It Had to Be the Duke by Christi Caldwell

Chapter 6

Lydia shouldn’t have told them.

It had been a mistake to do so.

And yet, that was what came with a lifetime of friendship. The absolute absence of secrets.

“You… made love with him?”

At Althea’s horrified exclamation, Lydia surged to her feet, and flying across the room, she pushed the door shut. “Will you hush?” she urged on a whisper. Goodness, by the horror and shock her announcement had been met with, she might as well have been talking to their younger selves of thirty years earlier. “And we didn’t make love,” she clarified as she rejoined the pair of friends dubiously eyeing her. “We… merely kissed.” And he’d touched her, stirring her body to passion she’d thought to not again known.

“Merely kissed,” Dorothy muttered. “It was never just ‘mere kissing’ where you two were concerned.”

No, her friend was correct on that score. Everything between Lydia and Geoffrey had always been more powerful. More passionate. More… everything.

Althea wrung her hands together. “I knew we shouldn’t have gone.”

Lydia resisted the urge to rub at her temples. “Really? You were the one who coordinated the whole affair,” she pointed out, earning a quick glower from Althea.

“Do not put this on me.” Thump. Thump. “Bentley,” Althea muttered Geoffrey’s name like the expletive she surely intended.

Dorothy seethed. “We should have expected he’d go to an affair like that,” she spat.

“I think it bears mentioning that we collectively”—Lydia gestured between the three of them—“were at an affair like that.”

“That was different. We were looking for a distraction.”

Which was a good deal more outrageous than Geoffrey, who’d been there at the behest of a friend, a concerned father, worrying after his son.

Something kept her from sharing Geoffrey’s motives for being there last evening. Their discourse had been private. To reveal any part of her exchange with the duke would feel somehow wrong.

“Well, then you should be content in knowing your goals were achieved. I was distracted.” Her gaze drifted to the floor-to-ceiling widows. In fact, she’d been distracted in the most wonderful of ways. Not just the sexual aspect of her encounter with Geoffrey—though that had certainly been magical, too—but rather, all of it. Being with him and speaking freely and sharing without fear of recrimination.

“He was never good for you,” Dorothy said.

Ironically, that same recrimination she found in her friends even now. Her patience snapped. “You’re both being ridiculous. Everything that occurred last night was perfectly innocuous.” At the looks they slanted her way, she frowned. “If it hadn’t been, do you truly think I would have made mention of it?” That managed to briefly silence them, and Lydia took advantage of that small window. “Furthermore, need I point out that I am the one who ended it with Geoffrey? He didn’t end it with me, but rather, I broke it off with him.” A vise gripped her heart as she found, even all these years later, the pain of losing him, of setting him aside for another, was still as real and raw as it had been then. “So if you’d please, just stop treating Geoffrey as though he is some sort of villain. I chose him, but I didn’t get a real say in the matter, did I?”

That managed to keep the pair silent.

For a moment.

Dorothy rested a hand upon Lydia’s knee. “Your parents likely knew he’d break your heart. And he did.”

Yes, he had, but through no fault of his. Losing him had shattered her soul. Her throat moved painfully. For the first months of her marriage, Lydia had been melancholy and lost, fabricating a smile for the world’s benefit. All the while, she’d cried copious tears upon the shoulders of the two women before her. “Nay, what broke my heart was breaking his. My father, hating Geoffrey’s father as he did robbed me of,” The marriage she’d yearned for. “a future with Geoffrey.” She drew in a shaky breath. Yes, her life had turned out to be happy, her marriage a comfortable one. But none of that had meant her love for Geoffrey had ever faded. “Lawrence was a wonderful man, but he was never my soul mate.”

Her friends shared another look. “I’m worried about you,” Dorothy ventured.

“You needn’t,” she was quick to assure them. “There is absolutely nothing to worry about. The only reason I mentioned anything was because I thought you’d be happy knowing I was distracted last evening and that I had a wonderful time. Now, as dearly as I’d love to continue this discussion”—she jumped up—“I fear I have a meeting shortly with my daughter.” It was a bald lie.

One that, by the narrow-eyed glances cast her way, her friends sensed as much, too.

“Hmph,” her friends muttered as they came to their feet.

“You’re throwing us out,” Althea said, frowning at Lydia.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she lied as she opened the door.

Both women stared at her for a long while, before Dorothy gave a toss of her ginger head. “Very well. I see how it is. We shall go… for now. Come along, Althea.”

The moment they’d stepped into the hall, Lydia waved after them and then closed the door.

Quiet rang strong, and she welcomed it.

Clasping her arms behind her, Lydia stared at the now-empty room. She drew in a deep breath. She’d not known why she’d expected her friends to react differently than they had. They’d never made any bone of contention about how they felt where Geoffrey was concerned.

