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CHAPTER FIVE

In the weeks that followed, Lydia visited Finch Hall often, each visit more comfortable and companionable than the last. The sisters came to expect her with an eagerness that warmed Alexander’s heart.

A small part of him knew that if he was truly committed to his earlier plan, he should be in London, attending balls and making merry (or at least pretending to) with women of marriageable age and wealth enough to save his family.

But he found every reason not to go, even as Lydia insisted that their courtship, if he must call it that, would not end in marriage.

Still, he found himself looking forward to every peal of laughter, every mismatched tea service, every unexpected discussion over any number of topics, from fabric to fairy stories to French, which it turned out Lydia was quite fluent in.

He’d gotten glimmers, here and there, of her past, small suggestions that she had once lived a very different life than the patroness of the gambling hell she was now.

But he neither pried, nor allowed Higgins to do any sort of research on Lydia, though his valet insisted he would be most discrete in the matter.

And at night, after the girls had gone to bed, Alexander and Lydia sometimes engaged in quite a different sort of visit. For him, it felt quite scandalous, the moments they shared in a secluded grotto of the garden. For her, she’d told him that they were taking things quite slow indeed.

Sometimes, when it rained, or when one of the girls had already claimed the garden as a place to camp out for the night, he and Lydia retired to the parlor, where she taught him how to be a better cardplayer.

Those nights, Alexander found himself cherishing just as much, for there, she would tease and joke and tell him about herself.

About how she loved gardening, and singing, though she insisted he would never hear her as it was far from a musical tune she carried, and how she dreamed of visiting Italy someday.

By midsummer, the garden was wild with blooms, and the air thick with the hum of bees darting through the hedgerows.

Alexander found his household more chaotic—and more content—than ever before.

It was in that golden, languid heat that he announced, shyly and yet surely, that he would be taking her to Lady Honoria’s garden party.

“It is my wish,” he told her, from where he sat by her in the grass, while the girls were picking flowers to weave into crowns, “to take you to a party next week. And if you would permit me to, I would like to introduce you as--”

“You’re going to say something foolish, aren’t you?” She laughed and tugged on a lock of his hair. Then she dropped her voice into a poor approximation of a deep baritone, “Like, this is my most beloved future wife.”

“I…” He blushed, having indeed imagined something such as that.

The idea had come to him slowly, as most of his better ones did—during one of the late-night card games, when Lydia had laughed so brightly at his poorly played hand that he felt he might offer up the entire estate just to see her smile again.

Then he thought how lovely her smile would look in a setting far more grand than any Finch Hall had to offer. The receipt of the invitation sealed the idea in his mind.

“Alexander,” she said, shaking her head, but smiling. They’d long since abandoned any pretense of more formal address, a fact he realized he'd have to remedy during the party. “You haven’t given up your hope yet, have you?”

“I remain steadfast.”

She kissed his cheek, which allowed her close enough to whisper in his ear, “you know I have no concerns about a wedding before a bedding, my dear.”

Something between a sigh and a squeak escaped him—entirely undignified, and entirely beyond his control. His ears burned, no doubt turning a shade to rival a soldier’s coat. “I… am aware,” he said, his voice rougher than intended.

More than aware , he thought. The longing she stirred in him was constant, a soft, aching hunger, waiting—always waiting. He knew the press of her body as intimately as he knew the ache she left behind. The heat of her kiss still haunted his skin.

But as vast, as seductive, as that desire was, it didn’t sum up what he felt for her. “That is not my reason for my request.”

“No?” she murmured, her fingers sliding to rest on his thigh. Another half inch, and they’d be brushing over the clear evidence of his aching need for her. “Then do enlighten me, my lord. What is the reason?”

Lydia leaned closer, until she was all he could see, all he could want, all he could never seem to stop wanting.

“Because a marriage,” he said, placing his hand over hers.

Not removing it from its scandalous location, but rather, entwining his fingers with hers, keeping her close, and keeping a shred of his remaining composure.

“Is forever. If you were my wife, I would wake every morning at your side, share every meal with you, and yes, sleep in your arms every night. It is that closeness, of souls, of lives lived together, I desire even more than anything of the physical sort.”

“Alexander…” she said his name softly. So softly. “And what of your sisters’ doweries? Your financial woes?’

“I will ask you to weather them with me, and help me to raise the girls so that even if they do not lead lives of luxury, they find a far greater wealth in a love match.” He looked across the garden to where all four sat, skirts rumbled, loose hair bedecked with flower crowns, freckles dotting their noses and laughter bursting from their lips.

“They admire you for your confidence. If they grow up to have half as much as you, I will consider myself proud.”

“You do not fear what scandal will do to your name?”

He shrugged. “It will not take my title from me, nor Finch Hall, nor my sisters. So whatever else the sharp-tongued harpies wish to steal with their words, let them. I have all I need here.” He bent close to kiss her, daring to claim her lips, not caring if anyone saw. “Provided I have you.”

Lydia threw her arms around his shoulders and returned the kiss. Recklessly, wildly, with all the skill and passion she wielded like an art. He drank her in until he was sure he was intoxicated from her touch.

Then, gasping, he pulled back. “Dare I hope that was a yes?”

“It was.” She hesitated a moment, the bashfulness strangely uncharacteristic for her.

“And do not worry for the girls. I may not have a title, nor a family, at least not one which wishes to recognize me, but wealth?” The grin which curled her so-kissable lips was as familiar to him as it was wicked.

“That I do have. I own the gambling hell that you came to and take my cut of all profits earned within.”

It all made sense now. How she’d helped him with the card game, how no one had questioned her aid, her confidence and her fine dresses. “So if you had allowed me to lose…”

“I would have been richer, yes. Perhaps even the sole mistress of Finch Hall.”

Ah. So she had been aware that would be what he’d have to place as collateral, given how much his bets had gotten away from him.

“But.” She took his hand once more. “I would much rather share the Hall, and the family within, with you.”

He’d never heard sweeter words.

“Consider both yours.” He stood, then, lifted her into his arms, delighting in her surprised gasp. “Girls!” He called to sisters. “I hope you have been practicing your dancing, for Finch Hall shall soon have a wedding!”

They leapt to their feet with delighted shrieks, flower crowns flying and laughter rising.

Eleanor spun in a circle, arms thrown wide, while Cecily clutched the kitten—who looked thoroughly displeased at the sudden movement—and declared herself chief planner of the event.

Jane and Harriet had already begun arguing over color schemes.

Alexander watched the chaos with a smile tugging at his lips, and warmth blooming within him.

Lydia leaned her head against his shoulder, her fingers curling into the fabric of his coat.

“You do realize they will want to help with everything ,” she said.

“The flowers. The music. The menu. Possibly the vows.”

“I pity the poor vicar,” he murmured. “But he shall have to suffer the chaos that we so enjoy.” He kissed her again—softly this time, reverently.

“And the scandal,” she reminded him.

“I welcome such a thing.”

Finch Hall might always creak and leak and groan in the wind. But it would always be full of laughter, just as its garden was full of wildflowers.