With This Ring Part 22

Sam had brushed through Anna Avery's comment with that adroitness of his that Lydia had previously marveled over, and which now made her want to thrash him. He had skillfully detached himself from the lovely woman and bowed to her. "My dear, you are too late! This is my wife Della and our daughter Celia. I hope that you two will become the best of friends."

Over my corpse, Lydia thought as she put Maria into the crib someone had thoughtfully prepared. With no idea where to go in the house to find her own bed, she lay down on the cot in the nursery, weary beyond words. She knew no one downstairs would miss her. Even the servant who had showed her to the nursery had been in a pelter to run back downstairs and listen around a door or alcove to Lord Laren's exploits in the struggle against Napoleon. Every now and then she heard laughter. I only hope Sam does not burn himself down to a stub tonight, drat his miserable carca.s.s, she thought as she closed her eyes. I have worked hard to get him to a state of health where he can return to his family and friends and ignore me completely. She was irrational, and she knew it, but that much common sense did nothing to a.s.suage the pain in her heart.

She was about to sleep when there was a tap at the door. She lay where she was a moment, confused, then she got up quickly, with a glance at the crib to make sure the child slept.

Aunt Chalmers stood in the doorway, her eyes bright with interest. Lydia marveled again at Sam's inaccuracy. There was nothing remotely fragile about this woman. She will live forever, Lydia thought as she smiled at her new relative. I do not see our charade ending anytime soon.

"My dear, I have the deepest suspicion that you have a raging headache-a gathering of Reeds and Averys will do that-and nowhere to lay your head!" the woman said, taking Lydia's hand. "Oh, such a lovely ring!" she exclaimed, keeping her voice low. "Is this the one you wrote about that the King of Spain himself gave to dear Sam in partial thanks for his role in the storming of Madrid?"

Lydia gulped. Storming of Madrid? King of Spain? she thought wildly. I will kill Percy when I see him next, and it will be a slow, agonizing death. "Yes, it is," she managed, turning it over to catch the light from the hall.

Aunt Chalmers sighed with pleasure. "Oh, we would love to have seen the Duke of Wellington himself give you away to our Samuel."

So would I, she thought grimly. She wanted to take the woman by both her hands and describe her own wedding at St. Barnabas, how her hands shook and her knees smote together .... "How much I loved Sam then," she said softly. Oh, Lord, I am a far bigger fool that Kitty.

"We trust you still do," the older woman teased as she drew her arm around Lydia's waist and walked with her into the hall. "I have already advised Meigs to mix up a potion for you. Let me show you to Sam's room while we wait for her."

She opened the door and motioned Lydia in. "I know you will work wonders in here, my dear niece-Oh, how I adore the sound of that! Naturally this is not so grand as your own estate and extensive lands in ... in ... where was it?"

She paused, looking at Lydia so expectantly that her mouth went dry and her headaches went from a throb to a clang. "Devon?" Lydia asked.

Aunt Chalmers frowned. "Dear me, somehow I remember something about the Lake Country .... I must be mistaken." She laughed and kissed Lydia's cheek. "You would certainly know where you lived, wouldn't you?" She sighed, and hugged Lydia closer. "And how totally gallant of your mama to give up a quiet life in ...."

"Devon?" Lydia said, trying to mask her own desperation.

"Ah, yes ... in Devon to follow the drum through Portugal and Spain." She went to the window and pulled open the draperies. "We cannot promise anything but a peaceful life here in Northumberland, my dear. Nothing exciting ever happens." She motioned Lydia to join her.

Sick in her heart from such a compound of lies, Lydia went to the window. The sun was setting now, casting a honey glow over the fields. A distant figure led a line of cows toward a milking barn. Aunt Chalmers opened the window, and Lydia breathed deep of the clover-scented air.

