Chapter 27

William watched the water lapping the shingle shore, glittering as it caught the morning light. It looked so very inviting, but he had promised himself that he would not swim until after breakfast, not until he had spoken with his wife.

Absently, he plucked a ripe strawberry from a nearby bowl and bit into it, savoring the sweet juice that burst into his mouth. As he chewed contentedly, reclining on the picnic blanket, he drew out his pocket watch to check the time. Lydia should have been there by now, but he supposed that was the risk he had taken by not waking her and telling her when to meet him.

He was not someone who was prone to nervousness, but the prospect of her arrival tightened like a knot in his chest. A swim might have fixed the feeling, but he did not want to be halfway across the lake when she arrived, nor did he want to have to spend the rest of the morning in sodden clothing.

"This was a foolish idea," he muttered, flicking the green head of the strawberry into the grass.

Why bother with a pleasant breakfast when she likely will not want to hear what I have to say…

He had gone over and over the previous night in his mind, so bewildered by the new feelings of protectiveness and affection that plagued him that he still had not decided what he was going to say to her. But he knew he could not allow things to proceed in a manner that might give her hope, for that would, in turn, give him hope, and he would never allow himself to trust a woman with his heart. Never.

"I cannot sit here twiddling my thumbs," he muttered, swallowing the strawberry.

Wiping his hands on the blanket, he got to his feet and, as an afterthought, picked up the bowl of strawberries to take to Lydia. He would bring her to the lake himself, and perhaps, as they walked back to that spot, they could get the difficult conversation out of the way so that it would not ruin the serenity of the breakfast he had planned.

She will understand that distance and nothing more than companionship is the best way, he told himself as he headed back to the manor.

Whether or not he would be able to endure that sort of relationship was another question entirely, but he liked to think of himself as a gentleman of strong will. He would persevere, he would restrain himself, he would resist the peculiar sensations in his chest so that they would not come to hate one another later.

For the sake of the children they might have, he needed to sacrifice whatever this growing affection was.

"I am sorry, Lydia," he whispered, pressing on.

Lydia could not take her eyes off the baby girl, who stared up at the hood of the curricle with eyes the same striking shade of gray as Will's. Such a unique color, utterly unmistakable. The eyes of a wolf.

"Please, Miss," the young woman urged, "I must see him. I… am quite desperate."

Lydia met the woman's eyes, realizing that she did not know who she was speaking to. If she had known that she was speaking to the Duchess of Stonebridge, would she have so boldly declared who the father of her child was?

Swallowing her heartbreak and anger, Lydia put on a smile. "I can ask if he can be pulled from his engagement. Might I ask who wishes to speak with him?"

"Beatrice. Beatrice Hart," the woman replied.

The name was vaguely familiar to Lydia, but she could not place it, not with her mind whirling with a maelstrom of painful thoughts. Still, she could understand what Will had seen in this young woman. She was tall as she stepped down from the curricle, with glossy raven-black hair and light brown eyes and a face so breathtakingly pretty that it was a challenge for Lydia not to feel immediately inferior. Although, she supposed the baby had done that anyway.

He can marry you if our marriage is annulled…

She looked at that sweet child again, her heart heavy as the baby girl gurgled and smiled, her wolfish eyes fixed on Lydia. Instinctively, she put out her finger, and the baby girl grabbed hold of it, gripping it so tightly.

To be an illegitimate child in this world was difficult for anyone and everyone, but it was hardest of all for girls. They had to watch society shun their mother, and when they grew up, they would have no prospects, no opportunities, and very little hope of carving out a comfortable life for themselves.

"Does the Duke know about this child?" Lydia asked, trying not to cry. Still, she heard her voice quaver as she spoke and concentrated even harder on that baby girl to keep her agony at bay.

Beatrice nodded. "He does. He instructed my father to send me away when it was discovered that I was with child. I have stayed away, Miss, but I cannot do so any longer. I will not do that to my sweet angel. I must have… assurances, at the very least, for her sake."

How could he abandon a child like this?

Lydia had never understood how any gentleman could simply shrug off his responsibilities as a father, and there were enough unwed mothers in the world—and in the scandal sheets—to consider it an endemic problem. But from someone who had endured such a troublesome childhood of his own, it seemed twice as cruel.

"Why would he have you sent away?" Lydia smiled down at the baby, and the darling girl gurgled in response. A sight so wonderful yet so devastating.

Beatrice glanced around. "I suppose he was worried about what might happen if the scandal got out. I had hoped to be allowed to return here to give birth to my sweet angel, but I was soundly informed that His Grace's wife would not like it. I imagine he was worried about what she might do."

The child looked newborn. No more than a few weeks old. If that was the case, then Will had not only sent away the mother of his child knowing she was with child, but he had also married someone else in the interim, adding insult to injury. No wonder the poor woman was desperate and, undoubtedly, furious.

"Do not worry, Miss Hart," Lydia said. "His wife would never wish any harm to befall such a beautiful baby."

Beatrice's eyes widened. "Do you know her? Is she currently in residence? Perhaps I might speak with her if His Grace is not yet available to meet with me."

"I will summon him for you," Lydia replied as politely as she could. "In the meantime, please come inside and rest awhile in the drawing room."

Beatrice's face crumpled, and as she hugged her daughter to her, tears rolled down her cheeks. She lifted her gaze to Lydia's and gave a small, hesitant nod before whispering, "Thank you, Miss. Thank you for this. You do not know what it means to me."

And you do not know what this will mean for me…

Lydia steeled herself, wishing that last night had not happened. It had changed so much, bringing her closer to her husband, making her realize that, despite everything, she was beginning to fall hopelessly in love with him.

But now everything had changed again, and there was no way to ignore it. She had spent so long reading novels with happy endings that she had never considered that her own story might not end so joyfully. Then again, she had not realized that hers was a love story until last night.

"I would do anything to help an innocent. Please, follow me," Lydia insisted as she turned and guided Beatrice and the baby inside, her heart cracking with every step she took into the house that could not, would not, be hers anymore.

For how could she live with herself if she stole a promising future away from a baby? A baby who had not asked to be born but would suffer if someone did not intervene. If that someone had to be Lydia, so be it.