Lydia knew, in being manipulated into marrying Lawrence, she’d hurt Geoffrey far more than he had ever hurt her. Nay, her friends wouldn’t see that. As they’d pointed out, they recalled only the puddle of tears she’d dissolved into whenever they’d come ’round after her marriage. Secret sobbing, they’d called it. In those days, they’d always conducted their meetings in the music room, where Dorothy had played loudly so they could speak freely and so Lydia could cry. Yes, they’d been aware that Lydia’s parents had interfered in her relationship with Geoffrey, but they also recalled the friend who’d been inconsolable after losing him. Wrongly, they’d blamed Geoffrey for her broken heart, when really…neither of them had been to blame. Certainly, at least, not Geoffrey.

But after last evening, there’d just been an excitement, an anticipation that she hadn’t felt or known in so long that she’d wanted to share it with her friends. She was still capable of smiling and laughing and… feeling desire and passion. The joy of that discovery had made her overlook all the disapproval she’d face from her friends when they’d learned the reason for Lydia’s newfound and renewed happiness.

Either way, as she’d pointed out, that time she’d spent with Geoffrey had been fleeting. Yes, there’d been an explosive moment of passion and an acknowledgment of how wonderful the time together had been. But it wasn’t as though he’d suggested they see each other again.

And that profound urge to cry again left a knot of emotion in her throat.

Lydia sighed.

She far preferred the laughter and giddy lightness to… this.

Lydia stepped away from the door and meandered deeper into the room.

Alone.

Once more.

As she was destined to be. How were her friends so… contented with their state? She didn’t recall them being wistful or melancholy and given to tears and loneliness.

Or is it that I am just too oblivious to see as much?Because, for as sad as she’d been at the start of her union, she’d eventually come to be happy. What if her friends had been as lonely as she herself was? She was gripped by a sudden wave of shame at her own self-absorption over the years. For having failed to probe about their pain. And now, for sending them off, when the only thing they’d done had been to express concern at the possibility of Lydia inadvertently opening herself up to more hurt.

A knock sounded at the door.

She smiled. She should have learned long ago that Althea and Dorothy weren’t ones to be turned away. And she was glad for it.

“Enter,” Lydia called out.

Her butler drew both panels open with a flourish and promptly folded his hands behind his back. “My lady, you have a visitor here on a matter of urgency.”

A matter of urgency. Lydia smiled. “I already told you, I’m not seeing—Geoffrey?” she blurted, shock pulling his name from her lips.

Except, then it registered, the announcement made by her butler.

Not visitors, as in a pair of friends.

Rather, a single visitor.

Geoffrey stepped forward.

Of all the people she’d expect her butler might announce, he had certainly not been the one.

Her heart, however, hammered away with excitement as that rapidly beating organ also acknowledged he also happened to be the one she’d wished to see. Lydia also belatedly noted the improper way with which she’d greeted him. She cleared her throat. “That is, Your Grace.”

Doffing his hat, he grinned back. “Lady Chombley.”

How utterly ridiculous that her first lover, and former friend, and now a gentleman whom she was still so very close with, should have to bother with such silly formalities.

“Ahem.”

Behind her, Glenn cleared his throat, startling Lydia into movement. “Would you see to refreshments?”

The servant bowed and then beat a hasty retreat.

The moment he’d gone, Lydia turned to Geoffrey with a smile. She seated herself and motioned to the upholstered sofa nearby. “This is quite unexpected—”

“I have a situation, Lydia,” he said without preamble.

Gone was the smile he’d worn at her previous improper exclamation. His rugged features had assumed a somber set, and worry lent a further wrinkle to the slight ones at the corners of his eyes. Instead of taking the seat she’d indicated, Geoffrey proceeded to pace. All the while, he crushed the brim of his hat, his fingers clenching and unclenching. Her eyes slid to his long, strong fingers. The grip he had upon that article was so tight that he’d drained all the blood from his knuckles.

Unease twisted in her belly.

Fear.

About him.

For him.

Oh, God. What if he was unwell? What if the same way that a sudden illness had befallen her husband, Geoffrey faced a similar fate?

A pressure squeezed both her lungs and heart. “What is it?” she managed to ask when he still said nothing, just continued those frantic back-and-forth strides.

“I’ve made many mistakes in my life, Lydia. So many. I’m ashamed of the life I’ve lived,” he said, not so much as glancing at her even as he addressed her. “I’ve lived a dissolute lifestyle. One of drink and excess.”

Had that drink and excess harmed his physical well-being in some way?

“It’s not a life I’m proud of.”

The panicky sensation in her gut grew.

“Just… sit down, Geoffrey.” She spoke with a calmness she didn’t feel. “Let us talk about whatever it is that has you upset.”

