six feet tall when standing, created a strong presence in the room in a way other men failed to do.
The waiter poured the wine. Alex sat looking at it, but he didn’t drink it at once. His countenance was brooding and something vibrated off him, some sort of curious life force akin to restless energy.
‘Did you not consider accompanying Henry to London?’ Lydia asked.
He shook his head. ‘At present I have no wish to spend time in his company if it can be avoided. Besides, I have business in the north to take care of. I expect to be here for at least a week.’
‘I see.’ Taking a sip of her wine, Lydia glanced at him over the rim of the glass. ‘Does your sister know about me—about what Henry intended?’
‘She is aware that he left London with a woman—not her identity,’ he replied, fascinated by her, noticing how her face captured and absorbed the soft glow of the candles on tables and in wall sconces around the room. ‘As far as I am concerned that is how it will remain. I have no doubt she will deal harshly with him, but she will not leave him. Her marriage means everything to her. She made vows. She said until death.’
‘I’m sorry—truly. If I have caused her further grief, it was not intentionally done. I was quite taken in by him. He appeared genuine. I had no reason to doubt him. But the truth is that once you begin to trust someone, to allow them into your life, to allow yourself to be touched by what you believe to be someone’s inherent goodness, then not only have the walls been breached but also the armour has been pierced. He has made a fool out of me and I have no one but myself to blame for trusting him.’
‘You are too harsh on yourself, Miss Brook.’
‘I don’t think so.’ She managed to smile thinly. ‘At this moment I am feeling more than a little bewildered, ill used and extremely angry.’
‘I can understand that. What is your profession, Miss Brook?’
She hesitated. ‘I am a seamstress. My employer, Alistair, also employed my mother—until her death a year ago.’
‘I am sorry. Were you close?’
‘Yes, very close. I miss her greatly.’
‘And are you good at what you do?’
‘Yes, I believe I am. I also like my work—which I will have to return to even if I have to grovel to Alistair to take me back.’
‘Henry has much to answer for.’
‘I cannot argue with that.’
‘He has a chequered past—you weren’t to know. Life is one huge lark to him. He has a weakness for a pretty face. I have come to know him well since he married my sister and I have become familiar with his appetites. Like those he associates with—a pack of wild, swaggering, privileged young lordlings—he is known for his excesses and is one of the very worst examples of the ruling class and his upbringing.’
‘Are his parents still living?’
Alex shook his head. ‘As an only son, an only child, he was the pride of his parents with his future laid out. While those less privileged had to fight their way through life, Henry had it all handed to him. But he didn’t realise that. He did not have the perspective that allowed him to recognise how lucky he was. He thought that whatever he wanted he could have.’
‘Are his parents alive? He never spoke of them?’
‘No. On the death of his mother his father drank and gambled the estate into the ground, leaving a heap of debts which forced Henry to make an advantageous marriage.
‘Hence his marriage to my sister, who presented him with a generous dowry and who doted on him. He was raised in the belief that he is entitled to do anything his privileged birth tells him is his due. Not only is he charm personified, he is also expert in the art of persuasion. He has a habit of dazzling young ladies.’
‘Especially a humble seamstress who doesn’t know any better,’ Lydia said, beginning to suspect that her companion’s family must be very rich to have settled such a large dowry on their daughter.
Alex gave a lift of one eyebrow and he smiled suddenly, a startlingly glamorous white smile that unbeknown to him made his companion’s heart skip a beat. ‘Humble? Miss Brook, I suspect you are many things, but humble is not one of them.’
She returned his smile, a soft flush staining her cheeks. ‘Perhaps not as humble as I ought to be—but stupidity cannot be ruled out. I thought it odd at first that he paid me so much attention. Me! A seamstress—and the daughter of a seamstress! He gave me flowers, presents—he flattered me. It had never happened to me before. I let him lead me on. My behaviour was a reaction to a weakness in myself that caused me to fall victim to his plethora of charms.’
‘You were flattered by his attentions. You cannot be blamed for that.’
‘No, perhaps not,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Why does Henry’s wife put up with his philandering?’
‘At first, in her blissful state of a new wife, Miranda, secure in her marriage, didn’t react to the attention Henry was getting from other women. His infidelities were subtle initially. Happier than she had ever been, even when she heard the whispers, she was unwilling to believe them. And then the knowledge grew from a practical examination of the facts at hand—his absences from home, from the marital bed, returning reeking of another woman’s perfume. During one particular amorous encounter, when the lady Henry was pursuing refused his advances, she made it known to Miranda. Naturally, she was devastated and had cause to wonder where Henry’s infatuation for other women was going to lead them—not to mention what potential for unhappiness lay in his seeming inability to control it.’
‘I cannot understand why she doesn’t leave him?’
He shook his head. ‘She’s become resigned to it—not that she likes it, not one bit, but she knows she will never change him so she gets on with her life regardless. She insists on discretion. He always leaves them in the end. Yes, Miranda loved him as soon as she set eyes on him. But apart from the emotional side of their relationship marriage was mutually beneficial to both of them. She hankered after a title and, financially, Henry needed the money from her dowry to restore his crumbling estate.’
‘I see. Then I wish her joy of him. Knowing what I do now, I cannot envy her. I can only fear for her. He is a baron, you say? I did not know that he was titled, but I knew he was different from me. But what of you? Are you titled, too?’
‘No.’ As a self-made businessman, Alex chafed beneath the privilege of meaningless titles, family history, and velvet capes and ermine.
‘Then what do you do?’
‘I am a businessman, among other things.’
‘I see.’ She didn’t really, but considering it rude to appear too inquisitive, she let it go at that and began eating the food the waiter had placed before her. ‘And do you have a wife, Mr Golding?’
‘My wife died.’
‘Oh—I’m sorry.’
‘There is no need. Blanche, my wife, was killed when the carriage she was travelling in overturned.’
‘How tragic. You...you must miss her.’
His face became guarded. ‘Yes.’
‘I...I hope you don’t mind me asking. My mother always did say I talk too much.’
He looked at her and met her eyes, staring at her for a moment, then he shrugged and smiled, the moment of melancholy having passed. ‘I don’t mind. It happened three years ago. I have no need to hide anything. It is better to speak of such things than keep them hidden,’ he said, but Lydia saw his eyes held more seriousness than his voice, which told her it still affected him more than he would have her know.
‘I agree. It is always best. You...have not thought of remarrying?’
‘I