Matthew held his breath as Lydia continued to walk slowly across the top of the wall, her thin slippers permitting her feet to fit themselves to the pointed angle. She smiled wickedly the entire time, a triumphant look on her face.
“There,” she said from her perch as she neared him. “And when I am done and safely on solid ground once again, I shall think of a dare for you.”
“I think we’re done with these silly games, if you don’t mind,” Matthew answered more sharply than he’d intended, his fear for Lydia and her reputation—both in jeopardy because of his foolishness—causing him to resort to anger.
Lydia instantly looked down at him, a wounded expression causing her to look as though she might cry. “I’m sorry, Matthew, I thought we were only having fun. After all, it was you who said—aaaaaargh!”
Suddenly, her concentration broken by the shame of Matthew’s reprimand, Lydia fell to the side, flailing her arms and trying futilely to clutch at the air around her as she went. Instinctively, Matthew threw himself in the direction of her fall, attempting to catch her before she could land on the grass on the other side.
He managed to break her fall himself, but their momentum carried them some distance, causing them to roll down the small slope towards a copse of ornamental trees. Only after several painful turns did they come to a stop beneath the limbs of a flowering cherry tree. Several shouts from the top of the hill told him others were coming to their rescue… or to their humiliation.
Chapter 7
“Are you all right?” Lydia asked, trying to sit up but wincing when she put her weight on her injured wrist. “Matthew, speak to me.”
“Yes, I’m all right. For now, at least,” he replied, still looking at the tree branches directly overhead. “Are you injured?”
“Only my pride, which may be mortally wounded,” Lydia answered, though there was no mirth in her reply. “I’m so sorry, I should have listened to you. But you were having such a good time, laughing and smiling… I only thought to make you happy.”
In her misery, Lydia tried to stand and put some distance between them. She was keenly aware of how close Matthew was, how she’d lain tangled in his arms in a way that—despite the crisis of circumstances that made it necessary—was highly inappropriate.
“Wait, don’t go yet,” Matthew said, putting a hand on her ankle. She yelped and pulled her leg away from his untoward touch, but did as he asked. “You cannot go up there, I hear people milling about. They were perhaps drawn to the garden wall by your cry of surprise.”
“Oh dear,” Lydia whispered, looking up towards the house and trying to see how many people might bear witness to this shame. She ducked behind the tree trunk, but it was too slender to conceal her. “What shall we do? We cannot possibly pass the night down here!”
“Let me think on it a moment,” Matthew said, but already there were shouts from above, inquiring if anyone was down there or if anyone had been injured. “All right, you go up first and explain that you slipped while trying to lean backwards to look at something… a star, a flower, anything. I will remain down here until it is safe to come up and everyone has gone.”
“Matthew, that is so very kind of you. I cannot accept your graciousness though, as it would mean leaving you here in the mud and the damp for perhaps hours,” Lydia protested.
“If you had listened to me when I made a request of you a few moments ago, we wouldn’t be down here,” Matthew replied sharply. “Please do me the honor of listening this time and accepting my advice. Believe me, I do not wish to remain here, but it is the only way to avoid what would appear to be an unthinkable entanglement.”
Lydia was silent. He was right, of course. She had been at fault in their game, and he had asked her—more than once, even—to come down from the wall. She had only been attempting to cheer him, but it had all been ruined with her mishap.
“All right. I see the wisdom of your advice and I’m grateful to you for thinking of it. I apologize for questioning you when you were only seeking to protect me,” Lydia answered humbly, already brushing some of the leaves and grass from her arms and hair. “I will go now. Goodnight.”
She left Matthew lying in the damp grass, lifting the long skirt of her soiled gown only as high as was required to climb up the embankment. No more than three steps later, she cried out again as her footing was lost, sending her stumbling to the ground before sliding back down to where Matthew lay. He caught her arm as she slid past, else she would have continued all the way down to the river that ran below.
“This will not work,” Matthew said, still clinging to Lydia and bracing his feet against the tree trunk. “I had not thought it to be so steep, but you will not be able to climb up on your own.”
Still holding onto Lydia, Matthew sat up and reached for the tree trunk. He pulled himself up and then helped her to her feet, guiding her until her back was securely against the tree to prevent any further falls. He then looked up the hill and noted several distant faces peering down into the darkness, trying to find the source of the calamity.
“This is a disaster,” Lydia whispered. “What shall we do?”
“I must think a moment,” Matthew answered. “If I perhaps go up first and inform them that I saw a young lady slip, but that I was not able to help her back up, then no one will know we fell together. Can you hold yourself here until I plant that excuse and bring help?”
Lydia nodded fervently, already beginning to shake with nerves. “Of course. Whatever I need to do.”
Matthew nodded and looked back up the hill, judging the distance and the climb. He tentatively planted his foot in front of him to test the firmness of the ground, but stopped when a man appeared in front of him.
“My Lord, I’ve come to your assistance,” the man said, clearly a gardener who’d been awakened by the commotion. “Here, if you’ll take this rope—” He stopped when he noticed Lydia still clinging to the cherry tree. “Oh. I mean, that is, if you’ll both take hold of this rope, then I’ll… I’ll just… Here you go.”
The gardener handed them the rope and demonstrated how to hold fast to it while they climbed back up. He kept his gaze averted, which was somehow more embarrassing than if he’d simply looked their way.
“There you are, My Lady, just like that,” the gardener said encouragingly as they began the short trek up to the terrace.
Lydia kept her weight back against the rope to aid in her climb, and was both relieved and discomforted by the gardener’s hands hovering near her arms but not touching her. She wanted to cry out that this was a dire situation and that in this instance touching her would be allowed and welcomed, but she could not put the poor man in such a position.
At the top of the hill, the onlookers’ responses turned from fear for someone’s safety to a murmuring of surprised condemnation. Judging from the looks of shameful horror on their faces, Lydia wanted desperately to look down at her gown and ensure it had not actually been torn in two, exposing her completely.
