Page 22 of The Governess’s Carnal Temptation

He realized it was because Lydia could hear and see it. He felt his childhood friend’s eyes boring into him, wondering what Charlotte’s words meant and how much he’d changed. Nicholas turned to her, a false smile on his lips.

“I apologize, Miss Haddington. This is not how we speak to one another in this house,” he said quietly.

“I understand Lady Charlotte’s feelings. I lost my mother when I was far too young to know how to cope with it, as did you. It is a terrible thing to lose one’s mother, and it leaves one with a hole that can never be quite filled,” she said in a tone that gave voice to her kind, generous heart. Warmth overcame him, and a desire to touch her hand and reconnect welled within him. Along with it came the urge to change the subject, for he did not want to discuss Louisa and the circumstances of her death with Lydia. Not yet. Not like this. Eventually, he would have to, but it was far too early.

He didn’t want Lydia to know just what his life had been like and how much he’d truly changed. She knew him as a young man full of hopes and dreams, full of fight. She didn’t know the Nicholas he’d become, and if she found out before he had a chance to explain himself, the shame would end any hope of restoring their friendship. She might hate that he’d left her behind, but at least she remembered the boy Mrs. Funny had so admired.

“I do not have a hole in my heart.” Charlotte’s voice came, sharp and sudden like a foghorn in a storm. “I never knew my mother; thus, how could I miss her?”

Her words were like daggers in his heart, and Nicholas lurched forward, one hand on his stomach as if she’d stabbed him.

“Charlotte,” he huffed, but before he could say any more, Lydia cleared her throat and placed her spoon down.

“Well, that too is to be expected, Lady Charlotte. I am certain your father has shared many memories with you. My father never tires of speaking of my mother and has painted a vivid picture in mine and my sister's mind of the young woman she was,” she said in a sunny tone. Nicholas realized that she had it in her mind that he and Louisa had been happy and in love. As well she should, for he hadn’t given her reason to think otherwise. He glanced at Charlotte and saw the bitterness warp her pretty little face.

His lips parted as he sought to stop her from saying whatever unpleasant thought had sprung up her head, but it was too late.

“My father never tells me stories about my mother. Why would he?” she asked, her eyes shimmering. He wasn’t sure if the gleam was from unshed tears or rage, but knowing his daughter, he had to assume it was the latter. “He hated her,” she said then, and this time, even Lydia could not contain her shock.

“Lady Charlotte, I am sure it is not true.”

“But it is. Everyone knows it,” Charlotte said and shrugged.

“That’s quite enough,” Nicholas chided her, but his resolve had melted away, for he could not outright deny her words. “This is not the place, and you are too young to….”

“I am not too young to hear what everyone is saying,” Charlotte replied, quieter than before. Her voice was devoid of anger; in its place was something even worse: Pain. Then, she looked up at Lydia, who watched her with her rosy, red lips slightly parted and a look of caution in her eyes as if she braced herself for whatever truth this little girl might reveal next.

“Miss Haddington, if you wish to know about my mother’s fate, you ought to ask my father. For he not only hated her, he killed her too,” she said, casually speaking the words as if she were recapping a book she’d read or sharing her latest accomplishment with a captive audience.

“Charlotte!” Nicholas hollered, but his daughter slipped out of her seat and ran out of the dining room; her footsteps ricocheting off the high, vaulted walls and fading as she ran up the stairs, her sobs echoing in the great entry hall. He felt Lydia’s eyes burning into him.

“Nicholas,” she whispered, the shock coloring her voice. “What does she mean? What happened to her mother?”

Finally, Nicholas looked up and faced her, though every fiber of his being willed him not to. When he saw her beautiful jade eyes, he saw the one thing he hadn’t wanted to see. Pity.

He shook his head, unable to formulate any words that might have made sense.

“I can’t…” he mumbled and rose. His chair creaked sharply, filling the air with an unpleasant sound to match the mood. Then, he turned and left her alone in the dining room, unable to face her or his past. He couldn’t. Not tonight. As he put distance between himself and Lydia, he didn’t know what would become of them. The only thing he knew with any certainty was this: this night, the whiskey’s call was louder than ever, and he feared he would give in to its promise to bring an end to his racing thoughts and lull him instead in the comforting cloak of oblivion.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Lydia sat in her chamber, still taken aback by the events of dinner. What had possessed Charlotte to say such an outrageous thing? Lydia knew it couldn't be true. She hadn't seen Nicholas in twelve years, but she knew deep down that he would never kill anyone.

He'd openly wished his grandfather's death, but he'd been a cruel man. Besides, he'd only expressed his desire for the late Duke's death, not carried it out.

But that was back then. He wasn't the Nicholas she remembered, was he? He hadn't shared much about his past, and she hadn't given him the chance, but she could tell he'd changed. It was evident in the way he walked, with a heaviness that weighed down every step. And it was in his expression, so lost and lonely. She'd noticed it even in their short time together.

Something haunted him. She’d assumed it was the loss of his wife, the woman he’d loved. Now she had to wonder if it wasn’t something else altogether. Lydia closed her eyes as a throbbing megrim added to her mind.

She got up and walked to the little desk in the corner. She knew what she needed – Caroline. Whenever her thoughts were so discombobulated she could not make sense of them, she sought out her sister. Whether in person or by letter, pouring her heart out to her always made her think more clearly.

She wished she could see her now, sit with her and tell her that the mysterious employer had turned out to be none other than their father’s secretary, but the distance would not allow for it. Instead, she pulled out a sheet of paper and dipped a quill in the inkpot. Alas, as she sat, she found the words would not flow.

Honestly, what was she going to say? Not only that her new employer was the only man Lydia had ever loved, but his daughter accused him of murder? That he had changed so much she did not know if anything remained of the old Nicholas? And why did it matter? Whatever had happened to him, it was of no concern to her. She was here for Charlotte and the truth was, after everything she’d seen from the young girl, she truly needed her.

Surely Nicholas was not guilty of any act against his wife; after all, hadn’t she been told that Charlotte’s mother died in childbirth?

Lydia sat up and placed the quill next to the paper; the ink quickly spreading onto the page, creating a black stain. She was being foolish. She knew Nicholas. Even if he had changed, he was not a murderer. She was allowing a child’s fantasies, no doubt fueled by her anger at her father, to cloud her better judgment.