Chapter 17

After breakfast, Lydia stepped out into the garden—her garden. She was still getting used to the fact the house was hers, and her mother-in-law's gesture was a sign of that new ownership. There was now a new Countess of Walford in charge of running the household. The garden was well-tended, with roses and lavender growing in abundance along the borders, and a neatly cut lawn at the center, with trees at the far end. It was surrounded by a high wall, and had she not known better, Lydia might have thought herself to be in the countryside, rather than in the center of London.

It's really quite idyllic.

She paused to admire a peach-colored rose with a sweet floral scent.

Having made an inspection of the garden—and with a mind to make certain alterations—Lydia walked back across the lawn towards the house, admiring the rear fa?ade, and remembering when she and Philip used to play there as children. She had just reached to bottom of the terrace steps when Philip himself appeared. He smiled at her at her, pointing across the lawn to where a weeping willow grew close to the east wall.

"Shall we sit out of the sun? We can talk more easily there," he suggested.

Lydia nodded, following him back across the lawn.

It was cooler beneath the shades of the willow's branches, and they sat on the grass as though within a tent, the dappled sunlight casting patterns over Lydia's dress.

"What do you think of my mother's plan?" Philip asked.

Lydia did not think anything of it in particular. She was glad to think Lucy would be happy, and if her mother's company would contribute to her well-being, so be it. But Lydia suspected Philip's question was not really about his mother's well-being. He sounded rather concerned what the two of them should do now that they were left alone.

Without Lucy, they would have only one another for conversations, and Lydia wondered how they would fare in this forced companionship.

"I'm very happy for her," she said.

Philip smiled. "And… do you think you and I can… get along without her?" he asked.

Lydia smiled back at him. "I'm sure we can, yes. We used to," she reminded him.

Philip laughed. "Well… we didn't always, did we? We used to argue quite a lot if I remember correctly," he countered.

"We had our share of disagreements, certainly. But you were like one of my brothers. I couldn't lose face to you," Lydia replied.

As children, there had always been fallings out, and reconciliations, too. It was all part of growing up, even as their drifting apart had not been so much a matter of falling out, but rather finding different paths.

"You were always so different from Caroline. She was the prim and proper one, always in neat dresses and with her hair combed. Whereas you…"

Lydia raised her eyebrows. "Be careful what you say," she warned, trying hard not to laugh.

What he said was true. Caroline was always the prim and proper one, who longed to emulate her mother and aunt. She would beg them to let her take tea with them, and sulk when she was told grown-up conversations were not for her. Lydia had never seen her delight in getting dirty, or climbing trees, or playing chase.

"But am I mistaken?" he asked.

Lydia shook her head. "Not at all. I never wanted to be like that. I suppose circumstances forced a change in me. I had to wear dresses and sit quietly, all prim and proper," she said.

In a way, she lamented the fact, and she had always vowed to treat her own children quite differently. No daughter of hers would be forced into a dress she did not want to wear or prevented from climbing a tree. Likewise, if her son desired to play the pianoforte and paint watercolors, so be it. Lydia knew her views on such things were different from those of others, but the question of children now brought other feelings to the fore—a sense of loss at what would not be.

"And I'm sure you didn't like that, Lydia," Philip said.

Lydia shook her head. "And I wouldn't want it for my children either," Lydia replied.

She had not meant to blurt out those words in quite such a blunt manner, but even before she had finished, the look on his face suggested she had said the wrong thing.

"Ah, well… I suppose that's something I can't give you," he murmured.

The practical implications of their match had not been discussed in any great detail. The marriage had been arranged so swiftly as to preclude any thought of children and heirs.

Lydia sighed. "It's all right, we don't need to talk about it now, do we?"

Philip shook his head. "But I think we need to."

"No, it is what it is. There's no point in dwelling on it, is there? We're not going to have children. We can't. Not the way it stands," she said.

Lydia did not know what she meant by that. It was all so confusing. The thought of them having children was not beyond the realms of possibility. But for a child to be brought into the world, it had to know love. A loveless marriage was no place for a child, even one who had all the privileges of aristocratic life to distract them.

Children needed love, and while Lydia felt certain she and Philip could provide that love, the question of their feelings for one another remained. Did she love him? No. Could she love him? Perhaps.

But even these answers were not certain. Since meeting him again, Lydia had often questioned what might have been had they remained in touch. Could there have been a romance between them? As children, there had been no thought of love—how could there have been? But now, had the pace of their unexpected relationship been different, there was no reason why such feelings shouldn't have arisen.

"But… we should talk about it, Lydia. For both our sakes. I must confess, I hadn't thought about it myself. Well, I had, I suppose. The question of an heir is always a pertinent one. But… as for the two of us having children…" Philip trailed off.

Lydia shook her head. "You married me out of duty, Philip. I don't know what my brother said to you, but your hand was forced. I know it was. I don't hold it against you, and we'll make the best of things, I'm sure. But as for bringing a child into the world under such circumstances… No, it simply wouldn't be right."

She was waiting for him to object to her words, to tell her he had not married her simply out of duty but for something more. But instead, he paused, as though not knowing how to reply.

"Well, I… I don't know about that," he said.

Lydia fixed him with a pointed look. "Then why did you marry me?" she asked.

Again, he paused, and his pause was long enough to make her suspect that she was right—all this was simply a matter of duty, and had he really had a choice, he would not have married her. Whether it was the same for her, Lydia did not know. It had all happened so quickly. One moment they were getting reacquainted at the wedding of Caroline and Edward, and the next it was their own wedding, and the prospect of a life together.

