“In private?” he said.
“But of course.” She got to her feet.
He might as well have stood in the middle of the drawing room blowing a bugle, he thought ruefully as he opened the drawing room door to allow her to precede him out. A sort of hush had fallen upon the occupants, who had all been chattering merrily in their own groups a moment ago.
So much for quiet discretion.
Fifteen
Lydia was preparing to go out late the following morning. She was going to walk into the village to buy a few items she did not really need. She was not going to hide away at home, she had decided overnight. Nor was she going to hang her head and hurry along the street and hope no one noticed her. She had certainly had plenty of time to make her decision, for she had scarcely slept. If people had anything to say, they could say ittoher rather than justabouther. That would be a nice change for them. If people wished to shun her or give her the cut direct, then she would give them the opportunity to do it today. In the meanwhile she was going to carry on with her life as usual.
She had started the day by throwing wide every curtain in the house. And when she let Snowball outside, she went too and even played the stick game for ten minutes, though admittedly she did so in the back garden rather than the front.
She really had no idea just how bad it was going to be. Denise had been a bit vague about it when she called earlier. She had fully supported Lydia’s decision to go out and face the whole thing down, however, and had even offered her company. Lydia had said no. This was something she must do alone. There was going to be no more hiding behind or clinging to anyone, not even another woman. What she had begun doing on the evening of the assembly, despite the rather disastrous results, she was going to continue doing.
She wouldnotretreat back into her shell.
Perhaps the village would be talking today about the new arrivals at Hinsford Manor. Lydia had not counted the number of carriages yesterday, but it had been considerable. Where had all the people been put? And all the horses and carriages? Had anyone been expecting them? Had Harry? Lydia’s guess was that the whole of the Westcott family had come to stay, and they were an illustrious lot, to say the least. Surely it was not too much to hope that the pathetic gossip that had erupted yesterday into near scandal over the silly fact that Major Westcott had kissed her in her doorway would be superseded today by all the excitement of knowing that a good chunk of the English aristocracy was virtually on their doorstep?
There was a knock upon her front door just as she was getting up her courage to don her pelisse and bonnet. It would be Hannah this time or Mrs. Bailey, she supposed. But when she opened the door, she discovered that it was neither.
“Oh,” she said while Snowball went into an ecstasy of yipping and bouncing and tail waving. Harry Westcott was removing his hat, his expression surely as grim as it must have been when he was facing a regiment of enemy soldiers charging into battle. He was not alone. There was an older lady of aristocratic bearing and elegant appearance with him. Her eyes, steady and grave, were leveled upon Lydia.
“Lydia,” Harry said, “may I have the honor of presenting my mother, the Marchioness of Dorchester?”
“It is too late to ask permission, Harry,” his mother said. “The deed has already been done. How do you do, Mrs. Tavernor? May we step inside? Or are we interrupting something?”
“I was about to go out,” Lydia said none too graciously. “But it can wait.”
She stood reluctantly to one side while the Marchioness of Dorchester stepped into her cottage, filling it, dwarfing it with her aristocratic presence and the faint smell of some expensive perfume. Lydia would have scooped up Snowball and held her out of the way, but Harry had already done it himself. The dog was trying to lick his face and was wriggling with what looked very like sheer joy.
Lydia had not felt kindly disposed toward Major Harry Westcott during the night, imagining as she had that he was reveling in the company of his family, untouched by scandal, contemptuous of gossip, and sparing not a single thought for what she might be enduring. She had known that she was being unfair, but sometimes it was hard to ward off self-pity and an accompanying irritability. Sometimes it was hard to admit that one was almost entirely and solely to blame for the ills that came into one’s life. For he would not have kissed her forehead the night before last if she had not asked him some time ago if he was ever lonely. He would not have chopped her wood or any of the rest of it. By his own admission he had hardly known she existed.
The marchioness had moved right into the living room, but only, apparently, to make more room in the porch. She turned to look steadily at Lydia again.
“I believe I had an acquaintance with your mother,” she said. “She wasJuliaWinterbourne? Your father is Mr.JasonWinterbourne?”
“Yes.” Lydia raised her eyebrows. “You knew her well, ma’am?”
“Not very, I am afraid,” the marchioness admitted. “But I do recall that she was quite pretty and seemed amiable and sweet-tempered. However, I believe she is about to become a very dear friend from my younger years. And I am about to be transported with delight at the discovery that her daughter is living in the very village where I spent so many years with my children during their growing years.”
Lydia stared mutely at her. She was very aware of Harry standing silently just behind her. At the edge of her vision she could see his arm moving as he petted Snowball. “But I do not suppose,” she said, “you can be feeling any great delight at the way my name has been coupled with your son’s in local gossip since yesterday.”
“Lydia—”
But his mother cut Harry off with a look and a lifting of her eyebrows. “It is being said, apparently, that you exchanged a good-night kiss with him on your doorstep a couple of evenings ago when you had every reason to believe yourself to be unobserved,” she said. “Is that what happened, Mrs. Tavernor? Harry says not quite. He says he kissed your forehead, but you did not return the kiss in any way. I believe him, unless he is being chivalrous and is lying to shield your good name. But even if you contradict him and say it was a mutually shared, even passionate, embrace, it would seem hardly deserving of being spoken of as though there were something sordid about it. I do not remember Mrs. Piper, though I do recall her husband’s family. Vaguely, however. They never worked on the Hinsford estate. I understand she feels a particular obligation to honor the memory of your late husband, who died saving her son’s life. That is understandable, but it is no excuse for spreading unsubstantiated and doubtless exaggerated rumors in a deliberate attempt to cause embarrassment, even trouble, for his widow. According to Harry, her son appears to have been spying on you for some time.”
“I will not apologize for what happens in my own home,” Lydia said. “Or try to explain or justify. But to you, ma’am, since you are his mother and have been civil to me, I will say that I am not ashamed of anything that has happened between Major Westcott and me. And until the evening of the assembly there had not been any contact at all between us for a couple of weeks. I was away visiting my father and brothers and sister-in-law. Your son and I are not close friends. We are friendly acquaintances.”
She heard Harry inhale sharply behind her as though he was about to say something, but his mother looked at him again and he held his peace.
“I believe you, Mrs. Tavernor,” she said. “This is a particularly lovely morning after a bit of a dull start. There is not a cloud in the sky, and there is scarcely a breath of wind. Your front garden is a glory of spring color. Is your back garden just as pretty?”
“Not quite,” Lydia said, frowning at the sudden change of subject. “The woodpile is back there, and there is a shed. They take up almost half the garden.”
“I will take a look out there anyway, if I may,” the marchioness said. “Perhaps your little dog would like to accompany me. I will find a back door in your kitchen, I presume?”
“Yes,” Lydia said, taking a step toward the kitchen. “I will show you—”
