Page 10 of The Duke’s Sworn Spinster (A Duel and a Wedding #1)

Chapter Eight

A clap of thunder woke Archer from his sleep, jerking him bolt upright in his bed. Rain lashed against his window, and he rubbed a hand blearily across his face.

He was about to go back to bed when he heard a muffled sound. He leaned forwards. It sounded like someone crying. Curious, he stood up, pulling on his dressing gown as he slipped from his bedroom into the hallway.

“That way.” He murmured, listening to the sound of scuffling from down the hall.

If his ears had not been so attuned to the sound of crying, he doubted he would have even heard it above the storm, but he had spent his life listening to his sisters try and hide their tears from him and then Iris.

And he had learned the sounds so intimately that he never missed them. He never wanted them to feel alone.

The crying grew louder, punctuated with heavy pants as though someone was terrified. He sped up and found himself staring at a crumpled figure, curled with her knees against her chest, eyes red with tears.

“Lydia?” Archer moved towards her without thinking. “Lydia, what’s wrong?”

Her breaths came in short gasps, and she shook her head, eyes staring past him. Even in the dim light of his candle, he could see just how pale her skin was.

“No. No. No. No. No.” She shook her head.

Thunder boomed out, and she recoiled as if she was struck. Her whole body shook, and Archer found himself picking her up, pulling her tight against his chest.

“It’s okay. It’s only thunder. You’re safe,” he murmured, the scent of her washing over him as he carried her down the stairs towards the kitchen. “Let’s get you somewhere quieter.”

Archer knew on a stormy night like this, the kitchen would be the quietest room in the house. More to the point, he would be able to find some sort of snack or tea, and that might distract his wife.

Her fists were balled into the fabric of his shirt, her breaths little more than shaking sobs that broke him with each one. “It will be all right Lydia. Just breathe.”

He kept his voice low and gentle, as though talking to a wild animal. “Breathe with me against my hand.”

He put his hand against her chest without thinking; he was so used to doing this to his sister’s or Iris when they were consumed by their fear. Her eyes widened, but she did not pull away.

He felt the softness of her skin beneath his fingers, and his mouth went dry. “In and out, Lydia. Nice and slow.”

His voice was hoarse, but she seemed not to notice. Her breathing slowed. “That’s it. You can do this.”

Gradually, the shaking stopped, and her breathing settled into a more predictable rhythm. Lydia collapsed against him, and Archer let her.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was raw with emotion as she moved out of his grasp, hugging her arms around her chest. “I… I am not very good at storms.”

“I can see that,” Archer murmured gently, running a hand across his chest where her tears had drenched his night shirt. He fished out a handkerchief and handed it to her.

“Thank you.” She took it and dabbed her eyes, blowing her nose loudly. “God, I must look a right mess.”

Archer looked at her, about to say that she was beautiful, but he stopped himself. “I don’t think you should worry about your looks just now. I’ll make us a cup of tea, I know cook always has some chamomile around here—that will be good for your nerves.”

He began to look through the cupboards, fishing out the bits he needed to make some tea for his wife. He turned to find her looking at him with a bemused expression.

“What?” he asked as he began to stoke the kitchen fire back to life so he could heat some water.

“I am just… I am surprised you know how to do this.” Lydia gestured to him.

“My mother used to convince my father to send us to bed without supper. I could weather a little hunger, but I refused to let my sisters. So, I learned a little about cooking and preparing things like tea and coffee. The cooks were always happy to help—even if it could cost them their jobs.” Archer put on a thick west country accent.

“No sense in letting children starve, Master Archer.”

He saw Lydia smile and felt his heart swoop. “You are really rather good at voices.”

“You would be too if you read a bedtime story every night from the age of eleven.” He carefully poured the hot water over the chamomile, breathing in the scent.

He strained the leaves out and then handed Lydia a steaming mug of tea. “Tea is served.”

Lydia laughed softly. “Thank you, butler.”

Archer bowed low, holding his arm before him like he had seen his butler do all through his youth, his own smile broadening at the tension that seemed to be leaving Lydia. Some part of him murmured that he should not be doing this, but he ignored it.

“You must think I’m a total idiot. A grown woman who falls to pieces at a little thunder.” She moved away from him, wiping her eyes.

“Everyone is afraid of something.” He massaged the back of his neck.

Lydia nodded, her bottom lip trembling. “They just… they bring back bad memories. And they are loud and just… I hate them.”

“What happened?” Archer asked before he could stop himself.

For a moment, Lydia said nothing, and Archer wondered if she would refuse to answer him, and then, in a voice so small he could scarcely believe it was hers, she said, “My mother died in a storm.”

“I’m sorry. I can understand why they would affect you so.”

“It’s not her death that gets to me. It’s… Oh, I don’t even know where to begin. It all gets so muddled in my head, and I haven’t talked about it for years. Father forbade me from telling Land the truth or at least all of it. He knows bits of course but…”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Archer sipped on his tea.

