With This Ring Part 20

"I thought perhaps I was," he agreed.

She was silent then, thinking about the events of the past three weeks, even as she knew her husband was regarding her with considerable anxiety. As she observed him, she was struck by the fact that this was an expression she had not seen too often in their short history together, and this, she was forced to admit, provided her with some secret amus.e.m.e.nt. It's nice to know that you are not always supremely confident, she thought, especially where I am concerned.

"You knew from the moment we were rescued from the road agents, didn't you?" she asked finally, as she considered the matter.

To Sam's credit, he looked at her with a frown. "I really don't remember what happened during the robbery."

Percy laughed. "Lord, if I know the major, he was probably arguing with the road agent! Sam, do you remember the time in Valladolid ...."

"Not Valladolid," Sam said in a hurry. "Percy, do be silent before I am standing deep in my own ... well, do be silent."

Lydia thought herself quite charitable to not question him about Valladolid. It could probably wait. "Yes, indeed, he was arguing. As I remember now, when our rescuer said he was taking us to Merry Glade, you said, 'Oh, excellent.' Sam, Sam!"

Apparently silence and Percy were not well acquainted, she decided. The lieutenant leaped into the conversation again. "That farmer is one of my tenants, Mrs. Reed, and he rehea.r.s.ed all these events with me." He gazed on his former commander with such a look of benevolence that Lydia was hard-pressed to retain her composure. "Really, Sam, you know how nice the accommodations are at my place! Mama will be quite put out when I tell her you pa.s.sed up nearly a month at her home to stay in a public house," he chided.

Lydia raised her hand to stop the flow of words. "Sir Percy, in all fairness, I am not sure that Sam had another coherent thought for a week, beyond that one. He was so ill." She rested her hand on his blanketed leg and gave Sam a brilliant smile. "And some would probably argue that he hasn't had a coherent thought since! Husband, why didn't you say something? Just a word or two, and you could have been in more comfortable surroundings."

"You, too, mum," Percy chimed in. "I'd have been glad to loan you a packet to pay the surgeon and sent you on your way rejoicing." He glared at his major in mock distress. "Sir, you should have known that. You must have known that!"

She stopped. It was true, of course, but then she would never have met the Innises, and their kindness that extended to sacrifices few would make on behalf of strangers. The villagers would be strangers to her yet, and she might not ever have learned what she could do for herself, when she had no choice and everything depended on her.

He knew. At least, from the moment he regained his senses again, he knew, and he said nothing. He had let her worry and contrive, and solve her own problem, and wear herself out, and know the satisfaction of success. She increased the pressure of her fingers on his leg, even as she bowed her head and let the tears slide down her face, to Sir Percy's horror.

He leaped to his feet again, wringing his hands, as she cried quietly and Sam did nothing. "Major, I say! You're a heartless brute! Mama will be so disappointed that you have not turned out better!"

"Percy, do excuse yourself for a moment," she heard the major say in a low voice. "Get us some ale from the public room and take your time returning."

She heard the door close, but she could not stop the tears. After a few minutes, Sam handed her a handkerchief and she blew her nose.

"Come a little closer, Lydia Reed," he said, and she heard uncertainty in his voice. "If you must clutch me, clutch a part more substantial."

With another sob, she threw herself into his arms, and continued her tears until none were left. She let him wipe her eyes this time. "Blow now," he told her, and she did.

She realized where she was then, and tried to sit up. "I hope I am not hurting you," she murmured, worry and embarra.s.sment competing with her feelings.

"I never felt better," he a.s.sured her, and did not relinquish his grip on her.

She sighed and nestled closer. "May I say that I never ...." She could not continue, so deep were her feelings. She shook her head and returned to silence.

Sam kissed the top of her head and then rested his chin there. She listened to the steady beat of his heart and struggled to subdue the tears that threatened again. Even though my feet ache, I am hungry, and my head is starting to pound, I cannot imagine that I will ever feel better than this, she thought. But I must tell him.

She sat up, but did not remove herself from his arms. She looked into his face, taking a moment to admire his brown eyes and the pleasant sprinkling of freckles across his nose. He was still too thin, but she would see to that. She took the handkerchief from him and dabbed at his eyes. "Mustn't let your ridiculous lieutenant see those," she scolded.

"He's seen them before," he told her. "And he's not so ridiculous when the French are charging. Far from it. Oh, Lydia."

She put her hand to his lips. "Sam, thank you from the bottom of my heart," she said simply.

She could hear Sir Percy moving restlessly from one foot to the other outside the door, so she got up and opened it, taking the pint in his hand and giving it to Sam.

Percy obviously had time of his own to think, and the words poured out. "Sam, I imagine you did not even tell her about the valuables in your trunk, did you?" he accused him, then drank deep. "Lord, but Innis has good ale. I had forgotten. So wise of you to hole up here, even though Mama will be chagrined."

