hadn’t taken matters into his own hands. I would rather deal with this in my own way.’
‘He was concerned about you.’
‘I sent you a letter. I even paid someone to deliver it. Do you know what happened to it?’
‘No, I don’t. I am looking into it. This is a damned unfortunate business, Lydia, and I bear the entire weight of this on my conscience.’
‘I agree. It is an unfortunate business, but I was as much at fault as you.’
‘The responsibility is all mine,’ Alex replied curtly, dismissing Lydia’s well-meaning attempt to absolve him. ‘Your father and I have discussed the matter and it is our intention to see that things are done right.’
‘Indeed?’ She tilted her head to one side as she considered him coolly. ‘And will you? Do the right thing by me, I mean?’
‘I want to—if you will let me.’
‘I did not ask for this, Alex. I certainly did not want it. I made a mistake—a grievous mistake. But it has happened—the damage is done—and I must face the consequences.’
‘That is something we will both have to do. My lust for you has led me into a trap of my own making—now I, too, must pay the price of my passion.’
‘A trap?’ she retorted heatedly, hurt by his unfortunate choice of word. ‘Is that how you see it? Well, you need not. I know you proposed marriage to me on our last encounter—which was said in the heat of the moment and which I am sure you have had cause to regret. I am certainly not asking you to marry me now—nor would I wish you to under such circumstances. There are still too many issues between us.’
‘Those can be easily resolved.’
‘You are a gentleman. I am a seamstress. Men of your class make mistresses of women like me, but they don’t marry them. You would be ostracised and I would never be accepted.’
‘Do you seriously believe any of that matters to me?’
‘Maybe not—at least not now. But it might, in the future.’
Alex looked at her with that straight, disconcerting gaze of his. The line of his lips was grim and hard and some new darkness seemed to move at the back of his eyes. ‘What of you? Think about it, Lydia. You must be aware of the stigma attached to an illegitimate child, that it will be an object of censure and ridicule throughout its life. And a woman alone with an illegitimate child is prey to the pitilessness of society.’
‘I know that. I think of nothing else. At present my consideration is only for the child.’
Alex turned away from her and in earnest meditation he wondered how best to deal with a situation such as she had presented him with, whilst saving her from public humiliation. But one thing stood out above all else, something that was more important to him just then than his feelings for Lydia. After his common sense had done battle with his conscience, his feelings had become possessive, and he knew he could not, would not, disown a child of his blood.
His mouth sat in a bitter line, his black brows drawn in a straight bar across his eyes as he turned back to her. ‘You may rest assured that I shall make suitable provision to provide for its future, but I would despise myself if I did not try to do better than that. My obligation is towards you and the child.’
‘I’ve told you I want nothing from you.’
Alex’s jaw tightened, his eyes burning furiously down into hers. ‘Be that as it may, Lydia, you must see that marrying me is the only possible solution to your problems. These are not the most romantic circumstances in which to propose marriage and I am more than likely wounding
you by discussing the arrangements in such a blunt way, but we have no choice.’
‘Yes, we do. I don’t have to marry you and it is arrogant of you to assume that I would accept you. You speak as if I have no control over any of this. Well, I have. I recall you telling me on our first encounter that you were not looking for a wife—you gave me the impression that your marriage was something of a disaster, which is why I am surprised that you are willing to repeat the experience.’
‘My wife certainly burned almost every emotion out of me.’
‘I would have imagined you would have too much common sense to attribute to all women what you have experienced in one,’ she said cuttingly.
‘I don’t. When we met in Scotland—what we did—you showed me so much vulnerability, so much generous passion. A woman who in her loving was so unlike my wife that I was put on the defensive.’
‘Hence your harsh words when I mentioned the word love.’
‘I had told myself that I no longer knew what the word meant. That aside, can you deprive a child of its father?’