Aunt Chalmers touched her sleeve. "My nephew has always enjoyed the best view. Even when he was young, I could find him here in the early mornings before his mama was up, looking out the window." She sighed and sat herself in the window seat, patting the s.p.a.ce beside her. "He has such plans for this little estate-Lord knows his father tried to run it into the ground-and I have been working to help Sam achieve redemption. Ah, here is Meigs. Thank you, my dear. Drink this, Della. I guarantee a sound sleep." She nodded to the servant, and the door closed quietly in a moment. "You have a whole lifetime here to sort out our stories. We have certainly been delighted with yours! Welcome to Laren Hall, my dear. I know you will be happy here."

When Aunt Chalmers left, Lydia looked around the room. It was without question a man's room. She sat on the bed, wondering why her new aunt had not showed her to a lady's room. Surely there was another bedroom, not that any woman married to Sam Reed would ever want to use it, she thought, and blushed a little. "It is almost as though they did not expect me," she murmured as she tried to take off her shoes without bending down and increasing the drumbeat in her head. "Strange, indeed."

She was standing in her petticoat when there was another knock at the door. "It is your mother," said the voice on the opposite of the door, and Lydia gave a start, then relaxed. "Do come in, Lady Laren," she said, "and excuse me, please."

Her mother-in-law came in, carrying Lydia's bandbox. "Perhaps you would like this," she said. Her eyes opened wider as she approached. "Tomorrow when you feel more able, you must tell us how you lost all your clothing and possessions in a fire in Toulouse, set by Napoleon himself as he retreated! And how you saved dear little Celia from the flames." Lady Laren sat herself on her son's bed, shaking her head. "Your last letter was read and reread until we could not see the writing for the creases! My dear, you will simply have to let me help you put down on paper your reminiscences of the Peninsula." She leaned forward to take Lydia's hand. "I know this is grossly ill-mannered, but wouldn't your young life make a splendid novel?"

"I would certainly love to read it myself," Lydia said honestly. She ached to crawl into bed and draw herself into a ball and disappear. Murder is much too good for you, Sir Percy, she thought. I think I would have you naked and l.u.s.tful in a roomful of clergy and their wives, to get some inkling of the vast discomfort I feel right now.

Lady Laren patted her arm. "You have such a frown on your pretty face, my dear daughter. I am sure that you want nothing more than to sleep. I imagine this has been a trying day for you, but not as exciting as that time you and Sam escaped from certain death at the hands of Marshal Soult."

Lydia's eye widened, then closed. "That was exciting," she agreed as she thought up yet another torture for Percy. She did not protest when her mother-in-law helped her from her petticoat and found Mrs. Innis's nightgown in the bandbox. In another minute she was tucked in bed, with Lady Laren seated beside her, her face kind with welcome.

"You can have plenty of time to tell us that whole story tomorrow," Lady Laren said as she kissed her good night. "You only alluded to it briefly in your letter, and we have waited this whole year to know more! You are so welcome, child. Good night now."

Whatever Meigs had put in that potion was doing the job. Lydia could barely raise her head from the pillow. "Lady Laren," she began.

"I insist on being called Mama, my dear," her mother-in-law said. "You cannot imagine how many years I have waited for a daughter."

"Mama," Lydia began again, "do send Sam up here soon. He is not strong yet." She shook her head. "I do not mean to sound so managing, and protective, but ...."

"I will send him right up, my dear daughter," the woman promised. "And do not apologize for your concern! I think, more than ever now, that Sam needs a woman firmly in control." She bent to kiss Lydia again, then left the room.

Lydia closed her eyes. I have no business sleeping, she thought, even as her brain began to shut down. I must concoct a fiction about estates in the Lake Country, or was it Devon; how the Duke of Wellington came to give me away at my wedding; how I lost everything in a blazing fire and managed to save my daughter; and how on earth Sam and I came to be in Marshal Soult's control. Dear me. That is probably only the smallest part. These good women seem to have memorized Della's letters.

I have to think of something, she told herself as she drifted off. She was only dimly aware of Sam when he came to bed, although she knew she heard the draperies again, and knew that he must have opened them to stand and stare at the view, even as she had. When he got in bed, he pulled her close as usual, kissed her, and settled his leg across her. She could sleep now.

