With This Ring Part 23

A handsome blond woman with prominent eyes and a beauty mark smiled back at her. She wore hoop earrings, and looked decidedly Peninsular. Lydia smiled at the unknown woman. "Something found in a siege, like my wedding ring," she said softly. She gasped, and leaped to her feet then. "Oh, my ring! I left it on the bureau in Sam's room! I was so angry with him. You can't imagine."

It was Lady Laren's turn to frown. "He came downstairs with it on his little finger. I have never seen him look so bleak, my dear." Lydia sat down. "I suppose we will just have to wait until he returns."

They chatted another hour, punctuating their conversation with a burst of giggles as one or the other took the notion. They all trooped upstairs while Lydia fed Maria and got her ready for bed. There was one thing more she had to ask her mother-in-law. "Mum, I hope that you can love Maria as much as we do," she murmured, holding the child close. "I will not be happy if she is less favored."

"I would not be happy, either, my dear," Lady Laren said. "Rest a.s.sured that as much as we have enjoyed this perfectly delightful diversion for the last two years, we have kept it to ourselves. No one will know that Maria is not your own baby, or that you were not married to Sam all that time."

When the baby slept, they went downstairs in perfect charity with one another. Lady Laren had just called for another pot of tea when they heard horses thundering toward the house. "Thank goodness," Lady Laren said. She smiled at her sister. "Come, Hermione, and let us retire to my room. Quite possibly Lydia has a few words for Sam. I think our little news can wait until he at least realizes that he still has a wife."

It was really a small bruise, and not likely to turn into anything ugly. "I thought ladies were supposed to faint, my dear," she told her husband after he had been carried upstairs, made comfortable, and propped into bed with a hot compress on his shoulder and a cold one against his forehead. "I would have caught you, except that you surprised me and that dratted umbrella stand was in the way."

He said nothing, but would not let go of her hand, so she perched herself beside him on their bed. "And now you have worn yourself out on this wild-goose chase." She smoothed his hair back from his eyes, then lay down next to him. "Sam, I would never leave you! I couldn't possibly."

He nodded, his eyes weary, but took her hand and held it. He removed her wedding ring from his little finger, and put it back on her hand, where it belonged. "Don't take it off again," he ordered. "And for the Lord's sake, if you feel like a walk to work off irritation-I'm not saying it won't happen again-let me know where you are going. Lydia, you cannot imagine what I thought."

She looked into her husband's eyes. "Sam, do you love me?" she asked. "I have to know before I am one minute older, and you have never told me."

He closed his eyes, and in a moment she was dabbing at his tears, and then her eyes. She kissed him, his mouth as familiar to her as her own, then rested her head on his chest.

"Lydia, I have loved you since your first afternoon at St. Barnabas."

She remembered all the terror of that afternoon, holding the gunnery sergeant's hand while the other gentry left, one by one. "I was so afraid."

"You were magnificent," he said. "I could have kissed the ground when you said your name was Miss Perkins." His laugh was shaky. "That meant I did not have to call out your husband and kill him in a duel, so I could run away to Brazil or ... or somewhere with you. Lydia, you smelled like sugared violets, and you were so tidy and pretty, and ... and grimly brave."

"I never felt pretty until you said I was," she told him. "If I am brave, you have made me so."

"You've always been beautiful to me," he said simply. He touched her breast. "Bravery comes from somewhere inside. I had nothing to do with that."

"Why didn't you tell me you loved me?"

He ruffled her hair. "I was sure you would think me deranged. We didn't really know each other well. Besides, my love, I am shy about speaking of matters so intimate." He sighed. "And then Percy Wilkins was so stupid to remind both of us how ... how calculated this whole marriage was." He kissed her. "I was going to tell you so many times, and then I said that awful thing about obeying. You could have told me," he pointed out. "That is, if you do love me."

"Amazingly,"she said, "I think I have been in love ever since I cut your hair. Such nice hair! Or it might have been when General Picton stole your pants so you could not pester Horse Guards. By the way, your hair needs a trim tomorrow, providing you are feeling well enough to leave this bed. Sam, I warned you about riding a horse when your back is not entirely healed yet. At some point you will simply have to start listening to me. What are you grinning at?" she asked.

"You. Do be serious and let us return to the original concern. You do love me," he stated.

"Yes. Absolutely," she said. "I wouldn't scold you or nag you if I were indifferent. I love you so much that if I see Anna Avery again on this property, I will smite her."

Her husband laughed. "Silly! She stopped our gig to tell me that she accepted a proposal this morning from a landowner just over the border. A good friend of mine, by the way. Lydia, she's a beauty, but I want you. You can doubt me, but it would be a waste of time, as most doubts are."

"I need to hear it, Sam," she said, nestling closer to him, comfortable with the way she fit on his better side. "Husband, I have been thinking today about what I learned."

"And what have you learned?" he asked, then jostled her. "Come on, Lyddy, you can tell me."

"I am self-reliant, dependable, courageous, somewhat p.r.o.ne to speak my mind ...."

"Oh, never that!" he teased, then kissed her again. "What else?"

"You are a distraction," she said. "I have doubts about myself, too, Sam. I hope they go away eventually, but I am going to require you to tell me quite often that you love me."

"I hardly think that is onerous," he said, "particularly since I do." He held up her hand, then kissed it. "Keep that ring on, will you?"

