by Martha Keyes
“Then you are better than I, for I do care. I wish I didn’t.” He set a hand on his hips and rubbed the other across his lips.
“What do their opinions matter, Miles? Is Thomas not more important than the gossip of people so bored by their own lives they insist upon discussing the lives of others? Do you not feel how utterly fatuous hearsay is when compared with more weighty matters, like the well-being of an innocent child?”
He shut his eyes and shook his head from side to side. “It is not so easy or simple as that, Lydia. As I said, I want the best for Thomas. I truly do. But it is like a stab in the heart every time I see you fawning over the child of a stranger when you seem to have given up hope on having one of our own. And then to face the humiliation of going amongst friends, as we did last night...”
She clenched her hands to counteract the pang in her heart. “You say friends, but that is not what you mean, is it?”
His brows contracted. “What?”
“I can only think your humiliation and the reason you wished to leave so quickly last night was because of the time you spent with her.”
His frown deepened. “Her? You mean Lady Venton?”
Lydia swallowed. “The woman you wish you had married. I am sure it is humiliating to you to be seen by her. With your barren wife.” She stopped before her voice could break and betray her. “Perhaps you are right, though, to wish to rid yourself of Thomas. How can we bring a child into this?” She motioned at the space between them. “We barely ever talk. How could we possibly raise a child together?”
She hurried into her room before her emotions could overtake her.
Chapter 19
Miles walked dazedly to his room, standing inside the shut door for some time, stunned, trying to determine just what precisely he was feeling.
He was frustrated at her insistence that there was no purpose in discussing things together. She had used the same words when he had invited her into his room just two nights ago. No purpose. How was anything to change between them if she thought there was no purpose to talking, no purpose to being near one another?
But foremost in his mind was her reference to Lady Venton. The woman you wish you had married, she had said. Is that what she truly thought?
Had he given her reason to? He never spoke of Sophia, and for good reason. He never even thought of her except when he happened to see her at the odd party or gathering. But, even then, he certainly didn’t wish he had married her. He merely envied her—he wanted to see Lydia as content with life as Sophia seemed to be. That was all.
He rubbed his temples with his fingers, letting out a great sigh. Lydia needed to know she was wrong, and she needed to hear it from his lips.
Hand shaking slightly as he approached the door connecting their bedchambers, he rapped softly. Would she even answer?
The door opened, and Miles could see evidence of tears wiped hastily away. The sight of it ached in his chest. Had he made her so miserable? It was all he had been doing for a long time, it seemed.
“Lydia,” he said softly, putting out a hand toward her cheek.
She pulled back slightly, and her throat bobbed as her eyes filled even more.
He dropped his hand. “Would you come in?” The wariness in her eyes was evident immediately, and he tried not to focus on his own hurt. “I just want to talk,” he said.
She hesitated for a moment then passed through, turning toward him once he had shut the door.
“Lydia, I…” He pressed his lips together, unsure how to communicate what needed saying. They were so very out of practice, so unused to expressing emotion to one another. But he could feel his marriage falling apart, and he had to rise above his hesitation to be vulnerable if he stood any chance of saving it.
She had her arms folded, not in a challenging way but almost as though she was trying to comfort herself—protect herself.
“When we chose to marry,” he said, “I was determined that you should never regret your decision. I would lavish you with love, see to your every need, give you no reason to complain of me as a husband. As a father to your children.” He swallowed down the emotion determinedly and looked at his hands, clasped in front of him. “I have failed in every regard.”
There was silence, the only sound breaking it a sniffle.
“But I would have you know that it is not for lack of love of you, Lydia.” He looked up at her. “I have never once regretted marrying you. Nor have I ever wished myself married to Lady Venton. You must believe that.”
She shut her eyes, and more tears squeezed onto her cheeks.