Lydia laughed, and resumed her spot on the major's bed, although not quite so close. "You are wrong there, Sir Percy! He told me to look in the trunk, and I did find a treasure, considering the venture I was engaged in. A wonderful razor," she explained, when the other man stared at her. "You know, for shaving. Well, I thought it was a valuable treasure."

Percy set down his cup, tipped back in his chair again, and started to laugh. He laughed until he had to press his hand to his stomach. Lydia stared at him, and then at Sam, who was smiling. Without a word, she rose and went to her husband's campaign trunk. As Percy's laughter returned to a lower register, and then to helpless, intermittent yelps, she looked through the trunk. She sat back on her heels and stared at Sam.

"Husband, unless dirty shirts and pants full of powder burns are valuable, you will have to enlighten me. Obviously I have missed something."

"You have," he agreed, smiling at her with such fondness that she blushed. "And once you had found the razor, and I understood what all this meant, I did not press it."

She looked back at the trunk in bewilderment. "I dare anyone to find a treasure in this ... this midden!"

"Mum, find the chess game," Percy said.

Mystified, she dragged out the worn and dirty tablecloth with the chess pieces knotted in one end. "This, for heaven's sake?" she asked, holding it out to her husband.

"Come back here," he said.

She sat beside him again and handed him the small bundle. With practiced effort, he untied the twine that held in the pieces and tumbled them into her lap. She gasped and stared, open-mouthed, jerking up her ap.r.o.n to keep the pieces from spilling onto the floor.

With hands that shook, she picked up the pieces she recognized. They were of some heavy wood, and much battered from use. She set them aside, then ran her fingers through the small gold coins.

"p.a.w.ns," Sam explained, his eyes merry. "I had to have something uniform, of course, and these little pieces of eight answered. Wouldn't you agree?"

Stupefied, she nodded. She picked up a lump of gold, and looked at him, a question in her eyes.

"I found it that way after the siege of Badajoz. Don't know what it was. Just some finery that melted in the fire," he said. "It sits level, so it became a knight." He poked his fingers among the treasures. "These earbobs were bishops, and that louis d'or was a king." Gently he touched the wedding ring she wore. "A queen, of course." For some reason his voice was rusty then, and she had the good grace not to look at him.

In silence, his face unreadable, the major picked up the pieces from her lap and restored them to their place in the shabby tablecloth. He looked at her then, a long, measuring look that made her palms start to perspire. "Forgive me, Lydia?" he asked softly.

"There isn't anything to forgive," she replied, her voice just as soft, as she dismissed weeks of swollen ankles, shyness around strangers, and more worry for another human being than she had ever suffered through before.

"I should think there is!" Percy said, leaping into the conversation with indignation that made his eyes go a little wild. "Major, you will be lucky if your convenient matrimonial arrangement doesn't just ... just leave you!"

Now I am a matrimonial arrangement, she thought in surprise. Well, of course I am. At what point did I forget that? Was it when I was holding him while the surgeon cut, or was it even back at St. Catherine's when I knew I wanted Maria, and had only to look at him for his approval? Or even when my hands were shaking so badly and he held my arm so steady to put this ring on my finger? I wonder when it was.

"Would you?" the major asked her.

"What?" she asked, startled out of her own discomfort.

"Would you leave?" There was the slightest frown on his face, and it pleased her just a little to know that even he had some doubts.

"Never," she said promptly, forcing down her misgivings. She took his hand and held it in her lap. She smiled at the two of them, feeling no pleasure in her thoughts, but determined that Percy should know no more. "I could murder you, perhaps, and no jury in this district would ever convict me. No. I would never leave. I am intensely curious to find out what kind of demented people have had the raising of someone so devious, husband!" She hated her glibness. It was not what she wanted to say, not the way she was feeling now.

Percy laughed and stood up, shaking his head. "Major, she is so good at that!"

"Good at what?" he asked.

"Calling you husband as a real wife would, and taking your hand as if this were a serious arrangement!" He looked at her then, his expression kindly, "Mum, I don't know who you are, but you certainly will be a success in securing the inheritance in Northumberland! Sam, without question you found a lady. What a pleasant diversion this has become! Sorry I missed the proposal at St. Barnabas-G.o.d save us-and the wedding. How on earth did either of you keep a straight face? And look at you now, holding hands. Lord, I am diverted. This was well worth the price of a special license."

His words hung in the air like a bad smell. Lydia felt her face grow hot. She released Sam's hand, but he did not lift it from her lap. He kept his hand on her thigh, applying enough pressure to keep her courage fixed. When she felt braver, she looked at her husband's lieutenant, searching for meanness, or animosity. There was none. A kindly face looked back at her, one used to amus.e.m.e.nt, his questions remaining.

