by Amanda Davis
“Is this true?”
“It is, Your Grace,” Samuel sighed. “Please, I understand how this must seem to you but I assure you, I would never dishonor you in such a way.”
“Nor would I, James,” Lydia sighed. “Do not fault the man. He was only doing what he thought was right.”
James met her eyes, his face contorting in perplexity.
“Permit him to go, James,” Lydia insisted and slowly, James turned back to nod curtly at Samuel.
“Go,” he barked and Samuel scampered off, bowing as he muttered his gratitude. As he disappeared into the darkness, James turned his attention back toward her.
“It was foolish,” she conceded before he could even speak. “I will not go out without a chaperone again.”
James no longer looked angry, but ashamed and flustered.
“I-I thought you had taken him as a lover.”
The pain in his voice was almost palpable and Lydia frowned, her cheeks flushing as she remembered how she had thought about Samuel the previous evening.
How greatly everything can change in one day, she thought with some bemusement. James has gained a new nephew and I have lost my sacred walks alone.
“I would never dishonor myself nor you by taking on a lover,” Lydia told him flatly. “I should not need to tell you that.”
“I know. You are good, decent, and kind. You have been by my side when I did not deserve you. I thought you had taken a lover and my world fell into a thousand pieces around me.”
Lydia’s jaw fell at her husband’s unexpected words.
“Forgive me, Lydia, for overlooking your wonder, your grace. Forgive me for putting you last when I should have always put you first. If you will permit me, I will spend my life making you see that I do love you. I always have.”
Tears sprang to her eyes and she nodded, reaching for his hands. Their bodies drew nearer and Lydia caught the glint of the moon reflecting in his eyes.
“I cannot tell you how long I have yearned to hear those words,” she confessed, a sob choking her voice slightly.
“I am ashamed that I have left you yearning for something you very much deserve, my wife. I assure you, you will hear them with greater frequency,” he promised, placing a soft kiss against her lips. His touch sent waves of warmth spiralling through her body and abruptly, all the tension she had felt building in her shoulders melted away into nothing but a glorious flutter of love.
“Are you well?” He asked, peering down at her face and Lydia smiled sleepily.
“Yes,” she murmured. “I am very well.”
“Then I suggest we return to the hotel and put you to rest.”
* * *
Lydia slept well for the first time in as long as she could recall, her dreams leaving her refreshed and contented when she awoke. James was still at her side, staring lovingly at her face when her eyes fluttered open.
“Good morning,” her husband murmured and Lydia was overcome with adoration.
“Have you been watching me as I slumbered?” she asked, slightly abashed.
“I have. Does that embarrass you?”
Lydia sat up and shook her head slightly, although her cheeks were blushed a deep rose. It would take some time to become accustomed to this newfound attention but she did not dislike it.
“When you are prepared,” James continued. “I would hope you would dress and see me to a rather unpleasant task this day.”
The soft smile faded from Lydia’s lips and she watched him with wary speculation. “What might that be?” she asked, wishing he had allowed her only a few more moments of oblivious peace.
“You must not be upset. It is for the best,” he told her, a slightly concerned look upon his face and she tensed, sitting up against the sheets.
“James…”
“I have arranged for your mother to be on the first coach back to Whittaker this morning.”
Lydia blinked and stared at him in disbelief, a swirl of emotions accompanying the announcement.
“Will I be with her?” Lydia asked, her voice hoarse with disappointment.
Is that why he has been so kind to me? He intends to see me off and out of his way?
“Of course not!” James cried, appearing shaken that she had even suggested such a thing. “I thought I made my position quite clear last night. You belong at my side. Your mother belongs in Whittaker. Her endless meddling has not helped our marriage any more than my endless obsessions. It is high time we eliminate the outside influences and focus the attention due on ourselves.”
Lydia’s heart swelled with affection and hope as she stared at him.
Mother will be incensed when she hears of this, she thought but it did not trouble her in the least. There would most certainly be an aftermath with which to deal but for the first time, Lydia felt a confidence in her husband, in their union and the direction in which it was going.
“Are you distraught?” James asked, mistaking her silence for upset.
“No,” she denied, slipping her legs over the side of the bed to rise. “Well yes.”
She paused to glance at him and James’ brow furrowed. He exhaled slowly and met her gaze.
“I realize she is your mother, Lydia but she has caused nothing but grief since her arrival. Her presence only serves to hinder us. I know she is not solely to blame for all that has happened between us but she does not help.”
Lydia slowly padded around the bed, her nightgown flowing loosely about her as she neared him, a gentle smile on her face.
“You misunderstand me,” she murmured, placing her palms on his face to peer into his eyes. “I am not distraught at you.”
“Oh?”
She shook her head, beam widening slightly.
“I am merely distraught that I did not consider it first,” she confessed and relief crossed James’ face.
He laughed merrily and embraced her, burying his face against the cotton of her gown before releasing a deep sigh.