Except, he didn’t. Instead, there grew a frenzy to his pacing. “I don’t deserve any absolution. And yet, I need it. Not forgiveness, as that is secondary in the scheme of all my mistakes. I need to make this right.”

“Make what right, Geoffrey?” she implored, desperately attempting to follow him and his incoherent musings.

He abruptly stopped. His inward gaze turned out, his eyes going to Lydia, and he blinked as though he’d just realized her presence. “I have a son.”

She cocked her head.

*

The silence was heavy.

And damning, and so very awful.

Certainly, no less awful than Geoffrey deserved.

Lydia had judged him, and with good reason.

And should he expect anything less? It was no less than he deserved. Her disdain. Her disgust.

Those realizations, however, didn’t make her silence any less painful.

“You’re not dying?” she suddenly blurted.

Dying? He wrinkled his brow. “No.” He cocked his head. “At least not that I know of. I feel entirely fine.” That was aside from the gut-churning sickness that had besieged him the moment he’d discovered his carelessness… and his failings.

Lydia briefly closed her eyes, and a little exhalation of what sounded like relief slipped from her beautiful bow-shaped lips on a sigh. When she opened her eyes, however, she was a woman in full command and control of her emotions. “Start over, Geoffrey.”

“I have a son,” he repeated and fisted and unfisted his hands, before relaxing his palms and flexing them open. “Rather, I have… three sons and a daughter.”

The shock of that discovery hit him square in the chest, as fresh and new as when Wesley Audley had informed Geoffrey of his—and their—existence. All the energy left him, and he collapsed onto the seat beside her.

“I—” Lydia started and then stopped. She tried again. “I—” She failed once more.

Where in hell to begin? “When you… When we…” He glanced at his hat resting on the opposite chair, directing his gaze there, because that was far easier than meeting her eyes for this telling, and he was a coward. “When your parents put that ultimatum to you, the one that ended in our parting, I was gutted. Destroyed.”

“Geoffrey,” she whispered, her voice catching and breaking, and she covered one of his hands with hers. He closed his eyes at the warmth and rightness of that soft, supportive touch.

His gaze fell to his lap, and he turned his palm up so that Lydia’s fingers and his were linked before he remembered that he didn’t deserve that connection.

He let his hand go lax, and yet, she remained that way with her palm resting in his. “I took any number of lovers,” he said, his voice flat to his own ears. “I drank so much and wagered even more, and I was just trying to numb myself to feeling anything but the pain of losing you.”

From the corner of his eye, he caught the tremble of her lower lip and the sheen of tears that glazed her eyes.

“I met an actress. It was the night of your betrothal ball. Pamela was lovely, and commanded the stage. We struck up a… relationship.” God help him, he couldn’t look at Lydia. There was so much wrongness in speaking of Pamela Audley, or any woman, to the only woman who’d held his heart. “She traveled on and off, performing throughout Europe.” He grimaced. “Or so I thought. I was wr-wrong.” His voice broke. Now he knew, because of Wesley, that during those extended absences, she’d been giving birth to his children. Oh, God, I am going to throw up. Why hadn’t she told him?

“You loved her,” Lydia said softly. “I’m so sorry.”

She’d express remorse for his pain.

“I didn’t love her,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut. He’d been capable of loving only one woman, the woman who sat beside him now, offering support and an ear when he deserved nothing from her… or anyone. “She deserved to be loved, but I was incapable of it. You and I had just…parted.” His heart had been shattered, and he’d focused on losing himself and drowning out his own pain. Or trying to.

It had just been one more way in which he’d failed the young woman. Perhaps had he loved her as she’d deserved, then she could have trusted that she could confide in him about Wesley, Rafe, Hunter, and Cailin. “I didn’t know about them, Lydia.”

This time, he made himself open his eyes and look at her, because he’d allowed himself to be blind to so much that he’d not keep his eyes shut to what he’d done and his mistakes or the condemnation sure to meet him. “She didn’t tell me. But this morning, when I returned home from Mowbray’s son’s affair? There was a young man waiting for me. He is my image, Lydia,” he whispered, dragging a shaky hand through his hair. “And he came with a gift I’d given his mother long ago, and I offered him anything—wealth, security, a future. He wants nothing to do with me.” A harsh laugh burst from him. “But then, why should he? He only asked that I secure him a commission to the military. The lowest rank so that he might in turn work himself up to what he deserves.” Pride swelled. He might have failed his children, but just that decision from the boy was testament to the honorable person Wesley was.

Lydia sat back, silent for a moment, the clock ticking as she seemed to take it all in. “I trust it is a shock to discover all these years later that all this time, you had children… and four of them.”

A rusty laugh escaped him. “A shock indeed.” He dragged another hand through his hair, just as a knock sounded, and the door opened, and a young serving maid rushed over with a silver tray.

