He took her right hand in his left, and she set her left hand on his shoulder. When the music began, they moved rather slowly and rather awkwardly until he smiled at her, drew her hand to rest against his heart, and so invited her to slide her other hand up behind his neck and thus stand closer to him.
After that they moved as one and twirled about to the music until other couples gradually joined them on the floor—Joshua with Lady Hallmere, Kit with Lauren, Frances with Lord Edgecombe, the duchess with the Duke of Bewcastle, the other Bedwyns with their spouses, Sarah with Henry, Susanna with Viscount Whitleaf, and Susan with Matthew.
“Happy?” Sydnam asked against Anne’s ear.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “Yes, I am. Yes, Iam. Are you?”
“More than I can say,” he said.
And they smiled at each other, their faces only inches apart.
No, Anne had no difficulty at all in remembering that part of their wedding reception.
She would remember it for the rest of her life.
Anne and Sydnam arrived home atTyGwyn with David on acrisp afternoon in November. But, cold as it was, the sun was shining and Sydnam let the window down impulsively when his coachman stopped to open the gate into the park and informed him that he could continue on alone to the stable and coach house.
“We will walk the rest of the way,” he said.
And so they stood, the three of them, a few minutes later, watching the carriage drive down into the slight bowl of the park before climbing up the other side.
“Well, David,” Sydnam said, setting his hand on the boy’s shoulder, “this is Ty Gwyn. This is home. What do you think?”
“Do those sheep belong here?” David asked. “May I go closer to them?”
“You may indeed,” Sydnam said. “You may even try to catch one if you wish. But I warn you that they are quite elusive.”
The boy ran off into the meadow with whoops of delight after hours of being cooped up inside the carriage. The sheep, forewarned, moved out of his path.
Sydnam turned to smile at his wife.
“Well, Anne,” he said.
“Well.” She was staring off at the house in the distance. But then she turned her eyes on him. “I am going to have to go over the stile, you know. I have to redeem myself. I was horribly clumsy the last time.”
“I did have the bottom step seen to,” he said.
He watched as she climbed then sat on the top bar and swung her legs over to the other side, warmly clad in her russet pelisse, her cheeks already rosy from the cold, a few strands of honey-colored hair pulled loose from her neatly pinned hair and wafting in the breeze, her eyes bright and laughing. His beautiful Anne.
He strode toward her.
“Allow me, ma’am,” he said, offering his hand.
“Thank you, sir.” She set her hand in his and descended to the ground. “You see? Like a queen.”
They stood face-to-face, their hands still joined, and gazed deeply at each other for several moments while her smile faded.
“Sydnam,” she said, “I know you did not want any of this—”
“Do you?” he said.
“You were contented as you were,” she said, “and I was not the sort of woman you would have chosen to marry.”
“Were you not?” he said. “And was I the sort of manyouwould have chosen to marry?”
“We were lonely,” she said, “and we came here on a lovely day and—”
“Itwasa lovely day,” he said.