Lydia nodded. She got up and began to prepare for bed. "You know, of course, that you will have to face your mother and your aunt tomorrow," she reminded him as her dress came off. "I told them the whole story, and they let me know that two years ago, General Picton's wife wrote to them of your invention of a wife from the regiment, and Sir Percy's misguided enthusiasm."

He stared at her, then started to laugh. She took off the rest of her clothes, washed herself, and found a nightgown while he gave himself over to mirth. "I suppose I am not the clever fellow I thought I was," he said finally as he wiped his eyes with the hem of the sheet.

She sat on the bed again. "It wouldn't appear so, Mr. Reed. Here, let me have that compress. There now, the swelling is almost gone. I have infinite hope that someday you will be in excellent health." She returned the cloth to the basin.

"Lydia, I almost forgot," he said. "There in my coat pocket. While we were organizing a search party at the tavern in the village, the postman delivered that to me. You might find it interesting."

She took it from his pocket, sitting beside him again, relishing the warmth of his hand on her leg. "It is from my father, and addressed to you!" She stared at him. "How did he ... well of course he knew. I had said your name often enough."

"Read it, Lydia."

She read, putting down the letter when the words became blurry. She waited a moment to compose herself, and then read the rest.

"You bolted from Holly Street too soon, Lydia," Sam said. "Another few hours, and you could have been the toast of London, according to your father. Think of the ugly customers you could have avoided. Me, princ.i.p.ally."

She could only look at him in profound love.

He tapped the letter. "I imagine your mother was dumbfounded when the afternoon mail contained many more letters, those in praise of your actions." He took the letter from her numb fingers. "I like this most of all: 'My dear Lydia, thanks to you, questions have been raised now in Commons about the infamous medical treatment of soldiers. Dearest Lydia, every door is open to you in London in those houses that matter. Please do come home.' "

She traced her finger over the signature. " 'Your loving Papa,' " she said softly. She put the letter aside, blew out the light, and got under the covers. She smiled as Sam gathered her close into his usual embrace. "This is the only house where I care about the door, but I do think it's time to paint it, Sam. And I noticed when I walked down to the river ..."

"Burn," he corrected, nuzzling her neck.

"... the burn, that you need to send someone to cut the gra.s.s in the orchard."

"Sheep will do. Lord, but you are managing! Hush so I can go to sleep. I need all my energy to ... to ...."

"Refresh me in the morning?" she teased, reaching behind her and caressing him until his breath came in ragged chunks.

"Face my mother and Aunt Chalmers, more like!" he declared when he could speak. "Give a wounded husband some peace, Lydia! Eventually."

Epilogue.

May 16, 1815.

General Sir Thomas Picton.

Third Division.

Allied Headquarters.

Ostend, Belgium.

Dear General, It is with considerable reluctance that I must decline your offer of a recommission in Battery B. I do not decline lightly, and my reasons are two.

First, I am not the battery commander I was. My wound has healed to the point where I can expect nothing better. Since February, I have been able to mount a horse by myself, so you have some idea how difficult this has been for me. Lydia insists that I am getting better still, but she loves me fiercely, and in her case, that seems to cover a mult.i.tude of malignancies. It pains me to send you my regrets. I would like nothing better than to serve the guns against Napoleon again. Sir Percy Wilkins will do you well. I trained him; I trust him, at least in this matter. Are you still laughing over the letter that Lydia wrote to you last fall? I am.

Second, I could not leave Lydia now, even if my back were in excellent shape. She is due to be confined within the month, and I will not abandon her at this time. She never left me during my medical trials, and I owe her that much, and likely more.

We antic.i.p.ate a son or a daughter, as Lydia would tell you, if she were writing this. I had no idea what a tease she is, and how funny she can be. Of course, your wife would probably say that a cheerful disposition is one's best ally in marriage. Maria is well, and eager to be of help. We love her.

We both wish you well. My G.o.d, those words are paltry! You and the division are in our prayers. We expect good news from you when you return, and the hope that you and your excellent wife will visit us this summer when the war is won for the last time.

I remain, yours truly, Sam Reed.

Major Samuel E. H. Reed, Lord Laren, Late Commander, Battery B, Third Division.

A well-known veteran of the romance writing field, Carla Kelly is the author of thirty-one novels and three non-fiction works, as well as numerous short stories and articles for various publications. She is the recipient of two RITA Awards from Romance Writers of America for Best Regency of the Year; two Spur Awards from Western Writers of America; two Whitney Awards, one for Best Romance Fiction, 2011, and one for Best Historical Fiction, 2012; and a Lifetime Achievement Award from Romantic Times.

Carla's interest in historical fiction is a byproduct of her lifelong study of history. She has a BA in Latin American History from Brigham Young University and an MA in Indian Wars History from University of Louisiana-Monroe. She's held a variety of jobs, including public relations work for major hospitals and hospices, feature writer and columnist for a North Dakota daily newspaper, and ranger in the National Park Service (her favorite job) at Fort Laramie National Historic Site and Fort Union Trading Post National Historic Site. She has worked for the North Dakota Historical Society as a contract researcher. Interest in the Napoleonic Wars at sea led to a recent series of novels about the British Channel Fleet during that conflict.

Of late, Carla has written two novels set in southeast Wyoming in 1910 that focus on her Mormon background and her interest in ranching.

You can find Carla on the Web at: www.carlakellyauthor.com..

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