With This Ring Part 11

He smiled at her. "My dear Miss Perkins, you have already done more for them than anyone ever could! After your speech last night, and a visit from the Duke of Wellington himself this morning, those men were moved to better quarters." He gestured at the few remaining. "Poor fellows. We cannot move them, but they won't be long here."

"I am glad to have been of service," she said. "Tell me, do you know if there is a hatbox in the lady chapel? I left a hat there yesterday and ...."

The surgeon laughed. "You were always leaving your bonnets!"

"I know, but this was a new one, and I want it."

Suddenly the other surgeon by the altar motioned to his colleague beside her, so he nodded to her and started toward the cots at a run. "You are welcome to look, Miss Perkins," he called to her over his shoulder. "Thank you again for all you did."

You're welcome, she thought with some satisfaction as she walked toward the lady chapel. She hoped, just for a moment, that Major Reed would still be there, but he was not. No, your bags were packed yesterday, she thought as she looked around the bare room. Although what use you have for a darling chip straw bonnet with cherries on it, I cannot tell.

She looked back into the chapel itself and saw him sitting-one shoulder still higher than the other-on a cot with one of his men. I can reclaim my bonnet at least, she thought as she came across the floor toward him. Perhaps he can tell me how to go about getting it p.a.w.ned, although that is hardly a subject I know how to bring up.

He stood up when she came closer with a smile of appreciation on his face that faded as he saw her bruised cheek. He took her arm before she could protest and led her back toward the lady chapel, out of earshot of the others. "What in G.o.d's name happened to you?"

"That's no greeting," she replied. "It was dark, and I ran into a wall."

He sat her down on the cot in the lady chapel, untied the ribbons before she could stop him, and pulled back the bonnet. He held her chin gently with his fingers and turned her face toward the faint light from the clerestory window. "My G.o.d, Lydia, save your breath. That was no accident. That happened to me once in a taverna in Lisbon, when I had too much fruit of the vine."

You're not slow, she thought. Figure it out. Spare me the humiliation of having to tell you.

"Whoever did this should be flogged," he said finally as he sat down next to her and stared straight ahead. He took her hand. "It must hurt, Lydia," he said, his voice soft.

She nodded, and winked back the tears. "It will be better in a week. It won't even show then." She put her hand to her mouth. "I mean, I suppose it will be better then."

His sigh was so big that she could feel it as well as hear it. "Not the first time, eh?"

She looked at him, then looked away in embarra.s.sment. "My plain speaking-I suppose you heard about what happened last night-my plain speaking ruined Kitty's chances with that dreadful Lord Allsuch," she whispered, her voice so low that he had to lean close to hear. "I don't know how I ever had the nerve to speak out like that! I don't know what possessed me!"

He sighed again and released her hand. "I would like to think that my children someday would be as concerned as you are about the plight of others. I heard about it this morning from General Picton."

She dried her eyes, dabbing carefully around her cheek, then rose and reached for her hat again. "My plain speaking, as you so kindly term it, turned out to be a luxury I could ill afford, in my case." She replaced her bonnet. "Sir, do you still have that bonnet you gave me? I know you will think this dreadful of me, but I need to p.a.w.n it." She smiled, but couldn't feel any mirth. "Provided I can figure out where to take it."

A whole range of emotions crossed his face, none of which appealed to her. I should never have mentioned the bonnet, she thought with regret. I think I will just leave right now. "That's wrong of me, and terribly rude, isn't it?" she said. ''I think I'll be on my way, Major Reed. So nice to have met you. Best of luck to you in Northumberland."

She turned to leave, except that the major grabbed her skirt and held her there. "Really, Major!" she protested.

He sat her down again, closer to him, if that was possible, and clamped his arm around her waist so she could not bolt. "Your parents have turned you out? Come on, Lydia, speak to me!"

"It's Miss Perkins," she said, then started to cry. He loosened his grip on her but did not let go. In another minute she pulled a handkerchief from her reticule and blew her nose, which only made her flinch from the pain. She knew she did not dare look at him, so she continued to stare straight ahead. "I do have a plan, so you needn't worry about me," she said.

"Good," he said. Then after a pause, "Would you mind sharing it with me?"