He stepped toward her then checked. He had promised her he only wished to talk, and he wouldn’t give her reason to think he had said such a thing to manipulate her into letting him come in. “If I have given you reason to believe such a lie, I don’t know how I shall forgive myself.” He balled his hands into fists to keep himself in place. “Tell me you believe me, Lydia. Tell me I haven’t been such a terrible husband that you believe my heart is anywhere but with you.”
A little sob escaped her, and she hurried toward him, wrapping her arms about him.
Stunned, he received her gladly then shut his eyes, pressing a kiss upon the top of her head as he held her close. “Tell me I haven’t lost you.”
She said nothing, but her head shook from side to side against his chest, her arms pulling him toward her as if to echo her unsaid words.
They stood there, holding one another, Miles stroking her hair, for what seemed like an eternity. Still not long enough to make up for all the time they had lost.
Finally, she pulled her head away, looking up at him, eyes still shining with the remnants of her tears. But there was a hint of hope and joy in them now.
She went up on her tiptoes, and Miles met her lips with his softly. He didn’t want to overwhelm her, even though he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and remove any doubt whatsoever about how he felt for her. Their lips settled against each other, brushing softly so that Miles’s lips tingled. She pulled back a bit, and Miles opened his eyes to look at her, to see whether she was already regretting the kiss.
But her eyes were closed, as if she was savoring it. She opened them slowly, and her gaze searched his before she wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled his lips down to hers, every bit as insistent and demanding as the previous kiss had been timid and soft. Her hand moved from his neck, down to the lapels of his coat, tugging on them for a moment to bring him closer then pulling them to the side as if to remove them.
Miles hurried to help her, peeling the coat away from his shoulders and down his arms, mouth still locked on hers.
The coat fell to the ground, and he pulled back, catching his breath. He couldn’t let himself be carried away, much as he might wish to—not if it jeopardized the future.
He stepped backward, needing the clarity the distance afforded. “Lydia. I don’t wish for you to…to feel…pressured.”
Her cheeks and lips were flushed with color, and she took a step toward him. “I want this.”
He searched her face then nodded slowly, and she took another step toward him.
Miles stirred and felt a kiss pressed to his brow. He frowned and opened his eyes slowly, his vision filling with the face of his wife, looking down at him.
She smiled with a hint of shyness in the fluttering of her lids, and he reached a hand up to her chin, pulling her toward him for a kiss.
“How long have you been awake?” he asked, glancing at the light coming through the curtains. It landed in glinting rays on the remnants of the dinnerware they had asked to be brought up the night before. Diana and Mary must have dined alone downstairs.
“Just a few minutes,” Lydia replied. “I thought I heard Thomas crying, but I didn’t want to leave you just yet.”
He smiled widely then stilled, cocking an ear. “Yes, that’s certainly him. What I wouldn’t give for lungs like his.”
Lydia pulled the sheet with her as she rolled to the other side
of the bed. “I don’t want Jane to go to my room, for she shan’t find me there.”
Miles reached for her hand, pulling her back onto the bed. “No, she certainly shan’t. Not if I have anything to say to it, at least.”
Lydia laughed and allowed him to bring her toward him.
“Jane can feed him, can she not?” he said between kisses.
She pulled away again, reaching for something on the floor and stepping into her chemise. “Thomas is getting more particular about who feeds him, I’m afraid. He seems to prefer I do it in the mornings.” She bundled her other clothing in her arms and looked at him. “I can bring him in here if you’d like.”
Miles smiled and nodded, and Lydia hurried to the door that led to her room.
When the door had shut, Miles lay back on his pillow with a sigh. He could have stayed there all morning alone with her. Indefinitely, really.
A few minutes later, Lydia returned, Thomas sitting in one arm, the bottle held precariously in the other hand. Miles gestured for her to relieve herself of one of her burdens, and she allowed him to take the bottle.
He scooted over in the bed, making room for her to sit beside him, and together they fed Thomas. The baby was in a particularly talkative mood once he had finished with his bottle, and he sat up on the bed, pulling the covers and anything within his reach to his mouth.