Sam was up before her in the morning. She missed his warmth, and his usual early morning inclinations that left her breathless. She sat up and stretched. Her husband had got no farther than the window, where he sat comfortable in his nightshirt, one bare leg doubled under him and the other stretched out casually. He must have sensed that she was watching him, because he looked over his shoulder at her.

"You cannot imagine how many mornings I have lain in my tent trying to recall that exact shade of gold across the front lawn." He gestured out the window, then returned his gaze to the view. "Come on over here, Lydia."

"I would rather just lie here and be out of sorts with you," she replied frankly.

His shoulders shook, and she thought she heard his laugh low and barely audible over the wrens bickering by the wren box under the eaves. "Mrs. Reed, do come here so I can fondle you just a bit and try to jolly you into something resembling good humor."

She shook her head, but left the bed and joined him at the window. He pulled her down to sit between his legs and lean back against him. This is fraught with peril, but quite agreeable, she thought as she closed her eyes and enjoyed the moment. "You are a complete scoundrel," she scolded, even as she sighed when he touched her. "Your Aunt Chalmers is as healthy a woman as I have ever seen."

He was silent, and she felt some satisfaction in knowing that while her face was nowhere the equal of Anna Avery's, at least her body was here and seemed to have his entire attention. "Could we carry this discussion to the bed?" he asked finally, a bit breathless himself. "I'm a little large to attempt this in the window seat, and I wouldn't want to scare the goose girl down there."

The discussion ended then. He took her back to bed, and while she wondered at her own fragility in maintaining a serious irritation with her husband, it was only a brief wonder, before she forgot everything except the business at hand, which occupied her fully.

She lay in his arms when they finished, careful as always to rest against his better side. "Aunt Chalmers," she prompted, when he sighed and rested his leg over her again.

"Somehow I never pictured a discussion with a naked woman about my aunt," he teased. He kissed her neck, where she was sweaty now. "Mama told me last night that Aunt Chalmers recovered from years and years of ailments with the first receipt of Percy's d.a.m.ned letters."

Lydia edged out from under his leg and sat up. "Those letters! Apparently Percy has taken great license with what must be a fervid imagination." She told him what his aunt had mentioned last night and watched his eyes grow wide with dismay. "I cannot possibly think up enough stories! Sam, we cannot continue this. I won't. You must tell her."

He turned carefully onto his back. "I can't just yet, not when she is taking such pleasure in telling me about all her improvements-the ones I suggested and the ones she paid for. We're going to have to muddle on a while longer, Lydia."

"And then what?" she asked, getting up to hunt for her clothes. "Will it be so terrible if she withdraws her money?" She pulled on her chemise and petticoat, and stood still while he b.u.t.toned her dress up the back.

He returned to bed, sitting there with his nightshirt in his lap, looking at her with a frown. "Lydia, I kept alive in Spain by planning what I would do here. When my brother officers were screaming in nightmare, wenching or drinking themselves into a stupor, I sat at my desk and planned pages and pages of improvements to this place. My razor and your scissors won't get me what I want now. Even my chess set won't be enough. I need my aunt's total approval, because I need her money. I can't make it any plainer, Lydia."

"No, I suppose you cannot," she murmured. "It seems that all our discussions circle right back here, don't they?"

"Only when you drag them there," he said.

She stood in the doorway and looked at her husband. I would tell any lie for any length of time, if you could bother to tell me you loved me, she thought. "I remember something about 'all my worldly goods endow,' " she said quietly. "Am I not part of your venture now? I've seen your view out the window. I could love this place." Oh, and you, too, only please won't you tell me first, she thought?

He took a long time answering. He tried to put on his nightshirt again, but he could not raise his arm high enough over his head. She made no move to help him this time, even though she ached to.

"Mrs. Reed, so far all you have done is try to get me to end it! We made an agreement," he reminded her.

She thought of St. Barnabas. "Husband, we made a larger agreement when we married! I am certainly your wife now."

"And you promised to obey," he said quickly, with enough ice in his voice to frighten an entire battery, let alone a wife.

His words came at her like a slap across her face, and she stepped back in surprise and hurt.