"I mean to go to an employment registry, and hire myself out as a governess, or a lady's maid. Heaven knows I've done enough of that for Kitty." She dabbed at her nose again, more careful this time. "My only problem is that I daren't go right now, with my face ... well, I would not hire me, would you?"

He shook his head. "Probably not, if I were a matron with hopeful children." He turned himself on the cot to see her better now. "Why did you come back here?"

"I thought I could work here for a week, and maybe just stay here ...." Her voice trailed off as she looked toward the main chapel and its few inmates. "It seems I have worked myself out of a job here, doesn't it?"

"It does. Thanks to you, the Duke himself, and Lord Walsingham-oh, by the way, his son the Viscount Lindsey is on his way to a well-earned rustication in Cornwall-and the first minister dropped by this morning." He nodded, real appreciation on his face. "Lydia, you must have opened up with a salvo worthy of Battery B!"

"Oh, don't remind me!"

He laughed and released her. "Oh, but I would like to thank you for what you did. Oh, yes." He reached under the cot and drew out the hatbox. "Here's your hat. I was actually going to take it by your house before I left."

"You would not have found much of a welcome," she said, opening the box for another look at the beautiful hat. She held out her hand to him. "Thank you, Major Reed. I really should be going now."

She got no farther than the entrance arch to the lady chapel, stopped there by one word.

"Where?"

She turned back. He still sat on the cot, regarding her with a kind expression. "I have no idea," she said frankly.

"Then, let me offer a suggestion-just a suggestion!-which you might consider."

She held up her hand, as if to ward off his voice. "Sir, you wouldn't be thinking of offering marriage again? I have certainly not forgotten your dilemma."

"Why not?" he countered. "I need a wife in the very worst way, and you appear to be a bit of a babe in the woods."

"No," she said, with what she hoped was a decisive tone.

It must not have been decisive enough, because he walked along with her as she hurried toward the chapel's entrance. "I contend it is an excellent solution to both of our problems. It will help me keep that inheritance that my aunt is so generously providing, and it will whisk you far away from London." His tone hardened, and she stopped. "It will certainly give you an opportunity for a pain-free life." He took her arm and pulled her around to face him. "Lydia, I do disjointed things at times, but I don't beat women."

They were at the entrance to St. Barnabas now. He sat down on one of the benches placed there earlier for recuperating soldiers and carefully leaned back against the sun-warmed stone. "Ah, that is good," he said. "Sit down, Miss Perkins, and give me a really good reason why this isn't a brilliant stroke of mine. I dare you even to think of three."

She sat. "Number one: I hardly know you."

"I contend that you know me very well," he said. "I'm a steady sort of fellow, except that I get an occasional wild hare." He peered closer at her, looking under the brim of her bonnet. "Which might be the sort of thing you need in your own life, by the way, Miss Perkins." He touched her cheek so gently that she did not wince. "Apparently someone's been trying to beat the spontaneity out of you, but obviously it isn't entirely gone, or you wouldn't be here. No, you know me by now. In essentials, I do not change."

Well, now, she thought, wishing that her face was not warm with a blush, even though she knew it was; he was too close. "Number two: I don't love you, Major Reed." There; she said it, even though it seemed so intimate, especially with men coming and going from St. Barnabas, even as they sat there.

He shrugged, and though a moment. "Do you like me?"

"Of course!" she exclaimed, "Who wouldn't?" then could not help herself. "And you have excellent taste in bonnets."

He laughed out loud, and it was a wonderful sound that warmed her down to her st.u.r.dy shoes. "Oh, my dear Miss Perkins. It appears that you are shameless in your love of hats!"

"I already told you that," she said pointedly.

"So you did, my dear. Miss Perkins, if you like me, that will do well enough." He leaned closer, so no one would overhear. "I was going to suggest an arrangement of convenience anyway, until we get to know each other better. It seems only fair. My, you can blush."

She turned away from him, only to see a grinning soldier on a nearby bench. She turned back to the major. "Number three: Mama says I am stupid and naive."