Lydia did not want to come to resent him, nor did she want him to resent her either. But it seemed the question of children had struck a nerve, and now Philip only turned away and shook his head.

"Well, because… I thought it was the right thing to do," he replied.

It was the only answer he could give—unless he was to declare his love for her right there and then—but it did not stop Lydia from feeling somewhat aggrieved. If duty was his motivation, could there ever be anything more between them?

"Perhaps we shouldn't have spoken of these things," she muttered, and she rose to her feet, dusting the grass off her dress.

Philip followed after her.

"You're not upset, are you?" he asked.

Lydia shook her head. "No, I'm just being foolish. But I think I'll go back inside now. It's so terribly warm out here, isn't it?"

He nodded, looking at her with a concerned expression. "Lydia… I hope I haven't said the wrong thing…"

She shook her head. "No, not at all. We both know the reason behind our marriage, don't we? Neither of us asked for it, but we'll make the best of it, I'm sure," she said.

Lydia was surprised at the force of her feelings. She knew why they had made their vows—to avoid a scandal—but despite telling herself as much, she could not help but feel somewhat disappointed by his response. It was all so confusing—their near kiss, the pleasant afternoons they had spent together in the park, the companionable nature of their new life. But something was missing—love. Could they fall in love? It seemed an extraordinary thought, and yet there was no reason why they should not do so.

"We will. But, Lydia, I want you to be happy. If there's anything you want—anything at all—you only have to ask for it. I know I might not be the man you would've chosen, but I'm sure we can be happy together," he offered.

"I'm sure we can, yes," Lydia replied, and nodding to him, she hurried back into the house.

She had not meant to get upset. She felt foolish for doing so, and could only imagine what her brothers would say if they could see her now. She had not been the sort of child who would throw tantrums or stomp her feet if she did not get her way—that was Caroline.

As she sat down in a cool corner of the drawing room, fanning herself with an ornate oriental fan she had found on the mantelpiece, Lydia thought again of her cousin and the things she had come to suspect about her.

Perhaps Philip just thinks I'm mad.

At the moment, Lydia had only her suspicions, and those, too, were based on mere conjecture. Caroline had been in the park with Edward on the day the horse had bolted, and it was Caroline who would stand to gain the most from Philip's untimely death. But it was one thing to seek advancement for oneself and quite another to do so while colluding with another. To hatch a plot to murder someone required a great deal of cunning and secrecy.

Could Caroline really have involved Edward in her murderous schemes, too?

Oh, it's all so far-fetched. It's nonsense.

But try as she might, Lydia could not rid herself of the suspicion. She was fearful of something happening to Philip—to them both—and it gave her reason to think more deeply as to the way she felt about him. There was no doubting his attractiveness—he was a handsome man, a fair-headed youth now grown into maturity. But looks were not everything. They were nothing compared to the man inside.

But I hardly know him. Not anymore.

But in the past, Lydia had known Philip well. He had certainly changed, his less attractive qualities replaced by maturity. Gone was the arrogance of youth, replaced by a certainty in his own position—one he was certainly worthy of. But memories of the past were not enough to sway Lydia to feelings in the present. She had always imagined what it would be like to fall in love. Or rather, she had tried to do so.

But falling in love was not something one could learn about in the pages of a book, or even observe in others. Ezra would call marriage a duty, Derek would call it a moral imperative, and Graham might speak of attraction. But to truly know what love was, Lydia reasoned she had to experience it for herself.

And I suppose I'll know if I do fall in love with him.

But again, Lydia knew it was not so simple as that. Love would not simply appear out of nowhere. If anything, it would be a gradual feeling creeping over her, like the warmth of a hot bath, enveloping her. She closed her eyes, thinking back to the moment when she and Philip had come so close to sharing a kiss…

"Lydia, I wanted to apologize again," she suddenly heard him say.

Lydia's eyes flew open, and she started, finding him standing at the door leading out onto the terrace from the drawing room.

"Oh… you startled me. But there's really no need. I was being… foolish." Lydia sighed.

Philip shook his head. "No, you weren't. We didn't talk about these things. Not in the way we should have. It all happened so fast, the betrothal, then the marriage. And here we are, a married couple. But I want you to know I have every intention of honoring my vows. It's more than a duty, I assure you," he said.

Lydia smiled at him. She was grateful for his words. He did not have to apologize. He did not have to do anything, and yet it was clear he was trying to make an effort, just as she knew she must do, too.

"And I feel the same. I'm glad we talked the way we did. And I'm sorry if I seemed… a little off." She winced.

He shook his head. "Please, there's nothing to apologize for. Now, I suppose I should go and help my mother with her travel arrangements. I rather think her intention to move into the dower house is going to be more problematic than she thinks. It's not been lived in for years, and I dread to think what sort of state it's in."

Lydia smiled at him. "I'm sure our mothers can make the best of it."

Philip smiled back at her. "They make a formidable pair—just like us, I hope," he replied. Then he nodded to her and left the room.

Lydia shook her head, smiling again at the thought of their mothers colluding. She was glad they had rekindled their friendship, and if it was possible for them to do so, it was surely possible for her and Philip to do so, too.

Perhaps she would come to love him,she thought to herself, knowing they had reached a deeper level of intimacy in their conversation beneath the willow tree—the possibility of something more to come…