"Percy, someday I will explain the whole series of events to you, and we will all have a good laugh." Sam said at last, when the silence had gone on too long for politeness.

"Promise? Sam, I want you and your lady-oh, Lord I am amused-to come to Quavers for the rest of your recovery. Mama will be pleased to see you both, and you can plan out the rest of your deception," Percy said, his eyes bright. "I only wish I could come to Northumberland and see how this all plays out ...." He paused, his eyes hopeful.

"No, Percy. It is out of the question," Sam said firmly. "And as for your kind invitation ...." He glanced at her. "I think not. We'll just stay here and rub along as best we can. Thank you, though. Another time."

Percy did not attempt to hide his disappointment. "Oh, I am sorry! This amusing joke would have been just the antidote to Papa's gout!" He put his hand to his head in a gesture that would have seemed theatrical if anyone else had done it, but to Lydia's eyes, was appropriate for anyone so intent on entertainment as Sir Percy. "I am reminded, Mrs. Reed-Oh, gadfrey, you are Lady Laren, are you not?-Sam, I am beyond diversion now!"

"Collect yourself, Percy," Sam said. "I am feeling quite tired and need to go to bed. What are you reminded of? Do come to the point."

"The reason for my visit in the first place! I come in Papa's place as interim justice of the peace, I suppose. Papa's gout did not permit, and didn't that turn out to be our good luck?" he said. With a flourish, he pulled an envelope from his coat. "Mrs. Reed, there is a reward for the capture of that miserable man you shot." He looked apologetic. "This is not really a flush district, so it is a small stipend. Now, if you had shot the other one, that would have earned you more. He is a really ugly customer." He giggled. "Perhaps we should issue pistols to all the fair women who ride the coach. Just a small reward."

"How small?" she asked, swallowing her uneasiness at his relentless good cheer, and wanting to stop his endless flow of words.

"Only twenty pounds, but ...."

"That is a fortune!" she exclaimed, amazed all over again at this sudden turn of fortune. She looked at the bag of coins, paltry now, that she had earned in ten hours of work today. "I can pay for a post chaise now, and at least another week's stay here."

Sam's lieutenant nodded as he handed her the envelope. "My offer of a stay at Quavers still stands, and I know Papa would be happy to give you the loan of his coach and horses to Northumberland." He looked from Sam to her, and back to Sam again, his eyes cheerful, even in the defeat of his plans. "I think you are being foolish, Sam. Why, at Quavers, you wouldn't even have to share a bed! It must be an awkward situation, considering this whole arrangement." He started to laugh again as he held out his hand to Sam, and then went to the door. "Do at least give me your permission to tell my father about this whole escapade."

"If you say one word about it, when I feel better I will carve you into chewable pieces and have you for breakfast, Percy," Sam replied, his voice just as pleasant.

Percy held up his hand. "Major, I am undone! What good is a practical joke if it cannot be shared?" He looked hopefully at his superior officer. "No?"

"No. Go away."

With another laugh and a bow in Lydia's general direction, Sir Percy left the room. Lydia was about to speak when the door opened again.

"Do at least write me from Northumberland and tell me how this whole adventure ends!"

"Go away, Percy," Sam repeated.

There was noticeable iron in his voice this time that Lydia could hear, and the door did not reopen. She sat another moment on the bed, then got up and put the coin pouch on the dresser with her other earnings.

"I'm rather sorry that happened," Sam said at last.

Lydia had been so occupied with her thoughts that she almost jumped when he spoke. "It probably doesn't matter," she replied, keeping her voice calm. "Sam, if you would be more comfortable there at his estate ...."

"No. Lydia, sit down again and quit fiddling with those coins. Could you take out one of these pillows and help me lie back?" He smiled. "I like Percy well enough. He is a better officer than you would think, but I can safely conclude that conversation with him can be exhausting when one is in a weakened state."

Her solicitude returned. Drat that man for wearing Sam down to a nub, she thought, as she removed her pillow from behind the major's head and placed it next to his. Gently she helped Sam stretch out again, smoothing the blanket and too shy to speak.

"I didn't want him to know about Maria," Sam said, then letting out his breath, he turned himself more comfortably onto his side. "I do not think I could recuperate in peace if Percy is continually reminding me how strange this whole arrangement is."

It is, isn't it? she thought as she prepared for bed. She took her time. Sam had closed his eyes almost immediately, and she knew, with a pang, how tired his lieutenant had made him. Dressed in Mrs. Innis's extra nightgown, she stood beside Sam a long time. Mr. Wilburn had paid her a visit in the barbershop that morning to suggest to her that quite possibly Sam would never have full use of his left arm again, not with such gouging as he had been forced to do in his shoulder and back. He says I am to tell you that you will probably look a trifle lopsided, Sam, she thought, raising the blanket higher. You will be a long time recovering. I wonder that you will be able to manage your estate without some frustration, the kind that could turn you bitter.