"Your mother is wrong, Miss Perkins ... oh, hang it ... Lydia," he said, taking her by both hands this time. "You're quite intelligent-smarter than I am, I think-and if you are naive, what is wrong with that? I know how to p.a.w.n things, and I can find a place to stay at night, and I'm certainly not afraid to tow you with me into a pub for luncheon."

He was speaking quite earnestly now, or she thought he was. I wonder, will I always have to guess if he is serious? she asked herself. "And besides all that, I have some salve for my back, which is still too hard for me to reach. You could put it on for me. Think of us as a team, Lydia."

She shook her head, but she was not unhappy with him. "And if this arrangement does not suit?" she asked. "You know that it might not."

"Lydia, we can arrange a quiet annulment. My aunt has been threatening to die for years and years, so I doubt I would occupy too many months or years of your time, if you decide I won't do. I'd see that you have sufficient income for a comfortable life. What about it?" He laughed again. "I am so prepared for a yes, Lydia. As a parting joke, Sir Percy even gave me a special license. It already has my name on it. You can't imagine how much exertion that was for Percy."

It was her turn to laugh this time, and she did. "I hear those things are expensive! You have strange friends, sir."

"Oh, I do," he agreed. "With any luck, you'll never meet him. What about it, Lydia?" he asked again.

Well, what about it? she asked herself. I should at least entertain the unimaginable. "You're sure there are no dark secrets you are holding from me?" she asked. "No surprises in store, beyond a little light nursing?"

"Cross my heart," he said promptly. "We'll have a peaceful ride to Northumberland. There's plenty of time for me to tell you all I know about Delightful Saunders, and ...."

"Who?" she asked.

"Oh, that's your name. You don't really think we were sober when we hatched this scheme, do you?"

"No!" she declared. "But Delightful Saunders?"

"If it's any consolation, I believe Percy signed her letters as Della. Yes or no?" he asked. "If we hurry, we can get this done before noon and be on our way."

Don't even think about it, Lydia, she told herself. Just say it before you lose the last ragged remains of your nerve.

"Yes."

He kissed her hand. "You won't regret this, Lydia."

"I already do!"

Chapter Ten.

Before noon, she, Lydia Lucinda Perkins, spinster, was married in the parish of St. Barnabas (the current chapel new since the Great Fire of London) to Major Samuel Elliott Howard Reed, bachelor, Lord Laren of Laren, Northumberland, by a special license purchased as a joke by Lieutenant Sir Percy Wilkins, second-in-command of Battery B. General Thomas Picton served as best man and his wife, who claimed she was never surprised at any stunt of her husband's officers, did what she could to hold up Lydia, who shook like blancmange, and whose stomach growled throughout the entire ceremony. The parish priest appeared to be hard of hearing, but even he paused once to look over his book at her.

There was even a ring, a pretty Spanish piece looted from Badajoz that the major had carried around for several years, for no discernible reason. To everyone's delight, it fit Lydia as though it had been meant for her finger all along.

The general and his lady were already late for another festivity a.s.sociated with the victory celebration, so the major and his wife said good-bye to them from the steps of St. Barnabas. "If Boney should break out, I'll expect you in the battery again, Major!" Picton called as he leaned out the window. Lady Picton pulled him in before he could continue.

As Lydia watched them go, her stomach growled again. Major Reed shook his head. "It seems I only married you just in time before starvation set in, my dear," he said. "This is a horrible neighborhood, but I know there is a public house around the corner where the beef and kidney pie should stave off famine. Shall we slum? I have been slumming for years and have acquired some expertise."

It was excellent food, served by an interested woman amid the clink of bottles and clatter of plates and shaking of dice. "Why does she keep staring at us?" Lydia asked in a whisper, leaning across the table toward her husband.

"At you, my dear, at you," he said cheerfully, wiping his mouth with a napkin surprisingly clean, considering the general condition of the dockside neighborhood. "You are quite pretty-Ah, now, don't object! I happen to think you're quite pretty-and that is a lovely bonnet, and I hate to tell you this, but your cheek really is impressive."

She gasped and lowered her head, then changed her mind. "I should fit right into this neighborhood," she said. "People will think you are a dreadful brute who beats his wife."

He nodded, and finished his ale. "We can only go up from here, Lydia Reed."

