With This Ring (39 page)

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 lustful
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 damned 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 buttoned 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 anticipated. “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 apron 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.