“You cannot eat that, my dear,” Lydia said, her hand hovering behind his back to stabilize him. “I should have thought to bring your rattle. He favors it above any other toy he’s been offered.”
“I can get it,” Miles said. “Where is it?”
Lydia pulled the covers away from Thomas yet again, grinning at him. “I cannot remember precisely. I may have put it on the desk in my room.”
Miles quickly pulled on his shirt and trousers and hurried to her room, going straight to her desk. There was no rattle there. Only the usual inkpot and quill stand.
He pulled out the large drawer, and a glass bottle rolled toward him. A whiff of mint rushed by, and he pushed the bottle to the side, but his gaze caught on the word on its label. Pennyroyal.
He paused, staring at the word, trying to remember how he knew it. He picked up the bottle and turned it in his hands, uncorking the lid, which released another draught of the mint scent.
He froze. Pennyroyal. He remembered now. It was his mother who had mentioned it to him. A way to prevent pregnancy.
His breath started to come more quickly as he stared blankly at the word. He had dismissed his mother’s words at the time. What had he said in response? Something about Lydia wanting a child more than anyone he knew.
He swallowed. Had he been wrong? Had it been an act? A way to pull the wool over his eyes about her true feelings, her true wishes?
His stomach roiled at the thought, and he set down the vial hurriedly, as though it was toxic. And apparently it was. Was this bottle the true reason they had not been able to conceive? The nausea built in his stomach, trying to travel up to his throat, and he forced it down with a painful swallow.
There had to be another reason.
The rattle was not in the drawer. Only the pennyroyal and a letter, which his eyes locked on. He didn’t recognize the script Lydia’s name was written in, and he only hesitated for a moment before taking the letter from the drawer. Perhaps it would explain the pennyroyal. Anything to help him understand why she had such a thing in her possession.
He unfolded the letter, letting his gaze first travel to the signature at the bottom.
James Coates
Coates & Lamming, Solicitors
Miles knew them by name, but that was all. Why would they be corresponding with Lydia?
His eyes ran as fast as they could over the contents of the letter, pressure building in his chest as he held his breath. The words cut at his heart like a scythe at dry crops.
He was vaguely aware of the sound of approaching footsteps.
“Miles? Is it not there? I am wondering if perhaps Jane didn’t—” Lydia stopped on the threshold of her room, Thomas in her arms, eyes darting to the paper Miles held.
Chapter 20
The hurt in Miles’s eyes was so at odds with the warm contentment she had seen in them just a few minutes ago that Lydia could do nothing but stand in place for a moment. She knew what letter he had in hand, though, and it was evident he had read it already.
Thomas grabbed her cheek with a frustrated gripe, and Miles’s expression hardened, the hurt being replaced by a steely glint.
“Miles,” she said, holding down Thomas’s hand to keep him from repeating his gesture. “It was for your sake that I inquired.”
He folded up the letter and set it back in the drawer, tucking it under the edge of the bottle of pennyroyal slowly and methodically. When he spoke, his voice was quiet but hard. “You accuse me of regretting our marriage, and yet I find you have been inquiring with a solicitor about how to obtain a divorce—or an annulment?”
She shook her head, walking over to him quickly. “Not because I wanted one,” she said. “Only because I thought you did. Because I thought you deserved better than I could give you—than I have given you.”
He glanced down again, his jaw shifting as he took up the vial of pennyroyal in his hand. “And this? Is this not the reason you have been unable to give me what you say I deserve? I can only assume you refer to an heir.”
She blinked in confusion. “What?”
He swallowed—the first evidence that he was feeling any emotion but anger. “Have you been preventing pregnancy with this? And then inquiring with the solicitor whether a divorce could be obtained if no offspring had resulted from our marriage?”
