“Oh dear. We are quite a mess.”
Lydia’s expression lightened slightly. “Well, that’s sort of a relief, isn’t it?”
Claire smiled too. “Yes. It’s a relief to be a mess. Quite. So.” She hesitated, then reached out to place a strand of hair behind Lydia’s ear.
“I hate when you do that.”
“What? Why?” Claire was taken aback, but it felt different. Lydia’s accusation was more of a sad revelation than her typical sniping.
“I feel like you look at me and want to adjust me or clean me up or something. I’m never going to be perfect like you.”
Claire toed off her slippers and pulled her legs up on the bed. “I do that because I want to see your beautiful face and your hair gets in the way.”
“Oh.”
“Darling, look at me.”
Lydia was still hugging her knees against her chest. Not looking.
“Okay. You don’t need to look at me. I want to be here for you. On the phone. In person. Whatever you need. But if you want me stronger, this
is
me stronger. I’m going to tell you when I think you’re not doing your best. I’m going to be honest about your father. I’m going to be honest about me.”
“Do you love Ben?”
“I do. Unequivocally.”
Lydia finally looked at her mother. “How do you know?”
“How do I know I love him?” Claire tilted her head to look at the ceiling. “How do I know?” She dropped her chin back down. “It probably sounds silly, but first off, he tells me all the time how much he loves me.”
Lydia wanted to find fault with that, but then she thought how it might feel if Alistair—in some imaginary future—ever got around to telling her he loved her. All the time. How
lovely
that would feel. But still. “I didn’t ask if
he
loves you, I asked if
you
love him.”
“Isn’t it the same, if you both feel it?” Claire asked.
“I don’t know.”
Claire recognized her own skepticism reflected there in her daughter’s eyes. How impossible it had all seemed even just a few months ago, that two people could find each other and open their hearts to each other, and not destroy each other. “I know. Finally. It’s so hard to trust. I haven’t had any practice at it, really.” Claire smiled at Lydia. “But I trust Ben so completely. So when he tells me he loves me”—she shrugged—“it feels real to me. The love is real.”
They stared at each other, Claire trying hard to hold on to whatever tentative emotional cord was pulling taut between them. “I guess I think of it as the place where we meet. It’s not an arrangement or an agreement or a negotiation. I think that’s always how I felt about your father. Maybe that wasn’t his fault, really. We had been sort of thrown together by our families from the start. But with Ben…” Claire took another deep breath. “With Ben, it’s like we’ve walked into the same room and there we both are…together. I don’t really know how to explain it. We feel like we’re part of each other. Does that make any sense?”
Lydia’s chin rested on her knees. “A little. I guess.” When Alistair held her hand, there’d been the incipient hint of something like that. Then she shook her head. “It just sounds so highly unlikely. I’m so cynical.”
Claire patted her daughter’s feet through the coverlet. “Lydia, sweetheart. I want to tell you something.”
“Oh god. What now?”
“Lyd.”
“Sorry. Go on.”
“Okay.” Claire took another breath then gave a small laugh. “I didn’t reckon this would be so hard.”
“Just out with it.”
“I’m having a baby.”
Lydia froze. No snark. Not even the slightest twitch of her mouth to indicate anger or disgust or joy. Nothing.
“Lydia?”
“What?”
“Are you okay with that?”
“Why? Would you have an abortion if I wasn’t okay with it?”
“What a horrible thing to say. Of course not. I only meant— You know what? Never mind. I wanted you to know before anyone else. We haven’t told anyone and I was really hoping…”
Lydia stared down at her feet where Claire’s hand still rested.
“Sometimes I think I’m a very bad person, Mother.”
“Oh darling—” She pulled her into another near-painful hug, all knees and elbows and awkwardness. “You are a wonderful person. You’re smart as a whip, funny. But sometimes you don’t remember to filter. Or maybe you’re just mean as a snake.”
They both started laughing through the tears. “I am!” Lydia laugh-cried. “I didn’t mean that at all about you having an abortion. I just meant, oh I don’t know, I guess I felt like, what does it matter to anyone what I think?”
Claire grabbed her shoulders. “It matters to me! I want you to be a part of my life. I want to be part of your life. You’re going to have a sister or brother. Do you remember how you used to beg for one?”
