“You had breakfast with Miss Mercer, did you not?” He asked the question even as he turned his eyes toward Lydia who stood watching them intently.
“Indeed, she did,” Lydia answered. “And she ate enough for three children twice her size. I cannot imagine where she puts it all.”
Oliver laughed, “Under the table for Hannibal… mother’s dog. No doubt you didn’t see him last night because he was being walked by one of the servants.”
“Grandmama stayed in her room this morning. She said she was very tired. Did the dower house really burn?” Gemma asked.
“There was a fire but not a serious one. The kitchens are unusable but the remainder of the house is fine, aside from needing a good airing, of course.” He offered that information more as reassurance for Lydia than to answer Gemma’s question. It would be perhaps a fortnight, and then his mother could return to the dower house. Assuming that she would. He was, at present, surrounded by three stubborn females and if there was one thing he’d learned in his life, females were terribly unpredictable.
“Oh, that’s good. Though I like it when Grandmama comes to stay,” she said.
“I know you do, pet,” he said, setting her down on the ground and then squatting before her. “Mr. Phelps has informed me that one of the cats residing in the stable has had kittens! Why don’t you run ahead and see if you can catch a glimpse of them? Miss Mercer and I will follow.”
All it had taken was the mention of kittens and Gemma was gone, her little legs pumping quickly as she ran with all her might toward the promise of such a sweet surprise. Oliver watched until he was satisfied Gemma had gone far enough not to overhear them.
"I trust you slept tolerably well, Miss Mercer,” he prodded.
The question was simply put,yet Lydia recognized it for what it was. He had no interest in how she’d slept. He wanted to know if she was still upset over the events that had transpired in the dining room. And she was, but perhaps not in the way he imagined. ”I did …eventually.”
He nodded, as he fell into step beside her. ”I’m relieved to hear it. It was a difficult evening.”
She lowered her eyes briefly and she stopped to retrieve a ribbon that had, up until a few moments past, been in Gemma’s hair. When she rose, she looked back at him. "I've been considering the events of last evening and I… well, this is a difficult situation.”
“I see… Do you wish to leave?” He asked her.
Yes. No. Perhaps. She wished she’d never come, certainly. But she couldn’t imagine walking away now. Having finally confronted the past, in at least a small way, she was loathe to give up the opportunity to finally set things right. Or as right as they could be. “No. I can’t leave. Perhaps if I hadn’t been introduced to Gemma already, I might… And I daresay that even if I did depart, it would not spare you your mother’s wrath.”
He laughed at that. “No, it would not. But I can deal with my mother, Lydia—Miss Mercer.”
“Don’t. Mercer was the name I chose when I didn’t wish to be found… now that I am, continuing to use it feels very disingenuous.”
“Very well,” he said. “What would you like me to call you then? I think if we suddenly introduce you to Gemma as Miss Whitby it will be rather confusing for her.”
“Lydia will do. And she can call me Miss Lydia. It’s a bit informal, but at least it isn’t a lie.” Even as she walked, she was scanning the path ahead for a glimpse of reddish gold curls. They were easy enough to spot amidst the greenery of the garden. “But I think I should stay out of your mother’s way, as much as possible. She’s entitled to her anger. She’s well within her rights to hate me and I could not fault her for doing so… or you for that matter. But I don’t think it would be good for Gemma to see us at odds.”
“It would not. On that point we are in agreement… but there is something you should know, Lydia.”
She glanced back at him. “What is that?”
“I don’t hate you. I’ve been livid. I’ve been worried. I’ve awakened with sweat on my skin and terror in my heart at the thought of what might have become of you. But in all of it, I never hated you. You might as well ask me to fetch the moon from the sky as ask me to do such a thing.”
Her steps faltered and the weight of what he’d said settled over her in a way that offered both comfort and agony. But she could not let him see it. She could not allow him to see just how deep her feelings for him still ran. “You have become quite the poet, Oliver… I do not recall you being given to such romantic turns of phrase!”
“Perhaps I’ve changed… perhaps we both have. Regardless of that, I want you to know that I will not have you castigated at every turn for past mistakes—or choices, if you do not deem it such.”
Lydia stopped then, her steps simply halting. “It was a mistake, but one that, with what I knew and what I believed at the time, seemed the only choice available to me… I never meant to hurt you. I never wanted that.”
He nodded. “I know. Because there is one thing that I have come to understand very clearly since you arrived here yesterday… What we had was not a fantasy. It was real. You loved me then.”
I love you now. They were words she could not and would not say, but they burned inside her regardless.
Oliver continued. “You did… and I loved you. When we made promises, there was every intent to keep them. You didn’t leave because you didn’t love me.”
“No,” she agreed. “I left because I did.” And that was all she intended to say on the matter. There was no point in explaining to him that she’d wanted to save him from sacrificing his estate in order to be with her. Not when it was quite clear that he hadn’t needed her in order to save it anyway. For her to admit that sheput them both through such agony for imagined reasons was a pain she would spare them both.
Chapter
Six
