“I should have taken more notice of all the rustlings among the trees earlier and of Snowball’s reaction to them,” he said. “I assumed I was hearing rabbits or squirrels. I am sorry, Lydia.”
“I do not believe he will spy on me again,” she said. “You looked and sounded awfully ferocious.”
And could she please, please,pleasewake up now, Lydia thought, and find that the whole of today—and the last three days too for good measure—were one hideous, bizarre dream?
“For a few moments,” a new voice said, “I thought I was back with the regiment, Harry. I was in fear and trembling and about to snap to attention when I recalled that I was actually your superior officer. How do you do, Mrs. Tavernor? You handled that lad very well. My congratulations, ma’am.”
Mr. Bennington was striding toward them from the summerhouse, looking more formidable than he had at church yesterday. He was frowning, and his facial scar was very noticeable. He was also quite tall and well built. She noticed again that his hair was almost black.
“If I had remembered I had an audience of more than Lydia,” Harry said, looking over his shoulder toward the summerhouse and then spotting the riders, who were coming nearer, “I would have taken the boy over my knee and given him a good walloping. The humiliation would perhaps have done him some good.”
“I remember Piper senior—probably this lad’s father— as one of the crowd of regulars in the taproom at the inn when I lived here with you for a while, Harry,” Mr. Bennington said. “I believe it may be time I renewed my acquaintance with him. You must come with me.”
One of the riders spoke up, a dark-haired lady in a smart riding habit. “Since Harry has steadfastly refused to allow me to transfer ownership of Hinsford to him, Gil,” she said, addressing Mr. Bennington, “I would feel quite justified in asserting my right of ownership. A slur has been cast upon my brother’s good name and therefore, by association, upon mine. I shall go with you to make that call—though I would hope to speak to Mrs. Piper rather than her husband. I shall take Avery with us.”
“Shallyou, my love?” one of the other riders said—the slight, blond, very aristocratic man Lydia had noticed at church yesterday. He must be the Duke of Netherby. The woman must be Anna, Harry’s half sister. “And shall I allow you to do all the talking?”
“Oh, Avery,” the lady from the summerhouse whom Harry had identified as the Countess of Lyndale said. “You know your silence speaks volumes. You must let Anna talk while you look at Mrs. Piper through your quizzing glass. I just wish I could be there to see it.”
“Quite so,” he said. “Harry, you may wish to present the lady. Mrs. Tavernor, I presume?”
There followed a flurry of introductions while Lydia tried to memorize faces and names.
“If you please,” she said, looking from Mr. Bennington to the duke and duchess, “I would rather you did not call upon the Pipers. What has happened is a matter that concerns Major Westcott very little if at all.Iam the one who stands accused of being a woman of loose morals. I would prefer to handle the matter in my own way.”
“Lydia values her independence,” Harry explained.
“How admirable of you, Mrs. Tavernor,” the Countess of Riverdale said.
She was the one, Lydia remembered, who ran a business of her own. She had purple marks—a birthmark?—all down one side of an otherwise beautiful face.
The duchess was smiling at Lydia. “It would have been suchfun,” she said. “But I agree with Wren. You are greatly to be admired, Mrs. Tavernor.”
The summerhouse group was already retreating back inside, and the riders continued without further delay in the direction of the stables.
“Nicely done, Harry,” His Grace said as he passed them. “And superbly done, Mrs. Tavernor.”
“I think, Lydia,” Harry said ruefully when they had all moved out of earshot, “you must be on the verge of collapse. Do you find yourself wondering, as I do, what on earth happened to your life of quiet, rather dull but perfectly happy routine? If the last few days have proved anything about life, it is that the only certainty upon which we can rely is its uncertainty.”
Lydia bit down hard upon her upper lip. But she could not stop it, much as she tried because it seemed so inappropriate. Laughter bubbled up inside her and then spilled out. She spread her hands over her face and laughed until her sides hurt. When she looked up finally, it was to see Harry with his head tipped to one side, regarding her closely, his eyes smiling though he was not laughing.
“You are quite right,” he said. “Sometimes the only answer to its uncertainty is laughter. I donotsuppose you still want to meet my grandmothers, do you?”
“Oh,” she said, and she could feel another gust of possibly hysterical laughter coming on. “Whyever not?”
“Lydia,” he said, “I like you so much.”
And this time he laughed with her.
Twenty
By the time they came around the side of the house onto the terrace, the infants who had been playing circle games with Elizabeth and her mother had gone back indoors, probably for afternoon naps, and the cricket game had just finished. The teams were gathering up wickets and bats and arguing good-naturedly about something. Harry’s grandmothers and great-aunt Edith were still outside. Aunts Matilda, Louise, and Mildred were with them. So were Lady Hill from the neighboring estate and Rosanne. Lawrence was down talking with the cricketers.
Poor Lydia was about to be exposed to more than she had bargained for. But it was too late to change direction now. They had been seen. He felt Lydia draw a deep breath and let it out slowly. Snowball, trotting along at her side, was straining at her lead and yipping in anticipation of confronting yet more strangers.
“Lydia, my dear.” Lady Hill got to her feet and came a few steps toward them, both hands extended. “Maynard often tells me that I live with my head buried in the sand, which brings a rather horrid image to the mind. However, sometimes I think he must be right. We and our visitors all slept late the morning after the assembly even though it was over long before midnight, and we spent the rest of the day very quietly at home. On Saturday we went into Eastend to do some shopping. If you can believe it, we did not hear about all the bother here until after church on Sunday, by which time you had already walked home and we had a luncheon engagement to keep us away until the middle of the evening. When Rosanne and Lawrence and I called at the cottage today you were no longer there, and we discovered, just as you were coming around the corner now, in fact, that you were actually here at Hinsford.”
She squeezed Lydia’s hands, which were now in her own. “My dear!” she continued. “It is all such utter nonsense, as I have told everyone with whom I have spoken since Sunday morning, but distressing for you nonetheless. And embarrassing for Harry too, I do not doubt. But so many people are only too ready to listen to scandalous tidings, regardless of facts and common sense. How dared that horrid woman! It ought to have been obvious to everyone on Thursday evening that you and Harry are friends, as why on earth should younotbe? Mrs. Monteith has just been telling us that your mama and Harry’s mother were dear friends before your mother passed on. It is the most natural thing in the world, then, that their son and daughter should be friends too. But I am talking too much. How do you do, Harry? How does it feel to be almost thirty?”