Geoffrey and Lydia didn’t speak while the girl fluttered about, setting the tray down and laying out plates before them. It was ironic that he, who’d been miserable with the lack of words from Lydia before, now found himself grateful for this interruption.

“That will be all, Magda,” Lydia said to the young maid, who dropped a curtsy for her and Geoffrey before rushing off, and he was alone once more with Lydia.

He fixed his gaze on those pretty, floral porcelain plates.

All the while, Geoffrey felt Lydia’s eyes on him, but her gaze now was unlike in their youth, when it had been an open book that he’d always been able to read so very easily. At some point, she’d mastered an opaque stare that concealed. And perhaps that was better for this moment.

He had disdain enough for himself in this moment. To have it from her, this woman who’d lived a respectable, honorable life, whereas he was a rogue whose mistress hadn’t even trusted him enough to believe he’d do right by their children… Which he would have.

Soft fingers touched his, and he startled. “Tea?” she offered.

He gave his head a slight shake.

“It wasn’t a question. Tea always helps.”

A panicky, pained laugh escaped him. “It will not help this, Lydia.”

“No, but tea in London is as familiar as rain and fog,” she said as she methodically prepared a cup in the manner he’d always preferred. “And in times such as these, one takes comfort where one can. Now, drink.” Lydia pressed the plate and cup into his hands, and he automatically took them.

Bemused, he returned the plate to the table, but retained the cup. “When did you become…?”

“Old?” she supplied dryly.

“No.” He slipped his gaze over her face. Her features were classically beautiful, revealing almost no hint of time’s passage. “I was going to say self-possessed.” She’d always been spirited and possessed of an indomitable spirit. “Somewhere along the way, you… matured.”

“Life does that,” she said, her eyes growing slightly sad.

He shifted, angling closer to her. “I… appreciate this new side of you, Lydia.” At some point, she’d become a woman who commanded with a breathtaking ease, and she carried herself with an even more glorious self-confidence.

Their eyes caught and held, and a charged awareness crackled to life, like the earth right before a lightning strike.

Lydia was the first to look away, breaking that connection. She turned her focus to making herself a cup of tea. When she’d finished, she straightened. “On the matter of your son…”

“Wesley,” he supplied, hearing the question there.

“On the matter of Wesley, it is honorable that you wish to do right by him and his siblings, your other children.”

“It isn’t honorable,” he muttered. “Honorable would have been had I known of their existence and cared for them long before this.”

“You are attempting to do so now. That won’t undo past hurts or wrongs, but it is a step towards bringing it to rights and finding healing for all of you.”

“But how can there be?” The question ripped from him. With trembling fingers, he sloshed tea over the rim of the cup and set it down hard. Restless, Geoffrey jumped to his feet. “But that is just it, Lydia. If he won’t allow me to help him, then how in hell am I to make”—he slashed a hand at the air—“any of this right?”

“Sit down, Geoffrey.” She spoke with a command that would have put even Wellington himself to pale, and Geoffrey immediately sat.

“You offered him wealth and security and safety,” she began.

He nodded. “And he turned me down flat.”

“And those are very important things,” she continued as though he hadn’t spoken.

Something in her tone reached through his restiveness. “But?” For he heard in her unspoken words that there was more.

“But you didn’t speak to him about… affection? Did you? Or the desire to learn about him and his interests and about your other children. You spoke to him as though he was… is… a financial responsibility. Our children? They do not want to be seen in that light, Geoffrey. They want to know they are loved and cared for and… wanted.”

He paused. My God, she is right. “The thing of it is, I want to know him, along with my other children, Lydia. I want to know what their lives have been like and who they are as people.” His throat moved painfully. “I want to know what dreams they have that the harsh life they’ve lived has prevented them from seeing fulfilled, and I want to make those dreams realities for them,” he said, his voice growing impassioned.

“Then that is what you tell them, Geoffrey,” she said softly. “You speak those words.” She touched a finger to his chest. “The ones you carry in your heart. And by doing so, your children will eventually come to realize you don’t see them as obligations, but as people.”

His heart thumped under the wild wings of hope. For when she presented it in that way, when she laid it out in those terms, there existed something he’d come here believing was impossible—a second chance.

Geoffrey ran his eyes over her face, a face that had lived on in his memories and dreams all these years.

A little pink blush bloomed in her cheeks. “What is it?”

Geoffrey brushed his knuckles along the graceful curve of her cheek. “What have I done without you these past years, Lydia?” he murmured, taking in the satiny feel of her skin.

Just as he’d no right to the children he’d failed to know, he also had no right to her. And God help him for being selfish, as he sat there beside her, he wanted her in his life anyway. For the forever he’d hoped to know but had never had.

He didn’t want to lose her again.