Lydia smiled at the ancient memories. The endless pleading. “I remember.”
“Well, I’m a little late, as usual.” They both smiled, then Claire continued more seriously. “I want you to move to New York or, if we move back to England or Scotland, I want us all to be together. We’ve been apart too long. Forever, really. And I hate it.” She pulled Lydia’s hands into hers, feeling her tremble, wanting to relieve her somehow.
When they had both settled, Claire reached up to rest her palm against Lydia’s cheek. “You’re so beautiful. Inside, I mean. All that fire, from both your grandmothers.”
Lydia quirked her mouth, unable to see any beauty in herself. “If you say so.”
“I’ll quit while I’m ahead. You okay to sleep?”
“Should do. I’m exhausted.”
“Me too. I love you, Lydia. I don’t say it enough. Or I haven’t until now. I love so much about you. Your spark and wit. Please think about what I said about moving to New York.”
“I will.”
“Okay. And mum’s the word about the baby, okay?”
“Okay.”
“See you in the morning. Sleep well, darling.” She leaned down and kissed her on the forehead, like she’d done when Lydia was a small girl and still allowed it. “Happy Christmas.”
“You too. G’night, Mother.”
As she was pulling the door closed, Claire could have sworn she heard her daughter whisper,
Iloveyoutoo
.
Ben was reading in bed and set the book down when she came in. “How did it go?”
“I don’t even know. Fine, I suppose. I think all this fence-mending is going to take a while. At least now she knows about the baby and we didn’t kill each other.”
“Get in here.” He pulled back the sheet and patted the pillow.
“I should wash my face and brush my teeth. I fell asleep so quickly at midnight.”
“You’re exhausted. Just get into bed.”
“You wouldn’t care if I didn’t bathe for weeks.”
He grinned. “You’re right. I’d probably love that.”
She took off the robe. “Men are so bizarre.” Then she slid into the cool sheets. “Oh. This is heavenly.”
Ben reached across the bed and pulled her body into the turn of his. Claire was already breathing steadily with her eyes closed by the time they settled into each other.
“I love you, Claire.”
“I love you, Ben,” she whispered. “I love you so…”
He stared at her, tracing the turn of her jaw, the rim of her ear. He stretched over her to turn off the lamp on the bedside table then pulled her closer against him in the darkness. The ceiling fan made a faint clicking sound as the two of them fell into a deep sleep amid the unfamiliar tropical night noises.
When Ben woke up early the next morning, a few hours later, neither of them had moved from that position. Claire was still snug in his arms, her even breaths creating a soft rhythm against his forearm. In the past few weeks since she’d discovered she was pregnant, Claire had been particularly…eager…in the mornings. They’d laughingly agreed that making sure she had an orgasm straight away was the best method to avoid morning sickness.
He let his hand caress her breasts, which were already feeling fuller to him, but not enough for anyone else to notice the changes that were beginning to take place in her body. He toyed with her warming skin, circling and teasing until her sensitive flesh puckered. She hummed her sleepy approval. Keeping one hand at her breast, he trailed the other down her bare abdomen to rest over the slight roundness of her belly. She softened her back against his front, still asleep but rousing just enough to register his touch. Her half-waking moan was all the welcome Ben needed. He rubbed the flat of his hand lower and lower on her stomach, feeling the deep flutter and twitch of her arousal beneath his palm.
He removed his hands from the front of her body and gripped her hips, positioning her exactly where he wanted her. Keeping her on her side, he tilted her at a steeper angle until he was able to slip right into her. “Oh god, Claire. You’re already so wet for me.”
He could practically hear the smile in her answering purr of agreement. Her hips were beginning to move in counterpoint to his, slow and easy, inviting him deeper into her body. She reached her hand around to his hip and scraped her nails lightly along his taut muscles there. Drowsy and sexy all at once.
Unable to maintain the slow rhythm, Ben began to move faster, loving the increasingly higher pitch of her soft exhales. He moved one hand from her hip and slid down to cup her, then began circling her swollen clit. A few seconds later, she pushed her face into the pillow to stifle her dreamy cry of pleasure.