“She was having an affair. I spent years thinking that my bad behavior was the reason she left in the storm. That if I had just listened to her, she wouldn’t have done it.”

“I was six. And I woke up, terrified of the thunder. Land can’t have been more than a few months old, and my father was away on some business trip.”

Lydia took a sip of her tea and then continued, “I kept asking her to comfort me, and she kept trying to tell me to go to bed and then he arrived. Jared Nightingale.”

Archer’s eyes widened. “The Rake of Studmarsh? I heard he died in a carriage crash with some—Oh.”

“It was my mother. They were only a few miles from the estate. The storm blew down a tree, and it landed on the carriage. I’m told she died instantly, but he was dragged by the horses for another twenty miles.

An unpleasant way to die.” Her voice was icy cold.

“My father always acted as though he had bewitched my mother into falling in love with him. That his rakish charms were what led to her death. But he did not want to see the truth.”

“Men seldom do when they are in love.” Archer’s jaw clenched.

“Her letter said that she was leaving. That she would never be back. She said she had done her duty; she had given him an heir and a daughter. She considered her debt paid.” Lydia let out a mirthless laugh.

“It was a marriage of convenience, you see, but then he fell in love with her, and she… she fell in love with a rake. Do you know what the last thing she said to me was?”

Archer shook his head.

“I’ll be right here; you go see to your brother.” Lydia’s voice broke. “She lied to me. I chased her in the rain, slipped in the mud. I screamed and begged her to come back, and she didn’t so much as look at me.”

“You deserved better.” Archer’s voice was hard, and he fought down an urge to pull Lydia close to him and bare his teeth at the world. “No child deserves that.”

“We rarely get what we deserve, just what we are given.” Lydia gave him a weak smile. “From what your sisters have told me, you did not deserve the mother you had either.”

“It seems neither of us had particularly good mothers.”

“No. But I am glad your sisters had you, someone to protect them.”

Not all of them. Archer’s jaw tightened. “You should have had someone to protect you. How could your father let you think it was your fault?”

“I never told him. My mother leaving broke him. I was not about to add to his pain with my own self-indulgence.”

“You were a child who was abandoned by her mother. It was his job to indulge your pain.”

“He did what he could. He was never unkind to me, and he never refused my help with running the estate. To be honest, he welcomed my contributions, treated me like a partner more than a daughter.” The pride in Lydia’s voice kept Archer from saying that she should have been able to be both.

“I often wondered if it would have been worse if she stayed.”

“Trust me, it would not have been.” Archer thought of his own mother, of the times he had wished her dead and the shame he had felt at such dark thoughts. The shame that had died with Katherine.

“Perhaps not.” Lydia shrugged. “I can’t really complain though.

Because of her, I got to do all manner of things that young ladies don’t usually get to do.

Do you know, some of my father’s most successful business ventures were my idea?

While other girls were out preparing for their debut, I was helping my father check over legal contracts and plan our finances for the coming year.

Other girls were pursuing beaus, and I was looking after my father. ”

The pride was ebbing from Lydia’s voice, and Archer thought he heard a tinge of regret. “You sacrificed a lot for your family.”

Lydia shrugged and made a dismissive gesture, but Archer caught her hand, turning her face to his, forcing her to meet his eyes. Her brown eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, and it tore at his heart.

“Do not make light of what you gave up, Lydia.” Archer’s voice was an insistent growl. “Your brother and your father may not have seen it, but I do. You may have loved the business, but it should never have had to come at the expense of the things all girls should get to experience.”

“I didn’t want those things.”

“You didn’t want them, or you didn’t think you deserved them?” Archer’s searched her eyes for the truth.

Her breath caught. “I don’t know.”

Somewhere a clock chimed. It was four o’clock in the morning. Archer moved away from Lydia and jerked his head towards the stairs. “We should go to bed.”

Lydia hesitated, and as she winced at the sound of thunder, Archer realized that she was still afraid. Without thinking, he held out a hand to her. “Why don’t you come to bed with me?”

Lydia’s eyes widened, and Archer’s face flushed. “Not like that. I simply meant that you are welcome to stay with me. You can sleep in my bed, and I will sleep on the chaise. That way you will have company for the storm.”

Lydia hestitated, and Archer put a hand over his chest. “I swear, I am not trying to seduce you. I have already told you, I have no interest in that.”

An odd look crossed Lydia’s face, but Archer had no idea what it meant. She took his hand in hers, and together, they walked back to his room.

A little while later as he struggled to get comfortable on the chaise, smiling at the soft rise and fall of her sleeping chest, what he had done hit him like a ton of bricks.

He had comforted her. He had held her against him. But most worrying of all, he wanted to keep doing it. A fiery urge to keep her safe built within his chest.

“What are you doing to me?” Archer muttered. “I cannot let this continue.”

But how could he abandon her after what she had just told him? The fact that it even gave him pause sent a thrill through his spine. He had to put a stop to this. He thought of his father and his mother. He knew the slippery slope he was on.

He would go to London tomorrow, and he would put an end to whatever was happening.