Good God and good God, and were there no other words?
Good God!
He had not been mistaken. She had been avirgin.
He kissed the top of her head and turned his own to rest his cheek against her hair.
“Lydia,” he murmured. “You are free now. You are free, my love.”
Suddenly he could understand her absolute determination to remain that way, never again to surrender her freedom to a man, even one who professed to love her. Even to one she loved.Especiallyto one she loved.
She had thought it possible to take a lover and enjoy simple, uncomplicated pleasure with him.It was totally naïve of me, she had said.
Ah, Lydia.
He buried his face in her hair and had to swallow several times to prevent himself from weeping with her. She fell quiet after a while but made no immediate attempt to move away from him.
“I wanted a child more than anything else in the world,” she said at last into his shoulder.
He rocked her in his arms.
“Or thought I did,” she said. “But I have discovered that I want freedom more.”
Pointless to tell her she could have both. With him. In order to discover that with him she could be as free as she was now—more so, as she would not be hemmed in by the rigid code of behavior imposed by society upon a widow who lived alone in an English village—she would need to take a colossal leap of trust.
In him.
But why should she trust him? He was a man.
“I am so sorry.” She drew back from him at last and fumbled in a pocket for a handkerchief. She dried her eyes, blew her nose, and put the handkerchief away before looking up at him. “I must look a fright.”
“Well, let me see.” He tipped his head to one side and regarded her critically. “Red eyes. Red cheeks. Shiny red nose. Flattened hair. Yes, you do.”
She smiled, and then laughed. “At least you are honest,” she said.
“Always,” he told her. “With you, always, Lydia. Your hair is flattenedanduntidy. You look beautiful.”
“Notalways honest,” she protested, laughing again.
“Yes,” he told her. “Always. I am sorry I pried. But I am not sorry I know.”I am glad he is dead.He stopped himself from saying it aloud, but he thought it quite explicitly and without guilt. “There will be love for you. The sort of love you were denied when you were younger. There will be love, Lydia. And trust. And freedom. And surely children. But not yet. Not until you are ready.”
He handed her her bonnet. He watched while she drew it on and tied the ribbons beneath her chin. The dog seemed to have fallen asleep in a slant of sunlight.
“You are a kind man, Harry,” she said, looking at him again. “Have you always been?”
“Ask my sisters,” he said. “The answer is no anyway. I was a very selfish young man. While my mother and my sisters donned black and dutifully curtailed all their social activities after my father died, unworthy as he was of even a day of mourning, I donned a token black armband and proceeded to sow some very wild oats. Every ne’er-do-well and sycophant in London was my best friend. I was the Earl of Riverdale and a very wealthy man. I often wonder how I would have turned out if the truth of my birth had not been discovered and I had not been suddenly stripped of everything. I believe I might have become a worthy successor to my father. Sometimes what seem to be the worst things that happen in our lives turn out actually to be the best.”
“I think character runs deeper than circumstances, Harry,” she said. “I think you must always have been a decent, caring man—and boy. I think kindness is something that is an inherent part of you. You were very young when it happened.”
“Twenty,” he said. “Is that an excuse?”
“Yes,” she said. “It is. Forgive yourself.”
“Your face is back to normal,” he told her. “It is still beautiful, though, so you need not worry.”
She laughed again. “You are also very absurd,” she said.
“I like to see you laugh,” he told her, and shrugged. “This is probably a stupid question. But would you like to come and meet my grandmothers? They may still be outside. If not, they will probably be in the drawing room, since neither likes to admit to the need of an afternoon sleep. Not during family gatherings anyway. And not when they have each other to compete against. They know what has happened to you. They know I offered for you and you refused. They did not turn their heads to stare at you when we passed earlier, but I am sure they were very well aware of you.”
