What was it about Harry?
She was not in love with him, was she? Well, she supposed she was and had been for a long time, but in her dreams, not in reality. There was or ought to be a vast difference between the two—and it was entirely her own fault that there was not. She did not want to be in love with any man in this real world. She had made the deliberate choice to be alone and independent. And heart-whole.
She just wished someone would tell her heart that. It was not good when head and heart were divorced from each other and not on speaking terms. Of course, she had not done herself any favors by taking him as a lover one memorable night—and she tried very hardnotto remember. An impossibility when he was within her sight, of course. Or when he was not, for that matter.
Snowball, on a long lead, was trotting happily at her side.
Mrs. Cunningham was telling her about the grand adventure of transporting herself and her husband with nine children, two dogs, and two nurses, plus her grandmother and her grandmother’s personal maid—“not to mention all our baggage, Mrs. Tavernor”—from Bath to Hinsford while also preserving her sanity. Lydia surprised herself by becoming helpless with laughter more than once. Harry, meanwhile, was walking ahead of them with his younger sister. They were conversing quietly together, but both looked back more than once to smile at something their sister said.
No, there was absolutely no point in denying to herself that she was in love with him, Lydia thought when her eyes met his on one such occasion. He was smiling while she was laughing, and it seemed to her it was a shared moment of pure joy. Her stomach was even dancing, though not necessarily with joy.
However, one did not need to act upon one’s feelings. One’s actions ought rather to be based upon sober reason and common sense. With a little willpower, one could establish control over one’s feelings and do what one knew one ought to do and what one reallywishedto do.
It all sounded so … reasonable.
So why was she here?
The trees were becoming less dense. There was more sky visible and more sunshine. There was more grass. There were flower beds. And the house.
It was not a vast mansion. But it was grand and attractive and well situated near the top of a very slight slope of land, with a wide lawn before it and trees surrounding it, but at a sufficient distance not to crowd or darken it, only to give an impression of rural seclusion.
It looked like a happy place in which to live, Lydia thought without stopping to ask herself what exactly she meant by that. Perhaps because it washishome. Or because a number of the people staying here were outdoors and there were shouts and shrieks and laughter coming from one group out on the lawn playing cricket, and chanting from a circle of very little children and their two adult supervisors at the top of the lawn. A group of riders was gathered over in front of the stables on the far side of the house. It looked as though they were about to go riding together. Three elderly ladies sat on the terrace, watching all the activity.
She should have expected this, Lydia thought with an inward grimace. It was, after all, the sort of day that was made for outdoor activities. But surely Harry’s intention was not to take her right into the midst of the throng and perhaps even introduce her to those ladies. He had asked her to walk in the park with him.
Even as she thought she might have been trapped into something quite different, however, Harry stopped and turned toward her.
“I do not suppose you are a star bowler or batter, by any chance, Lydia?” he asked.
“I am not,” she said. Though her brothers had learned when she was still quite young not to lob easy balls at her just because she was a girl. She had punished a number of those balls with her cricket bat before they had taken her more seriously.
“It is just as well,” he said. “The two team captains, whoever they are, would probably come to blows over you. Shall we stroll around behind the house? The kitchen gardens are back there and, beyond them, more trees and what as children we used to call the jungle walk. It was not designed or constructed by any landscape artist, alas, but the path is kept clear and it is quite pretty and not much frequented.”
“I would like that,” Lydia said.
“Watch out for snakes,” Mrs. Bennington said, and all three of the siblings laughed. “Harry used to yell that as he was jumping out at us from behind a tree with a length of creeper dangling from one hand. After the first time or two we would just roll our eyes and walk on.”
“You used to poke out your tongue and cross your eyes too, Abby,” Mrs. Cunningham said. “I was more genteel. I merely stuck my nose in the air and made derogatory remarks aboutboys.”
All three laughed again and Lydia smiled too. She had forgotten the days of tormenting brothers. After the disappointment over her come-out Season that never was and the terrible mistake of her marriage, she had allowed memories of her childhood and girlhood to turn sour.
Snowball began to bark suddenly and ferociously and pull on the lead as a great monster of a … creature came galloping toward them in pursuit of three shrieking little girls. Lydia stooped down and snatched up her dog. But who was going to snatch upher? And the others? She experienced a few moments of blind panic and horror before realizing that the creature was a large dog and that the little girls were not fleeing from him but rather being accompanied by him. They were shrieking with excitement at seeing Lydia’s group. They all, the dog included, came to an abrupt halt when they were a few feet away.
“Mama,”one of the little girls yelled, addressing Mrs. Bennington as though she were still half a mile away, “Rebecca has pulled out her tooth and Emma has cut one.Both on the same day.Can you believe it?”
“I was supposed to tell,” one of the others complained loudly. “Because Emma ismy sister.”
“Papa has my tooth,” the third child cried. “He said he is going to have it set in gold and wear it on a chain about his neck for the rest of his life, but I think he was funning me. It would be …disgustingto wear my tooth, would it not, Uncle Harry?”
Snowball was yipping and wriggling, eager to get at the monster. The monster, meanwhile, was sitting on his giant haunches, looking ungainly and slightly lopsided. He— she? it?—was panting loudly and woofing a friendly greeting to its would-be assailant.
“Let me see that gap, Rebecca,” Harry said, and took the child’s chin in his hand as she opened her mouth wide and pointed. “Hmm. No sign of a new tooth yet.”
“HasEmma’s tooth come through at last?” Mrs. Cunningham asked. “I have never known a more stubborn tooth. Or a crosser baby. Susan’s pushed through last week.”
“I believe,” Mrs. Bennington said, “you girls left your manners back at the house. Make your curtsies to Mrs. Tavernor, if you please. This, Mrs. Tavernor, is my daughter, Katy.” She indicated the child who had told the initial story. “This is Alice Cunningham, Emma’s sister. And Susan’s. They are twins. And the girl with the newly lost tooth is Rebecca Archer.”
“LadyRebecca Archer,” Alice Cunningham said—and giggled. “Her papa is aduke.The Duke of Netherby.”
