whole of his life hating Geoffrey, resenting him as the heartless duke who’d failed his mother. And Wesley, along with his brothers and sister, were right to every ill sentiment they had about him.
“They… probably would be fine,” Wesley said gruffly. “But they also don’t have the power they think they do. My brothers, that is. The mine owner is a bastard.” His lips quirked. “In the figurative sense.” But then that smile dropped. “He’ll squeeze every pence out of them and won’t think anything of tossing them over when he is done.”
Geoffrey went absolutely motionless. He was asking for help for his brothers. Despite his earlier statements to the contrary, he wanted them out of that world as much as Geoffrey did.
He’d found an unlikely ally in his son.
“I promise to do everything within my power to give them the life they are deserving of.”
Wesley inclined his head.
With that, his son left, and hope continued to blossom in Geoffrey’s chest. He’d made so many mistakes. Too many. And yet, within these past couple of days, it felt like he’d found an opportunity for a second chance.
With his son.
And with Lydia.
And Geoffrey was determined to not let either of them go. Never again.
Geoffrey smiled.
Chapter 9
Following Geoffrey’s departure, Lydia’s visit with her daughters continued.
They discussed everything from how their spouses were doing—well, without much elaboration beyond—to the recent ton events they’d attended.
All very safe, very comfortable topics to discuss with one’s daughters.
“Lady Canterbury’s ice sculpture melted,” Miranda was saying, tears streaming from her eyes as she leaned into her younger sister, who was also besieged by laughter.
Her entire body shaking with mirth, Caroline waved her arms back and forth as if to ward off the hilarity that gripped her. “Water was everywhere, coating the floors, and then Lord Talbot’s heel caught a slick s-spot and—”
As they dissolved into another paroxysm of amusement, Lydia found herself smiling.
Not from the requisite response her daughters no doubt expected of their telling.
Lydia had been spared.
Given the circumstances her daughters had nearly caught her in, Lydia was eminently grateful and relieved to be spared the awkward discussion about her past relationship with Geoffrey and the embrace that had been cut altogether short.
Surely if they’d intended to remark upon how very close she’d been to Geoffrey, or how rumpled he’d been—and she was—they’d have done so immediately?
She stole a glance at the ormolu porcelain clock atop the mantel.
Her daughters were nothing if not predictable. When they visited, they came together, and when they stayed, they did so for no more than an hour.
It wasn’t anything that offended or hurt. They had their own lives. She was mindful of that. In the past, she’d always mourned those moments when they left, because then she was left with only her own thoughts and solitary company.
Today, however, given they’d arrived to find Geoffrey here, she found herself for the first time marking those moments. Because it would mean she was spared from—
“We should be going,” Miranda said, and Lydia jumped.
“Yes.” Lydia stood quickly. “You should.”
Both her girls stared back with befuddlement etched in their pretty faces. “Uh, that is…” Lydia quickly sat back down. “Of course, I’d love for you to stay, but you have your own lives and your own affairs to see to, and you certainly don’t wish to be here with me…”
Both Miranda’s and Caroline’s eyebrows came together.
“Not that you don’t want to be with me,” Lydia swiftly added. “Of course you want to be with me.” Stop talking, Lydia. She made herself go silent and offered her daughters a smile.
God, I’m as nervous as a schoolgirl, and with my own daughters?
She stole another peek at the clock.
“Are we keeping you from something?” Caroline’s query brought Lydia’s attention whipping away from the clock over to the duo staring back.
“Of course not,” she exclaimed quickly, too quickly. Two sets of eyes narrowed on her, and she trilled a laugh. “Why, whoever would you be keeping me from?” Making a dismissive motion with her fingers in the girls’ general direction, Lydia reached for her teacup.
“Caroline didn’t say ‘someone,’” Miranda said.
Lydia froze with her hand halfway to her half-empty cup. She cocked her head.
“I asked if we were keeping you from something,” Caroline elucidated. “Not someone.”
Lydia’s mind went blank. “I said that,” she blurted. “I said, ‘Whatever would you be keeping me from?’”
Her daughters shook their heads simultaneously. “No, you didn’t,” they said in unison.
“I…” Lydia straightened slowly and lifted her head. “Why, I’m sure of it?” As soon as