Page 86 of A Bride for the Icy Duke
“No. Tell me.”
His shoulders slumped, and he took a deep breath. “Very well…” He scrubbed at his forehead, looking smaller than she had ever seen him. “The reason you overheard me telling Godwin that I would prepare to leave was because I didn’t know if you would want to see me after I told you this.
“But before I do, let me be clear about my intentions—Iwantto live here with you for the rest of our natural lives. Iwantto raise our children and be a better father than mine ever was, and I… I hope you will accept me as you had the first moment I stepped back into this house a month ago. There has not been a moment since returning here with you that I have regretted choosing to marry you.”
“Not even for Helena?” she asked, feeling hope expand in her chest.
“Helena was a child’s dream. You are a man’s. But—” He bit the word off, chewed it as though delaying whatever he wanted to say next. As though he was searching for words. Then he exhaled at once. “I am the reason your father’s carriage crashed.”
The words sank slowly through Lydia’s mind like sand filtering through water. The meaning was smoke in the air. For a long moment, she felt as though she was sitting suspended in that air.
“I was… I was wandering along the road when your father’s horses were spooked,” he pressed onward, and despite herself, his words painted a picture of the lonely London street. Her father’s horses, his carriage, and Alexander hobbling as the carriage approached.
She had known her father’s carriage had been upended. Had known that Alexander had happened upon them, and that Alexander had been the one responsible for bringing her father back home. For calling for a physician.
Despite that all, she had somehow never once suspected it washisdoing.
“I-I know you must blame me,” he muttered when she remained silent—though what could she say? The hope that had ballooned in her chest had turned to lead, and she felt so very heavy, as though she might sink through the bed.
That sense of floating had turned into falling.
She was falling.
For months, she had grieved her father. Now, over a year on, she felt as though her grief could be easily managed, tuckedinto a box and largely accepted as she chased her brand new happiness.
Her lips felt numb.
“Blame…” she repeated. It was his fault; he had admitted as such. Yet still the word stuck in her throat.
The horses had been to blame; the coachman. The workers who made the carriage so easy to tip when horses were bolting.
That was to say, everyone was to blame, and no one.
“You told me it was an accident,” she croaked.
Anguish filled his expression. So much more emotion than he had let her see when it had happened, and she wondered if he’d felt the full extent of his pain then, or if he had carried it deep inside, putting it aside so he could do everything he felt he needed.
Her next breath felt as though it scraped through her entire body.
“Itwasan accident,” he exhaled, taking her hand and pressing it between both of his. “I never intended to hurt anyone, and I’ve been struggling to come to terms with it ever since. The fact that he died because of me haunts me. And when I see you sleeping, I think that if it weren’t for me, you might still be living with your father, happy.”
If it weren’t for him.
Her heart contracted. Her time in London had been contented, overall. She had found a kind of peace that came from knowing her place in the world and having a laid-out future. Then, she had believed herself a beloved daughter, even if her father rarely said so directly, and the soon-to-be wife of Lord Scunthorpe.
That had been enough. But had she beenhappy?
Here, she was happy.
Being with Alexander had made her happy these past few weeks. Learning him, letting him see all of her, and contemplating a future with him.
All that would not have happened if it weren’t for the terrible accident—and yes, it was an accident—that had brought them together.
If it were not for him, her father would still be alive.
If it were not for him, she would quite possibly be the uninspired, blandly contented wife of Lord Scunthorpe.
If it were not for him, she would never have married the gentleman that part of her had been in love with for nine whole years.