A lump of nameless emotion constricted Lydia’s throat. Abruptly, she turned her back on him. She was struggling against the insidious feeling of surrender which was steadily crushing her, her immediate sensation being one of drowning. How could she endure living the kind of life that would be thrust on her if she married Alex? Then came the realisation that she might have no option. What did it matter whom she married as long as her child was spared the stigma of illegitimacy?
Suddenly nothing seemed important any more. Everything paled beside this. He was right, she thought, with all the bitterness that came with defeat. But when she considered what her feelings were for Alex, she could not deny that he drew her like a magnet. In fact, where he was concerned her mind was all confusion, for she wanted to be his wife, to belong to him, as much as she wanted to be free of him.
As if all the strength had drained out of her, she turned to face him. ‘Give me a little time. You may be right—I don’t know. But with so many differences between us there will be difficulties and I need to be sure.’
Reading panic overlying her inner tension, Alex softened his expression a little. For the first time in his life he was finding it difficult to tell a woman—this woman—that she was the most alluring and desirable he had ever known. Even now, when the consequences of his actions were so grave, he wanted her. She had become a passion to him, a beautiful, vibrant woman, and he had hurt her very badly.
‘Few couples know each other really well before they marry. You will have to take me on trust,’ he teased gently.
‘If I decide to marry you, then it seems I shall have to—as you will have to take me on trust.’
‘We neither of us know what the future holds, but if we are to have any kind of life together we must strive for an amicable partnership. For the sake of the child. In one way or another our parents were never there when Miranda and I were children. Despite the care and kindness of our grandfather, who became responsible for us, it is a dreadful lack for a child when one’s parents are absent.’
‘Yes, I know—at least what it’s like to be without a father.’
‘Of course you do. I won’t press you now. We both have much to think about. I am leaving for Aspen Grange for the weekend. I invite you and your father to come with me. Perhaps when you see where I live—where I hope we will live together—it will help you to make up your mind.’
‘And my work? I cannot abandon what I have started. I have come so far. It means a great deal to me.’
‘I know. As my wife you will find there is no need for you to work.’
‘I do not do it out of need, Alex. It means more to me than that.’
‘I do realise how important it is to you. We will discuss it at some length if you decide to marry me.’
* * *
One week later, when Lydia had arranged for a suitable woman to assist Emily during her absence, Lydia travelled to Aspen Grange in Alex’s large coach. Her father was unwell—he had come down with a chill which had forced him to decline the invitation. Lydia didn’t like leaving him, but he had assured her that he had Mrs Danby, his landlady, to take care of him and she mustn’t worry. Alex had invited Miranda to accompany them, thinking that Lydia would be more relaxed with another woman present. Henry had been invited, too, and, to avoid any awkwardness, Alex was relieved when he declined.
For most of the journey, Lydia stared out of the window of the luxurious conveyance. It was a long time since she had ventured out of London and, despite her underlying anxieties about what might await her at Aspen Grange, she delighted in the scenery fanning out around them. Between pastures and woodland, oaks, beeches, chestnut and alders were draped in red, gold and yellow of autumn. There were villages and farms with chimneys from which grey smoke curled.
Alex sat across from her next to a sleeping Miranda. She was glad when the carriage turned in through tall wrought-iron gates that marked the driveway to Aspen Grange. Nothing had prepared Lydia for the house’s exquisite splendour. It was timeless and brooding, its elegant beauty expressing power and pride. The portico at the front of the house overlooked well-manicured lawns surrounded by a flagstone path which disappeared into flowering shrubs and woods beyond.
‘Oh, my goodness,’ Lydia breathed, with a growing sense of unreality. She had read about the grand houses the English gentry lived in, but never had she envisaged anything as lovely as this. Alex must be very rich to be able to afford to live in such a house.
‘Do you like it?’ he asked, hoping she wasn’t going to be so overwhelmed by Aspen Grange that it would send her haring straight back to London.
‘Why—it’s beautiful. Is it very old?’
