With This Ring (41 page)

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 prone 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, principally.”

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 grass 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.”

May 16, 1815

General Sir Thomas
Picton

Third Division

Allied Headquarters

Ostend, Belgium

Dear General,

I
t 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 multitude 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 anticipate 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 God, 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.