It Had to be the Duke - Christi Caldwell Page 0,26

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