Alex smiled at the dazed expression of disbelief on her face, well satisfied with her reaction. ‘I’m afraid it is,’ he replied, folding his arms across his chest, preferring to watch a myriad of expressions on her face rather than the approaching house. ‘Built over a hundred and fifty years ago, the structure survives relatively unaltered.’
‘And all those windows,’ Lydia murmured, watching as the late afternoon sun caught the three storeys of huge windows, lighting them up like a wall of flame, contrasting beautifully with the green and yellow tints of fiery shades of the finest autumn foliage. ‘I wonder you can bear to leave it for London.’
‘Frankly, I wish I had more time to be here more often. With all my business commitments and travelling to consider new investments with new industries starting up all over the country and abroad, I’m actually fortunate to get here once a month.’
The four bay mounts pulling the coach danced to a stop in front of the house. Alex got out, extending his hand to help his sister and Lydia. Servants appeared out of the house and descended on the coach to strip it of its baggage as its occupants entered the house.
At a glance Lydia became aware of the rich trappings of the interior, the sumptuous carpets and wainscoted walls. A fire burned in a huge fireplace, with two sofas facing each other in front of it. An ornately carved oak staircase cantilevered up to the floors above. The butler, a tall, dignified man with rather austere features, stood aside as they entered, keeping a keen eye on the servants to remind them of their duties as their eyes kept straying with curiosity and frank approval to the young woman who stood beside Mr Golding.
Alex turned to a middle-aged woman who had appeared with a rustle of stiff black skirts. ‘I’m sure you would like to settle in, Lydia. Mrs Senior, my housekeeper, will show you to your room. Settle in and refresh yourselves before dinner. I thought we’d have a quiet dinner this evening.’
* * *
Later, having freshened up and changed her clothes, Lydia went to join Alex and Miranda in a small candlelit dining room off the main hall. Presenting a pleasing appearance, having donned a deep rose silk gown which complimented her figure, she managed to maintain an outward show
of calm, despite the tumult raging inside her.
The opulence and elegance of her bedchamber, offering a splendid view of the gardens, had taken her breath away, and as she had made her way through the rooms of Aspen Grange, filled with treasures representing decades of possession by the Golding family, it was the kind of lineage that Lydia could never claim for herself. The walls were hung with a varied selection of artwork—not family portraits, which was what she had expected to see, but beautiful landscapes and paintings of an equestrian nature, indicating the owner’s love of horses and field sports.
Alex was standing by the sideboard, pouring red wine into three glasses. Lydia was struck by his stern profile outlined against the golden glow of the gas lighting—newly installed, the housekeeper had proudly informed her. He seemed preoccupied somehow, which was hardly surprising, considering everything that had happened in the past week. He turned when she entered and moved towards her, his narrow gaze sweeping over her with approval.
‘I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.’
‘Not at all. Miranda isn’t down yet.’ Alex handed her a glass of wine.
Leaning against the mantelpiece, Alex watched as she sank onto a green-and-gold striped sofa and carefully arranged her skirts. ‘Have you thought any more about my proposal, Lydia?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, wishing he hadn’t asked her that question straight away. ‘Nothing has changed since last we spoke, but I expect I shall have to concede in the end. Although I must stress that I value my freedom and independence too highly to give it up lightly.’
Alex’s jaw hardened. ‘So, unlike others of your sex, you harbour no ambition to snare a wealthy husband.’
Her eyes flared. ‘That was uncalled for, Alex. Material wealth does not interest me. I would marry the meanest pauper if I loved him and he returned that love.’
‘And me?’
She looked at him directly. ‘Why, Alex, do you love me?’ Her question seemed to take him by surprise. When he failed to answer, her lips curved in a disappointed, bitter smile. ‘I’m sorry. I should not have asked you that. When I marry I want a man who will be a true husband to me, with whom I can share a love everlasting—not a man who will marry me for no other reason than that I am to bear his child. I am in charge of my own destiny, Alex, not you.’
Carrying the Gentleman's Secret Page 20