True, indeed, she reflected as he paid the bill. I still cannot quite believe what I have done, except that my name is written on the registry in this parish, and I am most legally married. Lydia Reed will take some getting used to, however. I won't even contemplate how difficult Lady Laren will sound, but since Sam doesn't appear much interested in that part of his name, I suppose it doesn't matter.

"What are we to do now?" she asked, and smiled at her husband. "I mean, 'What are we to do now, Sam? Now that you have so kindly married me, I don't have to worry about what I am to do." She clasped her hands in front of her. "Except that I would like to know."

He helped her to her feet, and took her by the hand to lead her from the tavern. "I directed my trunk to be taken to the King's Whistle Tavern, where the mail coach leaves, Lydia. It's not high style, but my banker is in Durham, not London, and we're going to economize at least that far."

She nodded, thinking of all the boring trips by post chaise she had made with her family, where no one ever had anything kind to say by the end of the first day's journey. "I have never traveled that way," she said as he hurried her along. "I hear it is quite interesting."

The mail coach was more than interesting; it was crowded. Lydia looked with some dismay at the current inmates, who stared back, as if daring them to find a corner to wedge themselves into. "H'mmm," said the major. "Madam, could you ...." The woman glared back and spread her skirts wider. "I suppose not."

Lydia caught the eye of an older gentleman. He grinned at her and gave her a broad wink. "Here, laddie," the man said. "You sit here and put your pretty missus on yer lap." He moved over six inches to accommodate them.

"Aye, then, very well," said the major. He eased himself into the narrow spot, which somehow widened enough for him to squeeze in his hips. He flinched as his right shoulder came in contact with the man, and Lydia could see the sweat break out on his forehead. Oh, we are walking wounded, she thought as she watched him. Calmly she took a handkerchief from her reticule and wiped his forehead.

"He has an injury from Toulouse," she said quietly to the older man who had made room. She sat herself on the major's lap, and his arms went around her, with his hands resting comfortably over hers on her stomach.

"No place else to put'um," he said in her ear.

"Can you stand this?" she whispered back.

His cheek was right next to hers. He kissed her quickly. "Lydia, my men would say I had died and gone to heaven. I've never suffered so well."

She blushed. "Hush," she whispered. She caught the eye of the older man and felt her face grow even more red.

The man nudged the major. "I didn't know women blushed anymore," he said.

She felt the major's chuckle. "This one does. Aren't I the lucky fellow?"

The woman across the aisle harrumphed and rearranged her skirts again. "I don't hold with men who beat their women," she said, her voice highly charged with disapproval.

Goodness, this is infinitely more interesting than the post chaise, Lydia thought in amazement. She straightened up a little and looked the woman in the eye. "We were married this morning over my parent's objections," she said. "They didn't think I should marry a common soldier."

"Common, eh?" he whispered in her ear. "You're a rascal." He shifted her weight slightly, then announced to the coach. "There was her da, deep in drink, and her mama wailing in the background. I knew she would be safer with me."

Lydia nodded. "We have been writing for years and years, all through Spain and Portugal. Thank G.o.d Napoleon is on Elba, and my dear Sam was able to rescue me from my own family." She kissed his cheek in turn.

All sympathy now, the woman nodded so vigorously that her bonnet tipped forward. "Mind that you treat her right, lad. She deserves a good life."

"My thoughts entirely," the major replied, tightening his grip on her.

"Dearie, if you can get some used tea leaves after dinner tonight, and pack that on your face before you go to bed, it'll make all the difference in the morning," the woman advised.

"Get out, yer old woman," the man next to them grumbled. "Didn't yer hear the lad, saying they were just married? Would you want tea leaves on yer face tonight?"

If she could have slid into the ground, Lydia would have. As it was, she had to endure the major's silent laughter behind her. Unwilling to look at anyone in the coach, she began a serious examination of her gloves.

After a long stare at the old man, who glared back just as defiantly, the woman turned her attention to the lady seated next to her. By the time the mail coach started, they were deep in a discussion of the ratio of water to salt when pickling pigs' feet. The others in the coach turned their interests, variously, to a newspaper, a crying baby, and a greased paper which yielded fish so pungent that Lydia felt her head swim.