“I have failed you in so many ways, Lydia,” he sighed. “But I swear I will not permit it to happen again.”
Lydia nodded slowly, her hands lacing through his thick hair to stroke him lovingly.
“I have faith in us,” she whispered and she realized it was so. She had clung to the hope that one day, her husband would see the love he had waiting for him and that day had finally come.
Not another word was exchanged as a loud, irritable voice cried out from the hall beyond their rooms and Lydia disentangled herself from James’ hold. She had no doubt who was causing the commotion at such an early hour.
“It seems that Mother has discovered her fate,” she muttered and James snorted.
“We best tend to her before she wakes the entire hotel.”
“It is likely too late for that,” Lydia sighed but she did not move, her gaze fixed on James. There was suddenly no urgency, no need to rush about or hide or flee. James was on her side, wholly and completely.
The rest of the world could wait.
12
Sending Elenora off proved to be a bigger chore than James had anticipated. She had fought like a caged tiger, shouting in an unladylike fashion, threatening reprisal. The other guests watched in shock as she was herded into the waiting coach.
“Forgive the display,” James muttered to the Balfours after the carriage finally moved away. “She is quite unaccustomed to being told ‘no’.”
Charlton snickered.
“I have a wife not unlike that,” he muttered. “Excuse me. I have matters to attend in the office.”
He sauntered back inside the hotel, leaving James and Lydia outside to contemplate their future.
“What will we do now?” Lydia asked quietly when the coach had all but disappeared. “Will we return to Holden?”
James was silent for a long moment. It was the proper thing to do, take his wife home and start anew with all the chaos of the past few days behind them.
That is certainly what she deserves and I have sacrificed enough tim
e away from her.
“Yes,” he told her, managing to keep the reluctance from his tone. “I will bid my sister adieu and we will make arrangements to leave at once.”
Lydia’s arm tightened against his and her fingers moved to twirl at the pearls encircling her neck.
“What is it, my love?” he asked gently. “You do not wish to leave?”
She eyed him through her peripheral gaze before releasing a sigh.
“I do rather enjoy it here,” she confessed. “There is a certain tranquility to be found.”
“We might remain for a few more days,” he agreed.
“Moreover, you have not yet learned who killed your father.”
James’ mouth firmed and he shook his head with vehemence.
“I have decided to forsake that quest,” he told her. “That has consumed far too much of my thoughts and for what?”
“For your peace of mind, darling.”
She turned to look at her husband with compassionate eyes.
“You will never fully rest until you know for certain, James and I was wrong to expect you to leave it alone.”
“You have always supported me, Lydia.”
“Not enough,” she insisted. “I have done little to assist you in finding the truth about what happened that night. I pledge myself to you now. We will determine the truth before we leave here.”
How am I so blessed? He asked himself yet again.
“I fear that this is a matter which might never be resolved,” he said softly, making his decision. “I do not wish to pursue it for another moment, Lydia. You and I have much lost time for which to compensate. We will put the unpleasantness of my father’s death in the past where it belongs. We might stay a few more days but then we will return to Holden and never speak of the matter again.”
He did not miss the glint of hope which sprang into her kind eyes.
“As you wish, my husband,” she murmured, curling her fingers into his arm. “We shall call this the honeymoon we never had.”
“Indeed,” he agreed, wrapping his own gloved hand around hers. “Consider us newly wed.”
* * *
The next few days took on a very different tone. Elenora’s absence seemed to lift a weight off Lydia’s shoulders and James noticed with deep contentment that his wife was truly resplendent in her happiness.
Lydia spent her days with Emmeline Compton who seemed delighted to have a new companion while James grew to know his brother-in-law.
Despite their initial impression of one another, James found himself warming to the man. They both loved Lise, after all, and as Xavier realized James was not there to stir trouble any longer, the proprietor’s son slowly welcomed him into the fold.
Their dinners were pleasant, although James still had yet to spend time alone with his mother. It was becoming more and more apparent to him that Patience was deliberately avoiding him, often running off to hide in Anne Balfour’s suite before James could find her. On the third night of again missing his opportunity, he saw Lydia to their chambers and told her of his plan.
“I cannot leave here tomorrow without speaking to my mother,” he told Lydia. “I must at the very least apologize for the way I took her unawares by coming here. I had hoped she would have accepted by now that we mean her no harm.”
“You do as you must,” Lydia told him gently. “It would be a shame to return to Holden knowing that she did not feel welcome to return also.”
With relief, he placed a gentle kiss on her rouged cheek.
“I shall not be long,” he promised. “Will you attempt to wait for me?”
“Of course,” Lydia agreed, serving him a warm smile. “I would like to know what she says.”
James took a full breath and hurried from their chambers toward his mother’s rooms where he knocked softly. The hour was early enough and to his great surprise, Patience called out for him to enter.
“Oh,” she choked when she saw her son. “James.”
“Mother, please do not send me on my way,” he pleaded. “I am not here to cause you any discomfort.”
