With This Ring (38 page)

She could think of nothing to say
beyond the truth, but even then, it was only the smallest part of
what she wanted to say. “I don’t know that I can deceive so many
people.”

“
Of course you can. You fooled a
whole village, and with very little help from me.” He laughed, then
sucked in his breath when she pressed harder on his back. “My God,
Lydia, must you?” he gasped.

“
Mr. Wilburn said heat and
pressure,” she reminded him, even though it smote her soul to cause
him pain.

He was silent then. He narrowed his
eyes, and she knew how he hurt. I know every clue, she thought,
from the way you narrow your eyes to the way you make a fist. I
wish you were so perceptive about me. You have been, she amended,
remembering the chess pieces residing still in the trunk. Now we
are close to your home, and your interest is elsewhere.

The moment passed and with a sigh,
he relaxed again. She let up on the pressure. He took several deep
breaths, then glanced at Maria, who slept on a pallet on the floor.
“Sit a minute, Lydia, and I’ll tell you about my mother and aunt;
things you should know about the neighborhood, too.”

She draped Sam’s back with another
towel from the basket of towels the concerned innkeeper had warmed
for her, and sat close to him. “Can’t we just tell the
truth?”

He shook his head wearily. “Lydia! I
told you my aunt will cut off all the money, and probably demand
back what she has put into the estate, if she finds out I have been
telling such a tale for two years! Making fools of them, I suppose.
I wonder why we didn’t think of that at the time. I wish you
could ….” He stopped, his lips in a tight, thin
line.

You wish I could get it through my
thick head? she asked herself, finishing the sentence for him. Just
play along as we agreed? Remember your share of the bargain. “I’m
sorry,” she murmured.

“
I wish you could trust me,” he
finished. “That’s all.”

She touched his back, wanting to
kiss his head, and then his ears, and other places she had
overlooked last night when they had wanted each other so much that
it was hard to wait for Maria to get to sleep. Instead, she rested
her cheek against his for the briefest moment. “Sam, I hardly trust
myself,” she whispered, amazed at her own daring.

To her relief, he smiled at her. “I
know,” he said, his voice just as soft. “You’ll change.”

Will I? she wondered as they started
out in early afternoon. Will I even recognize myself, especially if
I am someone named Della with a baby and a husband, and years of
experience in the Peninsula, and whatever fiction Percy created
through the years and mailed monthly to two unsuspecting ladies?
Lord, this is a strange brew. All Sam wants now is someone
different than who I am. Who is to say that either of us will
recognize me when I get there?

The rain stopped as the afternoon
yielded to nightfall. Sam had been quiet all afternoon, with that
inward look of pain that she dreaded, and the silence of someone
hoarding his own thoughts, even as she did. They stopped at a
crossroads; the coachman leaned down to ask directions, then
started the horses in motion again.

Sam took her hand then, but he was
squinting out the window at the gathering darkness, looking ahead
even as he pressed hard against the floorboards with his
feet.

“
We’ll be there soon enough, Sam,”
she said. “You can’t make the coach go faster.”

He looked down at his feet and
smiled. “Lydia, I have been waiting for this moment for years.
Maybe it won’t be much of an estate to you—I don’t know what you
came from in Devon—but it is my special place. I can’t explain
it.”

She nodded, even though she did not
understand; there was nothing in Devon that she missed, except one
or two of the servants who were kind.

“
Ah ….”

She pulled her attention back to her
husband, who was squeezing her hand now. Maria squirmed in his lap,
and he set her to one side, his whole energy concentrating on the
view outside the travel-muddied window. The exhaustion in his eyes
seemed to lift like a window shade as he gazed on what she knew
must be his own land, in its own way more bone of his bone than she
could ever hope to be, even if he loved her.

She saw a deep valley, like so many
they had bowled through in this rugged part of England, a valley
cut and measured millennia ago by glaciers and harsh climate. The
trees of summer were leafy, but the trunks and branches were bent
and braced against the wind. A small river tumbled through the
valley, the rush of water so precipitate that she could hear the
sound through the glass. Sheep grazed on a distant hillside, and
there were cattle in another field. The grain in another quarter
was a particular green that she did not know from Devon; perhaps it
was oats.

The house came into view as the post
chaise rounded a bend, and Sam Reed sighed again. She looked with
interest at the building, noting the weathered stone and the
cheerful white trim around the windows. It was no more than two
stories tall—the dower house was larger on her father’s estate—but
looked firmly rooted, enduring, and able to withstand centuries of
weather and border politics. She glanced at her husband. Rather
like you, my dear, she thought.

As they neared the house, his grip
slackened, as though he forgot she was there. They were only at the
head of the lane when the front door opened and people hurried down
the broad steps, the servants to line the walkway, and the others
to come quickly up the lane. She saw two older ladies, but younger
people, too. Lydia looked at her husband, a question in her eyes.
“Are they all your relatives?”

“
What day is it?” he demanded, not
taking his eyes off the house or its inmates as the coachman began
to slow the horses. “Why, it is Wednesday,” she said.
“Who ….”

“
Of course it is Wednesday,” he
echoed. “And how many years have the Averys been coming for dinner
and cards? Quite possibly some things never change. Oh, Lydia, I am
home.”

She wanted to help him from the
carriage, but there was no need. As soon as his foot touched the
ground, he was surrounded. “Oh, do not jostle him,” she whispered
as she held Maria. Shyness overwhelmed her, but she pushed aside
her own qualms in the face of the larger danger to her husband. She
gathered Maria close and hurried from the carriage to try to
protect his vulnerable back. “Oh, please, he was wounded,” she said
finally, raising her voice for the first time since that dreadful
banquet. “Do stand back a bit.”

The crowd around him parted. “My
ablest champion,” her husband said as his relatives backed away
slightly. “May I introduce Lyd—my little Della? And of course
Celia. Della, this is my mother, Lady Laren, and my Aunt
Chalmers.”

She would have recognized Lady Laren
anywhere, with the same brown eyes as her son and the freckles so
charming on a lady of gathering years. “Oh, my dear,” she said as
she smiled at Lydia. “You are so welcome. And this is my
granddaughter?” She looked at Maria, appraising her, and then at
Lydia. “Sam, you’ve certainly outdone yourself this time. Without
question.”

That is an odd thing to say, she
thought, but then she was gathered into the woman’s embrace. And
then there was Aunt Chalmers, she of the fortune in question, who
wanted a share of her. Funny, but she does not look like a woman
with a foot in the grave, even if Sam did assure me, she thought.
And here is ….

Still in the grip of her
mother-in-law, Lydia stared over the woman’s shoulder. There was
Sam, his arm around a young lady even more beautiful than Kitty,
ten times more beautiful than Kitty. Lydia didn’t mean to stare
with her mouth open. It was rude of her beyond belief, but from the
placid look of the young woman in Sam’s grip, obviously an
expression she was used to.

“
Della, you’ll catch flies!” her
husband was saying. “Look who I have here? Anna Avery! Anna, when
did you turn into such a beauty?”

Lydia groaned inside. Anna turned
impossible crystal blue eyes on the major. “Silly! It was during
all those years I waited for you!”

T
here was
no difficulty in pleading a headache, and an early retreat
upstairs. Her head did pound in earnest. Thank goodness Maria was
tired, and she could sit in the quiet of the nursery holding her
little one until she slept, knowing that nothing short of the
guillotine would stop the throbbing in her temples.

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 carcass, 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 assuage 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 space 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.”