Chapter 30

"Edwin, darling, I think we might need something stronger than tea," Joanna said, casting a pointed look at her husband.

Edwin smiled sadly and rose from the armchair in the sunroom, tending to the matter himself, though he could easily have called for a servant.

Lydia suspected it was a deliberate act of kindness to give the two women some privacy, though she had nothing more to say; she had spilled her soul out to Joanna already, laying herself bare.

"And it is not something you can forgive?" Joanna asked hesitantly. "He did not know you when the child was created. If he cares for you, if there is something blossoming between you, then it would be a pity to let his past ruin your future."

Lydia dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, struggling to breathe through the sobs that kept wracking her chest. "I could forgive it, I think, if it had been a lover trying to blackmail him, but I cannot destroy the life of an innocent child. I need him to annul the marriage so he can wed Miss Hart, so their child will not be a bastard."

"There are ways around it," Joanna insisted. "Perhaps Anthony could marry Beatrice, and they can say that the child belongs to a distant niece or cousin who died. It has been done before, likely more often than any of us know."

Holding a hand to her chest, Lydia hiccupped and shook her head. "I could not do that to Anthony, nor should it be expected. He is… like me, I think. He longs for a love match. Yet, I know he would do something like that if his brother asked."

"Are you prepared to throw it all away, though, dearest Lydia?" Joanna said softly, reaching across the settee to take hold of her hand. "Considering the ferocity of your reaction and your obvious hurt, I do not think you are. You care for him, do you not?"

Lydia stared down at the Persian rug, following the intricately woven pattern with her teary eyes. "I think… I was beginning to love him. No… I know that I was, but it does not matter now. I will not be selfish. An annulment may bruise my reputation for a while, but it will recover. If I can persuade him to take the blame, it will assuredly recover, and I will be free to… to…"

A sob cut off her words, for the prospect of ever finding another gentleman in the country who could match up to Will felt like the most impossible task. He was everything she had ever wanted, though it had taken her a while to realize it. He was every favorite male protagonist in one person, and even then, he was better than any character she had ever read.

And what is worse, I am certain he was about to remedy his one flaw—that he could not be loyal to me.

For why else would he have arranged a picnic breakfast, simply because he could? Why else would he have ridden all the way back from London without pausing, just to apologize? Why would he have written that he was hers if he had not meant it?

"Oh, my sweet girl," Joanna sighed, shuffling closer so she could pull Lydia into a comforting embrace.

Lydia let herself be held, burying her face in Joanna's shoulder as fresh tears flowed down her cheeks and painful sobs clawed up her throat.

"My sister was right," she murmured, gathering herself. "She told me to run, she had everything prepared, and I should have done it. Goodness, I should have done it to spare myself this. But the most… painful part is this is what I wanted. I was searching for an excuse to ask for an annulment until I no longer wished to have one. Rather cruel of fate to grant me exactly what I asked for when I did not want that anymore, is it not?"

Joanna brushed the messy locks of hair out of Lydia's face. "Perhaps it is a blessing in disguise, and years from now, you will be able to laugh about this. At the very least, you will feel relieved."

"Maybe." Lydia forced a smile while her heart continued to ache for the man that she desired but could not have.

You swore to me you had no illegitimate children. Did you lie, Will, or is that sweet girl the first?

She doubted she would ever get to ask him, for seeing him again might weaken her resolve. Indeed, from now on, if he wished to converse with her, it would have to be done through letters and letters alone. She could not risk being in his presence ever again.

"Did you ever have that wedding night?" Joanna asked unexpectedly.

Lydia gasped as if someone had jumped out at her, immediately turning her gaze away as her cheeks flamed.

Joanna chuckled. "I shall take that as a yes. Perhaps that is why you are struggling so much, dear girl. When you are fond of someone, the act of lovemaking can only strengthen the bond between you. If it was exceptionally good, I have heard it can trick a person into thinking they are in love, when, really, they are in love with a feeling. A sensation. Do you understand what I am saying?"

Lydia clasped a hand to her chest in a vain attempt to steady her breathing, for every time she thought back to their night together, it was as delicious as reading her favorite pages and scenes again. Indeed, they were dog-eared in her mind, well-loved and well-thumbed. She could remember everything in vivid detail, and her body remembered too, firing sparks of longing that she was certain it would take years to douse.

"When was this?" Joanna asked.

Lydia swallowed past the lump forming in her throat. "Last night."