Patience’s eyes darted toward the doorway.
“I-I had been expecting a waiter,” she muttered and James realized that was the only reason she had permitted him entry.
“Mother, if you will simply hear me out, I will be on my way.”
Patience cast him a nervous look and rose from the vanity to wrap her dressing robe about her body as she approached him in the sitting room.
“I would never send you away, Jamie. You are my son.”
“Lydia and I will be leaving tomorrow,” he explained to her as she cautiously neared him. “Before we do, I want to be sure that we are at peace, Mother. Whatever Lady Blackwell said that first night—that is not my belief.”
“Do not fib to your mother, Jamie. Of course you believed I had a hand in Edward’s death. You would not have come otherwise.”
A flush of embarrassment tinged his cheeks and James lowered his eyes.
“It was wrong to have come here in such a manner. I assure you, Mother, I do not think you are to blame.”
Patience’s eyes narrowed, her face paling slightly.
“Have you moved on to another suspect then?”
“I-no, Mother. I will stop with this madness. Nothing good can come out of it.”
Patience did not forsake the look of skepticism.
“What do you know about that night, Jamie?” she asked. “What have you gleaned?”
A fission of alarm snaked through his veins as he stared at his mother’s face. What he saw there caused all his doubts to flood back in a torrent.
She knows something about what became of father!
He willed himself not to consider it, to leave the terrible ordeal behind him as he had promised Lydia he would but his mother’s eyes bore into him with intensity.
“You must tell me, Jamie,” she hissed with some urgency. “What have you learned?”
“What do you know, Mother?” he countered, his blood racing. “You know what happened that night.”
Mother and son continued to stare at one another for long moments, neither willing to falter but in the end, it was Patience who looked away.
“Close the door,” she murmured. “And I will tell you all I know.”
His heart leapt into his throat as he hurried to oblige her request. Could this be a ruse, a way to deter him from looking into this further?
Tell her you do not want to know, a small voice cried out to him. Tell her that it does not matter.
Yet he did none of that. Instead, he sat gingerly on the edge of the settee as Patience did the same, again locking eyes with her son.
“I do not need to tell you what your father did to me, to your sister,” his mother began.
“You do not, Mother,” James mumbled. “I should have done much more to protect you.”
“It is not your duty to protect your mother from your father,” Patience corrected him. “It is a mother’s duty to shelter her children, however, and that was what I tried to do with Lise.”
“No one faults you for what you did,” James agreed. “You had no choice.”
“Bringing Lise here was the best move I could have ever made for both her and myself, even if I did not realize it at the time,” Patience sighed, sinking back, a faraway look in her eyes. “Lise found love with Xavier—love, security and a family. I, too, found security and friendship in the most unlikely place.”
“Anne Balfour?” James guessed and, as he said the name, a burning sensation filled his head.
Anne Balfour.
“She is a troubled soul,” Patience continued, her eyes glazed. “But she was always my friend and no one was more devastated by us running off than Anne.”
“Oh Mother…” Bile rose in the back of James’ throat.
Anne Balfour. A woman with a key to the front doors. No one would have noticed if she was not about in the morning. She had every opportunity to leave the hotel.
“She is not of completely sound mind, Jamie but her intentions were pure. She blamed your father for us leaving and she was right in a way. We never could have returned if he remained alive.”
James did not know what to say and he swallowed the misery bubbling up from his stomach.
“She is not a murderess,” Patience muttered. “Although, you might not see it that way. If she had not done what she did, your sister and I would likely be dead ourselves. Not to mention your nephew.”
James ground his teeth together and held back the rush of words that threatened to spill forward.
“You may do what you must, James but there is not an iota of proof and if I am asked again, I will deny that I ever told you.”
“Why are you telling me?” James finally managed to sputter. “Why now?”
Patience’s expression filled with sympathy and she sighed heavily.
“Because despite all that your father was, he was still your father and I know you, Jamie. You will go to your grave wondering what happened, regardless of what you say. You deserve the truth. What you do with that truth is yours to decide.”
James rose numbly and there was a sharp knock on the door.
“Who is there?” Patience called tensely.
“Samuel, Your Grace.”
His mother nodded at James before calling out for Samuel to enter.
“Oh, forgive me,” Samuel muttered. “I did not realize you had company, Madam. Good evening, Your Grace.”
“Samuel,” James muttered. “I was just leaving.”
“Duke,” Patience called out as he stumbled toward the door, the news sitting like a rock in his gut. James could not bring himself to stop and look his mother in the eye.
He made his way back toward his chambers and stood there for a long moment, collecting his thoughts and willing his heart rate to return to normal.
Anne Balfour is a drunk. A lonely, pitiful drunk with a family who will be destroyed by this revelation.
He thought of his sister, of the love she had found in Xavier Balfour, of his frail baby nephew. James considered the peace that Lydia had found at the hotel and the way he had been reunited with his wife.