"Oh, wait, Lydia, I didn't ...." He stopped. "Well, I did, actually. Lydia, I am certain that once my aunt is pleased with you and Maria, she will not be upset when I tell her."

I suppose I should ask in which decade that will be, she thought, her mind almost numb with humiliation. Perhaps I have said enough. She gathered up her shoes and stockings as he struggled to put on his nightshirt, then wrenched the door open. "Husband, you puzzle me," she said from the safety of the open door. "You were so pleased that I stood up and spoke the truth the night of that dreadful banquet. I ruined myself. I want to tell the truth now, and you won't hear of it. Mr. Reed, I call you expedient, for now you are ruining me."

Her heart breaking, she stayed in the nursery with Maria until she heard him leave the house. With Maria clasped in her arms, she looked out the window. Aunt Chalmers was driving the gig, while Sam sat beside her. As she watched, she saw a figure ride toward them, a figure on a side saddle. Lydia sighed as the gig slowed and the horse pranced alongside it. "Well, Maria, I have cooked our goose, I fear," she whispered into the child's hair.

Her misery lifted only a little when Maria clapped her hands on her face and came toward her for a kiss. Lydia gladly complied. "But you are a treat!" She could not help looking out the window. "And you, Miss Avery, can drop into the first convenient hole."

She spent her morning in total panic, her stomach twisted into a thousand knots, as her mother-in-law showed her around the house, pointing out the part of it that had been standing since the days of the first Bishop of Durham. They looked at chests and chests of linens and old furniture, and all Lydia could think of was her husband.

She paused during Lady Laren's recitation to hand over Maria to the servant for a nap. Her mother-in-law was frowning when she returned. "Do you know, my dear, I am wondering if dear Celia has a hearing problem," she said, her voice hesitant, as though she thought it might not be her business.

"Oh, I don't think so," Lydia said.

"My dear, she does not answer when I call her name!" Lady Laren said. "You saw her earlier, playing with the spools there. She did not turn around when I called to her."

Lydia smiled, relieved and hopeful of an explanation that would satisfy. "Mum, I am in the habit of calling her Maria. It is her second name, the name of my dear dead mama, who perished after the battle for Salamanca in the general troop withdrawal." There, Sam, that ought to be enough lies for you, she thought grimly.

To her dismay, Lady Laren stared at her. "Della, how can this be? In your last letter, you referred to your dear mother who had returned to Lisbon to await your father, who was still in Toulouse! And she was there with your two sisters ... or was it brothers? Never mind." She closed the linen drawer with a bang, jumping back because the noise must have been louder than she antic.i.p.ated. "How comes your mother's resurrection?"

Lydia stared back. She looked into the mirror beyond Lady Laren and watched her face drain of all color. Sam, I cannot raise people from the dead, she thought in desperation. I cannot do this. Slowly she removed the ap.r.o.n Lady Laren had loaned her for the tour of the house's dustier regions and folded it neatly over the chair back. "I do not know, Lady Laren," she said, her voice calm and quiet. "Please excuse me."

She walked slowly from the room, knowing that if she started to run, she would panic. Without a word or nod to any of the servants, she went up the stairs, her back straight, her eyes thoughtful. She paused outside Maria's door, wanting the solace of her good humor, but not willing to wake her. She let herself into Sam's room. The bed was made, the room tidy. Without thinking, she took off her wedding ring and placed it on the bureau next to his pocket watch.

She knew there were back stairs, and she found them, moving quietly, unwilling to see Lady Laren again. It was a relief to be outside again, especially with her face so warm now, and the house stuffy and closed in. Walking purposefully, even though she had no idea where she was going, she skirted the stone outbuildings and walked through the orchard, where the apples were still green. The gra.s.s was high between the trees, and she sighed with the pleasure of being in the country again. I know I cannot return to London, and Devon is out of the question, she thought as she plucked a stem of gra.s.s and chewed on it. Perhaps I can rent the barbershop in Merry Glade again, but that, too, will require the truth.

