With This Ring (40 page)

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 grass 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 grass 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 apron over
her head. “Do tell me what is wrong!” she asked as she tugged at
the apron. “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 apron.
“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 hassock. “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.

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 assured 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.”