“So beautiful.” His voice was a hoarse whisper, hot and close to her ear, as his orgasm followed quickly on hers, their insides gripping and pulsing in time with one another. “So beautiful,” he whispered again, before both of them fell back to sleep for another blissful few hours.
When Ben awoke next, Claire was sitting up in bed wearing one of his oversized white T-shirts, reading a design magazine. “How are you this lovely morning?” he asked.
Without looking away from the article, she said, “Quite nice. I had the most delectable dream earlier. I can’t remember the particulars, but I was in some medieval castle with some brute of a man plundering into me from behind.” She licked her finger and turned a page of the magazine. “It was so lifelike.”
He scraped his nails through his short hair and then settled his clasped hands behind his head and looked up at the ceiling, then askance at Claire. “What a strange coincidence. I dreamt I’d grabbed ahold of a scullery maid and had my way with her in the pantry, in just the same way.”
“The scullery maid? How terrible. You took advantage of your position as lord of the manor? You probably terrified the young lass.”
“Who said I was lord of the manor? I was the strapping stable boy and she was my sweetheart. And she loved it when I grabbed the turn of her hip”—his strong fingers dug into Claire’s flesh to demonstrate what he meant—“like this.”
Her eyes lowered involuntarily as she pretended to keep her attention on the magazine. “I bet she did,” Claire murmured.
There was a light tap at the bedroom door, and Claire swatted his roving hand away. “Until we meet again, stable boy,” she whispered. “Now go shower off all that rammy stable stench.” She shoved him out of bed and waited until he was closed up in the bathroom. “Come in.”
Lydia leaned her head in. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Of course not. I was just reading the latest
World of Interiors
and Ben’s showering. Come sit with me.” She patted the bed in invitation.
Such a simple gesture—or so it seemed now—that brought back a flood of warm memories from when they’d lived in Scotland and spent so much time together before Lydia went off to boarding school.
“This is lovely,” Claire mused as Lydia sat at the end of the bed in her pajama pants and tank top, sipping a cup of coffee. “I’m so glad we get to spend time together this week.”
“Me too,” Lydia agreed, but she didn’t look Claire in the eye. “I’ve been thinking more about what you said, about everything.”
“And?”
“First off, I’m so sorry I even mentioned the word
abortion
after you’d just told me your big news. I didn’t mean it at all.” Her voice was unsteady.
“I know you didn’t, darling.” Claire reached out to her arm and touched her gently. “We all say things when we’re agitated.”
“You don’t.”
Claire withdrew her hand. “I don’t what?”
“You don’t ever say things you don’t mean. Or have regrets.”
“Oh, Lydia.” Claire didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “You can’t be serious. My entire life—other than having you—has been filled with so much regret. Your father treated me abominably for years, and as you yourself pointed out, I should have been stronger—”
“I didn’t mean it like that—”
“I know. We don’t need to do this. I mean, I’m happy to talk about everything…I really want to. But if anything is really upsetting you, we can go in little bits and pieces.”
Lydia took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m going to need to deal with Father—I mean, he’s already called to wish me a happy Christmas and he sent me a lovely necklace from Asprey—”
Claire bit her bottom lip to contain her fury. Where in the hell was he getting the money to buy Lydia lovely Asprey necklaces?
“Look, Mother, maybe we just shouldn’t talk about Father. He’s been really helpful to me the past few months. He’s helping me get my finances sorted, introducing me to all sorts of people around town, helping set up the trust for when I come into my inheritance this year—”
“Lydia—”
“Mother, I know you think he’s a terrible businessman, but he just wants to help. He doesn’t want me to make the same mistakes he did. You haven’t really been around very much, you know?”
So much for feeling like it was going to be a path of rose petals from here on out. “That’s not really fair, Lyd. You’ve called me exactly five times in the past year.”
“You would keep count—”
“Don’t do that. You know what I mean. I leave you messages. I tried to encourage you to spend the year with Abby in Kenya. You don’t really welcome my presence, if you’re being honest.”
“Father’s just so much easier to deal with.” Lydia was getting exasperated. “I feel like you’re always examining me, trying to delve into something. Like even now, it’s like you’re—”