"Oh goodness," Joanna gasped. "Well, in that case, fate has been very cruel, indeed. But it does go some way toward explaining why you are so wounded. Not that you should not be wounded by the arrival of a former lover and her love child, but it explains why you wish you had never experienced it. Why you wish you had fled—because it cannot be undone."

Lydia looked toward the bookshelves that lined the far wall of the sunroom, imagining all of the happy endings. Tears began to well up in her eyes all over again, for she would have liked nothing more than to have a happy ending of her own.

"I suppose you are right," she said sadly. "I have given a part of myself away, and I can never have it back."

Joanna took her hand and squeezed it. "I know this is not what you want to hear, but I would urge you to wait before you insist on this annulment." She paused, glancing pointedly down at Lydia's abdomen. "Until you know that you are not with child."

"I have considered that," Lydia replied, furrowing her brow. "Beatrice said she was desperate. I suspect she does not have the support and protection that I possess. If I were to have a child, they would not suffer as Beatrice's daughter might. I have connections and resources and my sister. Beatrice has nothing. If she did, she would not have come to make demands."

In truth, the journey to Bruxton Hall had given Lydia ample time to think through every possible outcome. And as she had ruminated on her situation, she had come to realize just how lucky she was and just how obscenely lucky Emma was. Perhaps, to keep a divine balance, one sister had to sacrifice happiness, and that sister was Lydia.

"Yes, I suppose that is true," Joanna said with a solemn nod. "Goodness, I am so very sorry that this has happened to you, dear Lydia. I wish Emma were here right now, so she could comfort you, but it shall be at least a couple of days before word reaches her, and she is able to return here."

A messenger had been dispatched almost immediately upon Lydia's arrival after a brief explanation of what had occurred. Lydia felt terrible for disturbing her sister, considering she was in such a fragile state with her pregnancy, but she had never needed her sister more. If she had to wait, then she would do so as patiently as possible.

"Until then, however," Joanna continued, "I promise that Edwin and I will do our best to be good substitutes. Speaking of Edwin, where on earth is he? He should have returned with the fine brandy or at least a nice claret by now."

As if summoned, Edwin hurried into the room, sans the promised liquor. Instead, he wore an anxious expression as he stood before the two women like a messenger who was about to deliver awful news.

"Apologies for the delay," he said, clearing his throat. "I was… interrupted by the arrival of a… very earnest, very insistent gentleman. The butler tried his best to contend with the matter, but I was called upon. The… uh… gentleman is waiting on the porch and has declared that he will remain there until he is permitted to see Lydia."

Lydia straightened up, a cold sliver of ice piercing her heart. "Is it Will?"

"It is," Edwin replied, grimacing. "What would you have me do? I can have him forcibly removed, or I can allow him to wait until he decides to leave of his own accord. Or… I can make arrangements for the two of you to speak with one another in a setting that is more comfortable for you."

Lydia could not imagine any setting that would be comfortable, but nor did she like the idea of Will being forcibly removed from the estate like a common criminal. Part of her was intrigued to discover just how long Will would wait to see her, and though she did not consider herself mean-spirited, it seemed like the best choice of the three.

"He can wait," she said. "After all he has done, and the moments that he has made me wait, he can see how it feels."

She got up, trembling from head to toe at the notion that he was so close. "If I may, I think I should like a bath, and then I will retire. I am… weary to my bones, and if he is prowling around the front of the house, perhaps you might be so kind as to provide me with chambers at the rear of the manor?" She paused. "I am so very sorry for all of this disturbance. Truly, I am."

"Nonsense. We are happy to oblige," Joanna said, taking her by the arm. "Come with me. I have the perfect room for you where no one will disturb you, and you can rest easily."

Lydia allowed herself to be led, but as they exited the sunroom and made their way up the hallway to the staircase, her determination took a knock as she heard his voice calling for her.

"Lydia! Lydia, I will not move from this spot! Lydia, if you can hear me, just… come outside or allow me in so that we can speak!" There was a brief pause before he continued, "Kitten, please!"

Joanna steered her closer to the staircase, ushering her up the steps with the urgency of a worried mother. And when Lydia looked back, her foolish heart yearning for the man who belonged to that voice, Joanna said softly, "If he cares for you, dearest girl, he will still be there in the morning. There is nothing that can be said now that will be of any use or any sense. Take your bath, sleep well, and see how you feel when dawn comes."

But as Lydia continued up the stairs, trying to block out the sound of Will's voice, she knew that she would feel no different when morning came—she would still want him, she would still be falling in love with him, and he would still have a child that made their future impossible.

Like last night, it could not be undone.