Page 58 of A Bride for the Icy Duke
Lydia watched him go, her heart beating altogether too fast in her chest. But his hands were clenched by his sides, and she could tell by his posture that this was not mere irritation—which would have been understandable given the provocation.
He was vastly upset.
Eliza appeared by her side and nudged her. “Go after him,” she whispered, as Mr. Godwin addressed Mr. Umbridge in loud, strident tones, condemning his decision to needle Alexander and Lydia in his home.
At least Mr. Godwin was a good friend, if a little indiscriminate in his guest list.
Lydia glanced after Alexander’s retreating back. She knew she ought to go after him, but what was there to say? Especially when it dawned on her that Mr. Umbridge’s attack had quite possibly been about the girl,Helena, who had found her in the lake.
What had happened between them? And why had such a memory made Alexander so stiff with anger and grief?
There was a pit in the base of her stomach. Even after all this time, she was still competing with this other lady, and she suspected she would always lose.
“You are his wife,” Eliza said in hushed tones, giving her a little push between the shoulders. “Go, now, before it’s too late. Besides, if you don’t, people will talk.”
Already, Lydia could see, there were whispers directed at them both. People were staring, some in open condemnation. Of Alexander or Mr. Umbridge, Lydia could not be sure, but it didn’t matter.
This would have been her moment to ask after memories of her family, but if she did so, it would be at the expense of Alexander, the only family she had left, for better or worse.
It wasn’t the time. And it couldn’t be her priority.
Without a glance back, she hurried after her husband, leaving the room and finding him almost by the front door. He was speaking to the butler, calling for his carriage.
“Wait for me,” she said, picking up her skirts as she reached his side.
He looked down at her, face tight and angry. “Go back to the party. You don’t need to leave with me now.”
“Of course I do.” She slipped her hand through his arm. “He didn’t merely offend you, you know. I’m more than ready to leave.”
He gave a stiff nod and looked straight forward. A handful of silent minutes later, the carriage arrived, and he handed her in, still with those jerkily angry movements. Lydia sat in quiet, remembering the conversation they’d had on the way in, and how different things felt now, even if their relationship was still tempestuous.
As soon as they reached the manor, he handed her out and dropped her like she had burned him. “Go inside,” he said shortly. “Retire for the night.”
“What are you going to do?”
“That is none of your concern.”
“After everything, you are still going to shut me out?”
“I’m sorry.” Shaking his head, he strode away, and Lydia followed, her own temper boiling over now.
“Don’t you walk away from me! You said we would try, Alexander.”
“I lied,” he roared, ripping his arm from her grasp. “I told you what you wanted to hear because it was an appealing daydream, but that is all it could ever be. A delusion. We can never be the happy pair you believe we can be.”
He loosed a frustrated breath. “This is not a marriage that could ever work, Lydia, and you are a fool if you think it can. I abandoned you for a year, if you recall? I only married you because your father—” At that, his voice cut off, and she saw what looked like agony cross his face from the distant lit windows of the house. “I won’t send you away,” he said, quieter now. “But that’s all I have to offer. It’s easier—everything would be easier if you hated me.”
She caught her breath, taking a step back.Hatedhim? He had not behaved as though he wanted her to hate him when he had kissed her. Or when he had welcomed her body over his in the bathtub. There were so many incidents where she felt as though he wouldrathershe liked him. She had seen through his prickly exterior and found a man who wanted nothing more than to be loved.
Or so she had thought.
Had she been wrong? Had she only ever seen what she wanted to, born of her early infatuation with him?
“Go inside,” he said finally, as remote as he had been on the day her father died. “Go to bed. And stop dreaming of a life that can never be.”
She curled her fingers into a fist. “If hate is what you wanted from me, all you had to do is never return. You could have left me here to hate you in peace!”
He huffed a bitter laugh, already turning away. “It would have been better for the both of us if I had,” she thought she heard him say.
