“But youconstantlyefface yourself,” he persisted. “Your husband shone wherever he went. He had an unusually charismatic … what is the word?Presence?It must have been difficult as his wifenotto seem to be his mere shadow. Perhaps you did not do it deliberately then. But since then? You have remained a shadow. I mightneverhave noticed you if you had not asked that question about loneliness. Why do you do it? Why do you hide? In plain sight, paradoxically. Why do you not want people to see you and know you?”
She did not answer for a while as she transferred her gaze from his face to the hands in her lap. It shook her a bit that he had realized all that about her. Well. He had been honest with her this morning about something that must have been painful and a bit shameful to admit. And theywerefriends. That was what she was going to miss more than anything.
“I fell very deeply in love with Isaiah,” she told him. “I had been starting to fear that I would be a spinster all my life, for I was not going to have a come-out Season, and there was no one in our neighborhood. I did not like any of the suitors who were brought to the house on thinly veiled pretexts. And then Isaiah came. I had never met anyone so breathtakingly handsome, so firm of character, so full of purpose and energy. He talked of his beliefs and what he felt was his mission in life as though they really mattered. As of course they did. The church was not just a career to him. It was … oh, it was all in all. He was utterly sincere, whollygenuine.”
“I believe everyone who met him felt that about him,” Harry said.
“When I understood that he was singling me out for particular attention,” she continued, “I could not believe my good fortune. When he asked me to marry him, I thought I had reached the pinnacle of happiness. All I wanted of my life was to please him, to help him with his work, to be a part of what he envisioned, and to make him comfortable and happy at the same time. In such ways I would make myself happy too. I did not doubt that for a moment. I had found all I had ever dreamed of.”
She stopped there in order to draw a deep breath and release it slowly. She might not have continued if he had not sat silently waiting. The fire in the hearth crackled and shifted and sent sparks shooting up the chimney. Snowball, briefly disturbed, got to her feet, turned twice on the hearth rug, and settled for sleep again.
“He had very decided ideas about the role of a vicar’s wife,” Lydia said after a while. “As he did about everything. I was not to waste my time and energies on domestic duties. That was why there were servants—Mrs. Elsinore in particular. I had a more special role to play in his mission. I was his helpmeet. I must always be in the front pew at church services and by his side at church and community functions. I must serve on every women’s church committee and be his voice there. When we were in company together, I must defer to his superior knowledge and judgment so his authority in the parish was never undermined. I must not speak unless I was addressed directly, and even then I must allow him to answer for me if the topic was a weighty one or a question of faith. One of my main duties was to visit the elderly and the sick and new mothers and their children. I was to take food with me, but only the baskets Mrs. Elsinore provided. I was to serve anyone who came to the vicarage door in need of help. It was not my task—or his—to question the depth of the need. I pleased him and so pleased myself. Iwantedto please him. Ilovedhim.”
It was almost the truth. If there had been no more to their story it might have been the whole of it. She might so easily have been happy. And correspondingly heartbroken after his death. Heartbroken for herself too, that was, and not just for him. She reallyhadmourned him.
She turned her head and raised her eyes to Harry’s when he did not immediately break the silence.
“And after you were widowed?” he asked her. “Why did you choose to remain hidden, Lydia?”
“I was in mourning,” she told him.
“Are you still?” he asked.
“No.” She spread her fingers on her lap, pleating the skirt of her dress between them. “After he died, I chose to remain here in Fairfield rather than go home with my father and brother. I wanted to be free and independent, but I did not know quite how it was to be done. I had no experience. I did not want any sort of interference, however well-meaning. I wanted to find my own way.”
“I understand,” he said.
But how could he? How could hepossibly?
“You cannot know what it is like to be a woman,” she said, looking up at him again. “Always under the control of men, no matter how benevolent their rule. No matter how much appreciation and even love those men offer in exchange for the total hold they have over every facet of your life and even your mind.”
He gazed back into her eyes, a slight frown between his own.
“I know women have few if any rights according to law and the church,” he said. “It certainly is not fair and must be rectified in time. But life is not always lived strictly according to law. Custom can be just as strong a guide. Most of the women in my life, it seems to me, are strong, assertive persons, who hold their own against the men in their lives, usually resulting in a harmonious balance. Though I do have one cousin, it is true—Elizabeth—who was forced to flee her first, abusive marriage and stayed free of it only because Alexander, her brother, refused to give her up but confronted her husband instead and I believe knocked him flat and did some damage in the process. The law ought to have been on her side but was not. Brute force had to take its place to protect her.”
“No man has ever used physical violence on me,” she said. Though there were other kinds of violence.
“Alexander’s wife, Wren, the Countess of Riverdale, was the owner of a prosperous glassmaking factory when she met him,” he told her. “She was actively involved in the business and still is. I do not think Alex has ever tried to stop her or become involved himself. They are, I am certain, very happy. I can understand your craving for those twin dreams you speak of—freedom and independence. I can understand too your instinct to hide lest someone find you and spoil everything for you and put you back under the dominance of a man who will know better how to care for you than you know yourself. But life for women is not always as confining as it has been in your experience.”
How envious she was of Wren, Countess of Riverdale.
“I have never known women, Harry,” she said. “At least, not until very recently. I have a few friends here now and value them greatly. I enjoy their company. Until this past year all my living was done from within the world of men. Fortunately for me, none of them were violent men. I stay hidden now because I feel as though I am holding my breath and clinging on to my newfound freedom while I wait for someone to snatch it away. And while I try to discover if I really do have wings and can spread them and fly.”
“You have wings, Lydia,” he said. “And you will fly if you truly want to.”
She felt tears spring to her eyes before she could look away. All the men in her life so far had been strong and assertive. Even now her father and brothers wanted to come and take her home with them so they could look after her. Harry had been a soldier, a military officer, and she did not doubt that he too was strong and firm of character and had been ruthless in the performance of his duty. But it waskindnessthat most characterized him now. It was kindness that made him smile almost constantly, that made him amiable to everyone, old and young alike, of the lower class and his own upper class alike, men and women alike. She had thought of his smile very recently as a kind of mask, and in a way it was, because she did not doubt there was the weight of darkness inside him. Not the darkness of evil, but that of suffering. It was kindness upon which he had chosen to base his daily life, however, and the willingness to listen and empathize and comfort. It had bothered him to know that he had dismissed her as a mere shadow until very recently.
It would be awfully easy, and a terrible mistake, to fall in love with Major Harry Westcott.
She swiped away her tears with two fingers.
“I have made you sad,” he said. “Our conversation has turned somber, and the fault is entirely mine. Instead of asking why you have always chosen to hide, I ought to have told you how glad I am that you have gifted me with a glimpse of the real Lydia, even down to the absence of a cap this evening. Whenever I meet you from now on I will know you are someone whose friendship I would welcome.”
“You are very kind,” she said.
He got to his feet suddenly. “It is time I leave,” he said. “I will take care not to be seen, Lydia, and you will have your quiet independence back, with not the slightest stain upon your reputation. Nor will I upon mine, for that matter. I wish wecouldbe closer friends, though perhaps we can at least settle for being friendlier acquaintances in the future than we have been in the past?” He smiled down at her.
“Yes,” she said. “Perhaps we can.”
