She released Lydia’s hands and resumed her seat while Rosanne smirked at Harry and gave him what looked suspiciously like a wink.
“May I have the pleasure of presenting Mrs. Lydia Tavernor?” Harry said, looking along the line of his relatives. “My paternal grandmother, the Dowager Countess of Riverdale, Lydia. My maternal grandmother, Mrs. Kingsley.” He went on to introduce Great-aunt Edith and his aunts.
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” Lydia said, including them all in her smile and inclination of the head. Snowball, on her best behavior, had flopped down beside her.
“How do you do, Mrs. Tavernor?” Grandmama Kingsley said. “You must have been just a child when my daughter and your mother were friends. And when your mama died.”
“I was eight years old, ma’am,” Lydia told her.
“That was very sad for you,” his grandmother said. “Do you have sisters and brothers?”
“I have three brothers,” Lydia told her. “Two older than me, one younger. My mother never recovered her health after the birth of my youngest brother.”
“You were unfortunate not to have sisters,” Aunt Matilda said. “I have always found mine to be a great blessing.”
“So have I,” Aunt Louise added. “Well, maybe notalways.” She smiled while the other two aunts chuckled. “I feel for you in the premature loss of your husband, Mrs. Tavernor. I lost mine far too early too.”
“Thank you,” Lydia said.
“You live alone, Mrs. Tavernor,” Grandmama Westcott said. It was not posed as a question.
Lydia answered anyway. “Yes, quite alone, ma’am,” she said. “My cottage is small and my needs are modest. I can clean and cook for myself and actually enjoy doing both. I also enjoy my own company.”
“You were seen kissing Harry on the doorstep of your home a few evenings ago,” his grandmother continued. “Living alone and allowing such intimate behavior to be witnessed by anyone who chances to be passing by is like an open invitation to unwelcome gossip and the necessity of a marriage proposal that the one party does not wish to make and the other does not wish to accept. That you did not accept is to your credit, at least. Perhaps you have learned something from the experience, Mrs. Tavernor?”
This time shewasasking a question.
“Grandmama—”
“Mama—”
Harry and Aunt Mildred spoke at the same time, but his grandmother held up a staying hand, and Lydia answered.
“I have, ma’am,” she said. “I have learned to look to my conscience for direction rather than to those people who observe my behavior or listen to an account of it and pass judgment. I have learned to respect myself and trust my own judgment.”
Oh, well done, Lydia, Harry thought. She had spoken with quiet dignity. Not many people stood up to his grandmother.
“That sounds well and good,” his grandmother said. “We can all admire someone who does not cringe in the face of adversity. Nevertheless, there is a certain code of behavior by which it behooves us all to live if society is not to fall into chaos.”
Harry drew breath to intervene, but again Lydia forestalled him.
“I agree, ma’am,” she said. “And if an acquaintance offers me a ride home in his carriage one evening because the clergyman who has promised to convey me has been called away to a sickbed, I would consider it ill-mannered to refuse. If he then escorts me to my door because it is dark and raining hard and he has an umbrella, I will be grateful. If he then, because he is something of a friend and not merely an acquaintance, chooses to kiss my forehead as he says good night to me, I am not going to slap his face or scold him for inappropriate behavior. When it happened, ma’am, I did not deem the kiss to my forehead in any way improper. I still do not, even though the gossips in the village have made me into something of a scarlet woman.”
“Lydia knitted me a scarf as thanks for a pile of wood I chopped for her,” Harry said. “She had just given me the finished scarf that night. Hence the infamous kiss—on the forehead.In the open doorway of her house with my coachman standing on the other side of her garden gate. If anyone is to blame for this whole stupid incident, it is I, not Lydia. I will not have her accused of impropriety.”
“Mrs. Tavernor.” Aunt Matilda had got to her feet. “Do come and sit down on my chair. We are having a tray of tea brought out. I shall go and make sure two more cups are added. And another chair. And I will have a bowl of water fetched for your dog, who is, by the way, adorable.”
“Thank you, Lady Dirkson,” Lydia said. “It is kind of you, but I will not stay. It has been a busy day and I am ready to go home.”
“We will look forward to seeing you at Harry’s birthday ball, then, Mrs. Tavernor,” Aunt Louise said.
The cricketers, a mixture of adults and children and both genders, were making their noisy way up the lawn, still arguing about something and doing a great deal of laughing in the process. Lawrence Hill grinned at Harry and greeted Lydia.
“I’ll escort you home, Lydia,” Harry told her, offering his arm.
“Just look both ways first if you plan to kiss her on the doorstep,” Lawrence advised him.
His sister was scolding him as they walked away.