The river was beautiful. Sam had called it a beck, or was it a burn? All she knew was that the water was cool when she took off her shoes and stockings and sat on the bank with her feet in the fast-moving stream. Soon they were so cold that she could wiggle her toes and feel nothing. When her feet were limber again, she walked on down the bank until she found a convenient crossing place. Three jumps onto stones and then one splash that wet her dress to the knees took her across the beck. She climbed higher and found a sun-warm rock set back into the trees.

It was a giant's chair. She leaned back in satisfaction, enjoying the warmth of the rock. Her view took in the whole valley, and as she sat there, she began to understand how someone could think it was heaven, especially someone in the middle of war so terrible. "I wonder what it is like in the winter," she asked out loud. Is the air so cold that it almost cracks? Are the streams quiet with their burden of ice? "Never mind that," she said. 'The walls are thick on the house, and Sam probably has considerable foresight in putting away wood, or coal, or whatever they use."

I do not aim to leave this valley, she thought, even though I must tell the truth today. Sam will be furious that I have come up so short. "Or have you, Lydia?" she asked herself. "You are not afraid of hard work, and Sam is hard work. He probably fancies himself in love with Anna Avery, but I am his wife, and I do not intend to cry foul and run. Someday I will hear him say he loves me."

It sounded good to her ears. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sun and the prospect of years and years ahead of her in this valley. She would just rest her eyes for a few minutes.

When she woke, the sun was quite gone and the rock was cold. She sat up in alarm. No, it was not gone, but merely cloudy now. She sniffed the air. Soon it would rain. Lydia clambered down off the rock and retraced her steps, leaping farther this time to avoid the splash into the beck.

Her shoes and stockings were gone. "This is odd, indeed," she said, then smiled. I suppose some urchin is complimenting herself on her good luck, she thought. Well, I can be charitable. Sam owes me a wedding wardrobe anyway. She walked back through the orchard in no real hurry, confident that bad news would keep another minute or two. I almost do not know where to begin this, she thought. I shall have to suggest to my mother-in-law that she call for a large pot of tea.

She came into the house the way she left it, noting how quiet it was. She was starting up the stairs to find another pair of stockings when the housekeeper came around the corner, shrieked, and backed into the little 'tween stairs maid, who was following her with a plate of biscuits.

"My goodness, let me help you!" Lydia said, hurrying back down the stairs, her hand held out. To her amazement, the woman shrieked again and threw her ap.r.o.n over her head. "Do tell me what is wrong!" she asked as she tugged at the ap.r.o.n. "Sharon ... Sharon, is it? Whatever is her problem?"

The maid's eyes were wide as saucers. "You're not dead!"

"Of course not," she replied with some asperity. "I just went for a walk and fell asleep. Goodness, what a strange household." The housekeeper lowered her ap.r.o.n. "You're living and breathing?" she asked in awe.

"The last time I checked. Mrs. Appleton, this is outside of enough," she said firmly. "Do let me help you up. Where are Lady Laren and her sister?"

"I believe they are in the sitting room." The housekeeper paused for what she must have thought was dramatic effect. "The best sitting room, what is used for funerals and other untidy events, Lady Laren."

"Well, this certainly qualifies as an untidy event," Lydia said. "Lead on, then, and let us hope they are not as skittish as you were!"

They were worse, far worse, worse to the point of trembling and staring until she gave them each a hug, and her deepest apologies for falling asleep. "What on earth has happened here?" she asked, when the women were calm again, and calling for tea, that blessed British restorative.

"My dear, when you did not return, we sent out the servants to look for you. The goose girl came back with your shoes and stockings from the beck, and Sam ...."

"I thought he was ... well, you are here, Aunt Chalmers. Wasn't he with you?" she asked, reaching for a cup of tea. "Oh, no! Did someone actually think I had drowned myself?" She took a gulp of tea, wincing at the way it scalded down her throat. "Please don't tell me that Sam ...."

"He has organized a search party, and they are even now searching every inch along the river," Lady Laren said.

"Pray he is not on horseback," Lydia said, leaping up to look out the window. "Sam, you idiot!"

