Snowball scrambled to her feet and protested his leaving, but he did not look back.
“I will probably go,” Lydia said softly.
Eleven
Probablyturned into a definite commitment as the week went by, for the assembly was at the forefront of everyone’s mind and it was hard to resist a communal lifting of the spirits. Each of Lydia’s particular friends—Hannah Corning, Denise Franks, and Mrs. Bailey—asked her about her visit to her father in the days following her return and then wanted to know if she intended to go to the assembly.
Lady Hill, who together with Sir Maynard, her husband— they owned an estate that bordered Hinsford land—had met and liked Lydia’s father when he came for Isaiah’s funeral and had exchanged a few friendly letters with him since then, had been attentive to Lydia ever since she moved into her cottage and sometimes invited her to afternoon tea. Now, though, she invited Lydia to dinner on the evening before the assembly. When Lydia arrived, Lady Hill introduced her to her sister and her niece, Mrs. Ardreigh and Miss Vivian Ardreigh, who had come to stay for a couple of weeks. The only other guest was Theresa Raymore, the magistrate’s daughter and a friend of the two Misses Hill.
Sir Maynard, Lady Hill explained, had gone with Lawrence and Mr. Ardreigh and his son, Vivian’s brother, to dine with Harry Westcott, who had taken pity on them after Lawrence had complained to him that they were to be turned out of the house.
“Which was gross slander, Lydia, if not an open untruth,” Lady Hill protested, “when all I had said in a passing remark was how lovely it would be just occasionally to have a ladies-only dinner and evening, like the ones men so often enjoy at their clubs in London.”
“But you did particularly mention this evening and sighed mournfully, Aunt,” Vivian Ardreigh pointed out with a smile.
“I did.” Lady Hill laughed. “And it worked like a charm. I hope you do not mind there being no gentlemen present, Lydia and Theresa, but sometimes it is very relaxing to enjoy exclusively female company. We can gossip to our hearts’ content and talk about bonnets and fans and beaux all evening without stopping to draw breath if we choose. Who is to accuse us of being frivolous and empty-headed?”
They all laughed. It was something they continued to do through much of the evening. And how lovely it was, Lydia thought as she was taken home in the Hill carriage at well past ten o’clock, to have been included in the gathering. She had enjoyed herself enormously even though the conversation had indeed been trivial—quite deliberately so on all their parts. Lady Hill had made only the briefest of inquiries after the health of Lydia’s family. She had been more interested in knowing whether Lydia intended on going to the assembly.
“For it is always good to know once Easter is behind us that we can look forward to kicking up our heels at a village dance and blow away all the cobwebs of winter,” she said.
“I will be going,” Lydia said, laughing. “But I do not dance, you know.”
“Oh, we will see about that.” Lady Hill tapped her hand sharply. “It was one point on which, if you will forgive me for saying so, I disagreed with the Reverend Tavernor.”
The following morning, Lydia went to call upon Mrs. Hack and Timmy. She had had a few hours to spare in Eastleigh the day she went to visit her father. She had made two purchases to add to the bags she was already taking with her. One of them had been wool for a scarf. She had dithered over four different colors but had finally settled on what she could describe only as a brownish sort of burnt orange—an autumnal hue that was neither dazzlingly bright nor dowdy. Mrs. Bailey had approved when she knew the scarf was to be for a man. She had assumed it was for Lydia’s father, and Lydia had not corrected her. The other purchase had been the book for Timmy she had seen on a previous occasion. The stories in it werenotlabeled moral tales, she had been happy to note, and the pictures were a delight in themselves. It had been expensive and a bit of a strain upon Lydia’s purse when she had the additional expense of hiring a chaise. But she had compensated for the purchase bynotbuying the silk stockings she needed but could do without until next month.
Lydia took the book now with the finished yellow blanket. It was a bright, sunny morning and really quite warm. She was surprised to see as she approached the house, one of a row of identical thatched cottages with freshly whitewashed walls just beyond the village at the edge of Hinsford land, that the bundle of linen outside and to one side of the door, in full sunshine, was in fact a chair with Timmy sitting on it. He was so wrapped up in blankets and shawls that only his face was showing. But that face was beaming with pleasure even before he caught sight of Lydia. His mother was hovering beside him, adjusting his coverings, looking anxious.
“Timmy,” Lydia cried. “Your wish has come true, and here you are in the sunshine.”
Mrs. Hack was not at all sure it was a good thing and told Lydia so. She was terribly afraid Timmy was going to take his death of cold. But the major had called on the physician from Eastleigh again, and the physician had come and declared that fresh air and sunshine would do Timmy a world of good. He had prescribed half an hour a day whenever it was not raining, and one hour after the first week, two hours after the second. And the major was going to come and take Timmy for drives in the gig and for rides on his horse after a month or so and—
“And I am to go toschool, Mrs. Tavernor,” Timmy cried from within his cocoon of blankets, “as soon as I am able to be up and about. I am to learn all about the world from Mr. Corning’s big globe that spins and how to do long multiplication. And I am to play with the other boys at playtime. And—”
“And if you get yourself overexcited, my boy,” his mother warned, “it will be back into your bed with you, and your pa will not be pleased with any of us.”
Timmy loved his yellow blanket and laughed with glee when he saw that his name had been embroidered across the top of it. It had to be added to the pile that covered him. His eyes lit up and his jaw dropped when he saw the book and learned that it was all his, to keep and read as often as he chose.
“I havethreebooks now,” he said in awe. “Three, Ma. And this one haspictures.”
“You are the luckiest boy alive,” his mother said. “But what is the first question your pa will ask when you tell him?”
“Did I thank Mrs. Tavernor,” Timmy said sheepishly before proceeding to do just that.
Lydia walked back home a short while later with a light heart. It was so lovely to see the child animated and happy and bathed in sunshine, shawls and blankets notwithstanding. It was even lovelier to know that after listening to her story, Harry had intervened on Timmy’s behalf, not by ordering the parents to take the child outside but by summoning the physician again—no doubt at considerable expense to himself—to give his professional opinion.
She had not seen Harry since the morning after her return home. She would see him tonight. He had said he was going to the assembly. He had always attended them—after he had recovered his health, anyway. For the first two years she had spent here she had scarcely seen him except at church on Sundays. It was only after seeing him at one of the dances that she had begun to dream about him. He had been even leaner in those days—thinmight have been a better word then. But he had been vital and smiling and obviously enjoying himself. He had talked with everyone— even her and Isaiah on occasion, though of course he had never really seen her except to nod politely and smile. He had danced with all the women, regardless of age or social class or appearance. He had been …
Oh, he had beengolden.
Lydia sighed as she opened her door and Snowball came bounding outside and greeted her with woofs and tail waves and hand licks before dashing off on more important business.
She would see him again tonight.
Lydia was wearing her pink dress.
It was of very simple design—high-waisted, short-sleeved, low-necked, though notverylow. Well, really not low at all. It was just not tight to the neck. And though the skirt fell in soft, narrow folds from beneath her bosom, it was quite unadorned. There was no sash and no embroidery or scalloping at the hem. But it fit her, she felt, perfectly and made her look slimmer than she usually did, unless that was merely wishful thinking on her part. The color seemed more vivid now that she was wearing the dress. It was, she thought, quite the most gorgeous garment she had ever possessed. It was so gorgeous, in fact, that she almost took fright and peeled it off to replace it with something gray or lavender, something inconspicuous and more suitable for the wife of a vicar. She had to remind herself quite firmly that she wasnotthe vicar’s wife. Not any longer. That was Mrs. Bailey. She, Lydia Tavernor, was the widow of the former vicar. She was answerable to no one but herself.