It took her a moment to understand what he was accusing her of. “Miles, I—”
“How disappointing it must have been to discover that such a thing was not grounds for divorce or annulment after all.” He set the vial on the desk with a clank.
Lydia’s surprise began to transform to hurt—and anger to match his.
“You make a great number of assumptions about me,” she said.
“Perhaps I do. But how am I to do anything else when you have avoided me for nigh on a year now?” He flicked the letter with a finger, and it slid farther across the desk, coming near to the edge. “What, then? Did you take Mr. Coates’ advice into consideration? He made it quite clear that adultery was the only way out of a marriage like ours. Did you pursue that route when it became apparent that the pennyroyal was not enough to grant you a divorce?”
Her face screwed up, and she took a step back. “How dare you?” Thomas whined in her arms.
There was only the slightest flicker of hesitation in his face at her words. She had never seen him look so hard and cold.
“How dare I?” he asked. “You have obviously been keeping a number of secrets. How am I to know just what sort and how many? I deserve to know, do I not, whether my wife has been unfaithful?”
It took her a moment to respond, so close were her emotions to overwhelming her, to boiling over. “I have never even thought of another man in that way, and the fact that you would ask me such a question tells me that you know me not at all.” Thomas began to cry, and she rocked him, though her rough movements betrayed her anger. “Thomas is crying. I must go.”
“Oh, yes,” he said. “Of course you must, for what is there in this world but Thomas?”
She stared at Miles for a moment then turned away.
“If we are discussing letters today,” Miles said louder, “then I should perhaps inform you that my mother wrote to me. She received confirmation that Thomas will indeed be taken in by the family she found.”
Lydia checked, swallowing convulsively and looking at the red, unhappy face of the baby in her arms. She looked back at Miles, but she could find no words to respond to him and turned to leave the room. But she stopped at the door again, pausing with her hand upon it. “In the unlikely case you care to hear the truth rather than assuming the worst of me, the pennyroyal is meant
to bring back my courses, as I haven’t had them in months now.”
She pulled the door open and stepped into the corridor, shutting the door with a slam that immediately triggered a sob from somewhere deep inside her. It was hidden by the loudening cries of Thomas, whose bottom lip pouted and quivered in an expression that tore at her heart. He was scared. He may not have understood what was being said, but no doubt he had sensed the tension.
“There, there, my love,” she said, resting her face against his and forcing a deep breath that trembled as it filled her lungs. “I am sorry for yelling. I’m not angry with you. Of course not. I could never be.” She moved away from the door. She didn’t want to confront Miles if he came out.
“Lydia?” Diana’s voice sounded worried.
Lydia hurriedly wiped at the tears on her cheeks, but if Diana came any closer, there would be no concealing that she was crying. And come closer she did. Lydia kept her focus on Thomas, feigning the need to rearrange his clothing. He was starting to cry again—not a hungry cry or a tired cry but an upset one. Almost hurt.
But Diana wasn’t fooled. She took one look at Lydia, put an arm around her, and guided her toward her bedchamber. “Come, my love.”
Lydia didn’t have the willpower to resist, and soon she was in Diana’s room, being helped to the bed, where she sat with Thomas on her lap, both of them crying. Diana reached for the tasseled pillow that sat atop the coverlet and handed it to the baby. His crying stopped, and Diana wrapped her arm about Lydia, her hand stroking Lydia’s arm.
“Trouble with Miles?” she asked softly.
Lydia looked at her. “How did you know?”
“Oh, Lydia,” she said with a pained expression. “I know you. And I’ve been around the two of you enough to know that something has been amiss.”
Lydia let out a sigh and shut her eyes. “Was it so obvious?”
Diana grimaced. “Is this little fellow the cause of your quarrel?” She nudged Thomas’s cheek. He was playing with one of the tassels, attempting to bring it to his mouth, but instead it tickled his nose. His bewildered reaction brought a sad smile to Lydia’s lips. But it soon faded.