"Of course he is on horseback!" Aunt Chalmers said. "He had someone throw him into the saddle."

"He will hurt his back," Lydia said. She shook her head and managed a little laugh. "He is far more trouble than he is worth, ladies."

"Quite possibly," Aunt Chalmers said. She patted her sister's hand. "Laren men are such a trial. I did hope that Sam had broken the link, but do tell us, my dear, what kind of a scoundrel he is. That is, if you have something to tell us?"

Both ladies looked at her expectantly. Lydia looked back, seeing nothing in their expressions except interest, and perhaps a little impatience that she begin. She filled her teacup again, sat down, and propped up her bare feet on a ha.s.sock. "It's a long story, and I am not entirely sure where to start."

"Begin somewhere," Aunt Chalmers said, sitting forward on the edge of her chair, her eyes bright. "Don't leave out a single detail."

She began at St. Barnabas, but that wasn't the right place, so she started over in Devon with her own family, and how beautiful Kitty was, and how Mama could never treat her with anything but impatience and contempt. She took a sip of tea now and then, and scanned her rapt audience for any sign of boredom. There was none, only a certain expectancy bordering on the giddy. The ladies became almost indignant when she told of her impulsive declaration at the victory banquet and her subsequent exile from the family. They sobbed into their handkerchiefs as she recounted Sam's desperate wound, and how brave he was with the road agents (she did not tell them how he argued with the bandit), and courageous during his terrible operation. She told them how hard she had worked to raise the money to pay their bills in Merry Glade, the visit of Sir Percy, and then right down to her arrival at Laren Hall, and the fact that she was even now sitting barefoot in their best sitting room, while her husband-drat his hide-scoured the water for her body.

The ladies were silent for a long moment. Lydia leaned back in the chair, exhausted with the telling of so much truth. The tea was long cold, but she swirled what remained in her cup and drank it. "Aunt Chalmers, I know you are disappointed that he did not precisely keep the agreement he claims he did. I know he means well, but that promise of the inheritance meant so ...."

She stopped in mid-sentence; it was her turn to sit, open-mouthed. As she stared, the ladies looked at each other and began to laugh, not little chuckles, but guffaws that made her smile, in spite of her own amazement. Aunt Chalmers even beat her feet on the carpet like a child, then wheezed and gasped so much that she called for her sister to loosen her corset strings.

Lydia stared from one woman to the other as the truth began to strike her somewhere between the eyes. "You two have known all along, haven't you?" she accused them, even as the laughter swelled up inside her.

"Oh, my, yes, dearie," said her mother-in-law, when she could speak.

"Who?" she asked. "It couldn't possibly have been Sir Percy."

"Della-no, no, what is your name? We went into positive whoops over 'Delightful,' and figured that had to be something dreamed up while crawling from a vat of rum."

"Quite possible. My name is Lydia, and Maria is Maria." She blew a kiss to her mother-in-law. "Her hearing is quite acute, my dear," she said, "but she will never answer to Celia."

"Lydia. I do like that. A pretty name for a pretty wife," Lady Laren said.

"But you haven't told me who let the cat from the bag," Lydia said, when the two of them threatened to go off into another fit of laughter.

"It was General Picton's wife," Aunt Chalmers said. "Apparently the general wrote to her, and she felt bound to tell us."

"I'm sorry you had to be party to such a joke for two years," Lydia said.

"Oh, I am not!" Aunt Chalmers insisted. "I had been feeling unhealthy for years, but once I knew what Sam had concocted, I didn't dare die! I simply had to get better to see who he would bring home." She smiled and leaned close enough to pat Lydia's knee. "He did rather better than he deserves, I believe." She clucked her tongue. "And he has never told you he loves you? Laren men continue to be blockheads."

Lady Laren stood up then and left the room. She returned in a moment with a miniature, which she handed to Lydia as Aunt Chalmers began to laugh again. "My dear, this came in that first letter from Sir Percy. I believe it is supposed to be Delightful Saunders." She collapsed into her chair again, carried off by another fit of the giggles.