She lay down beside him, weary in her heart and mind, and settled as close to him as she could. She had discovered how much she liked the scent of wintergreen. His back was no longer bandaged, but the fragrance remained in his nightshirt. She breathed deep, thinking about Northumberland, and wondering if she could drive him about in a gig, and learn something about the Corn Exchange herself, if he needed her help. He has only to ask, she thought as she closed her eyes. Will he?

She continued her quiet work of coaxing her husband to good health, making sure he ate, even when he said he was not hungry, and slept when he said he was not tired. She didn't have to tell him what the surgeon had recommended to her. One evening after bathing Maria and then herself in the security of the Innis's laundry room, they had returned to find him standing and frowning in front of the mirror. Her heart nearly broke when he frowned into the mirror and said to her reflection, "I am not really symmetrical anymore, am I?"

"No, you are not," she said. She set Maria on the floor, not sure whether to jolly him, or cry with him, or just put her arms around him. With no more thought, she chose the latter, wrapping her arms carefully around him as she rested her head against his poor back.

"Do you mind?" he asked, after a long pause, then chuckled, even though she knew without seeing his face that he was not laughing. "You're the one who has to look at me. You, and Maria, and my mother and aunt, my crofters, my neighbors, everyone in my district, and shire, and my G.o.d, if I ever go to Parliament to Lords ...."

"Stop it. It isn't that bad, and I'm sure your tailor can add a little extra shoulder padding on that side," she said, and pushed him away from the mirror. She sat him down in the window seat, and not caring if everyone on Market Street was staring up at them, hiked up her skirts and sat on his lap. Before he could say anything, she kissed him.

If she had ever wondered where her skills lay, she wondered no more. Kissing Sam Reed on the mouth was more pleasant than any nursing techniques that Mr. Wilburn had recommended to her so far. Years of staring into her own mirror, plus Mama's barbed reminders, had acquainted her with the fact that her mouth was a shade too large for beauty. As Sam returned her clumsy efforts with enough polish and enthusiasm for them both, she knew it wasn't a defect-far from it. She hadn't suspected that a kiss could be so involving.

Breathing was not a problem, at least until her husband put his hand on her bare leg and moved it up under her skirt. She could have sighed then with impatience that she had adopted French drawers. It's not as though I need them in high summer, she thought as his hand stopped. Drat fashion.

Still kissing her, his hand went to the waistband of her drawers at the same time she felt another hand pat her ankle. Startled, she pulled away from Sam with a homely smack that made him smile, then stared down at Maria, who was standing beside them and patting her leg.

"Oh, you dear!" she said.

"In all modesty, thank you," Sam replied, and the laughter was genuine in his voice now.

She kissed him again, then moved from his lap when his hand came out from under her skirt. "Maria, not you," she said. "I'll have other things to call you."

"Oh, I hope so," he replied as she picked up Maria, cuddling the baby to her. "Come here, Maria," he said, and took the baby onto his lap. "Tell me what you think of your deformed papa. Oh, my." He did cry then, as Maria nestled against his chest with a sigh of her own. Lydia said nothing until he finished, beyond finding him a handkerchief when her legs felt firm enough to hold her, and telling him to blow his nose.

"What if I cannot ride a horse?" he asked as he set Maria down finally and motioned her closer.

"You will," she a.s.sured him, serene in her own confidence.

"Until that happens, I do not know why I cannot drive you here and there in a gig." She dabbed at his face with the handkerchief. "And I have always wanted to know all about sheepshearing and horseshoeing, and lambing and ...."

"Liar," he murmured, playing with Maria's curls as she bobbed up and down beside him, grinning and displaying her teeth.

"I am wounded," she replied.

"No, I am," he said with amus.e.m.e.nt. "Or was. Will I do, Lydia? Pardon me if I seem anxious. Possibly it matters."

She touched Maria. "She seems to think you will do, and I suspect the same."

He grinned at her, and as much as she felt embarra.s.sed by the look in his eyes, she also felt relief and peace. I have become so confident, she thought, even though I am no closer to being a real wife.

"Can you wait to find out?"

It was a quiet question, with no one but Maria and her to hear it. I think that talking about their own prowess must embarra.s.s men, she thought as she nodded, then blushed. Of course, it is not every day that I leap into a man's lap and acquaint myself so thoroughly with his mouth.

"I ... I think I am not precisely the same Lydia who agreed to marry you on such short notice in London," she said. Or am I? she asked herself. I wonder when I will know for sure?

Chapter Eighteen.