Matthew pressed her hand firmly as he gazed down at her gratefully. Suddenly, he seemed rather cheered as he said, “I have a magnificent idea. Let us have our breakfast and then we shall take a ride to the brook, just as we used to do as children. We can stop in the village on our way home and find the dressmaker to begin making you new things.”
“The brook sounds lovely, but I have no need of more gowns,” Lydia said. “Your message to my uncle’s house was received and several trunks already brought. I have plenty of things now.”
Matthew frowned, looking at Lydia as though trying to decipher her meaning. “I did not send word to your uncle. I’m sorry, I should have thought it sooner, but it was not me.”
“That’s odd,” Lydia replied. “My former lady’s maid saw to the packing and unpacking herself. She told me you’d sent word.”
Matthew shook his head. “It’s no matter. Perhaps she was only confused, and your uncle thought to send over things you might need. That is a very generous sign.”
Lydia smiled, but didn’t answer. She had not yet told Matthew of seeing her uncle on the ship, knowing that he must have followed after them. It was hardly the actions of a man giving chase to return home unsuccessful and send over one’s possessions.
“Come, our meal awaits,” Matthew said, offering Lydia his arm. She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and pushed down all the dark thoughts that plagued her, intent on only enjoying this moment.
* * *
Forgoing the curricle for saddled horses, Matthew and Lydia set out after the morning meal. Fearing he might fall asleep from the gentle sway of a conveyance, Matthew hoped riding in the saddle would force him to remain alert.
His fatigue had been brought on by a night of tormenting restlessness, the kind of fitful waking that made him question whether he’d slept at all. Matthew had awakened with nearly every chime of the clock in the hallway, Lydia’s face drifting before his eyes on every hour. Her shy smile yet the way she would dart her eyes at him mischievously before saying something bold had haunted him all evening.
I must not hurt her, Matthew thought for the hundredth time, yet any action I take will bring her pain.Whether I leave her in order to protect her heart or I stay and prove that I am not fit to be her husband, it will only bring her grief.
“Look, Matthew,” Lydia said breathlessly, her horse sidling up to his as she pointed to the bridge. “It is still there! But it’s impossible!”
Matthew squinted his eyes in the direction Lydia meant, then his earlier thoughts were banished, replaced by the same incredulous feeling Lydia had. “I know not how, but yes, it still stands.”
“So you remember that day?” Lydia asked timidly.
“Of course I do,” he answered. “You made me carry so many rocks from the creek, all under the pretense that you did not wish to soil the hem of your gown.”
“Pretense?” she asked, feigning indignation. “It was no pretense. Mother would have been very cross with me if I had.”
“Oh?” Matthew asked, playing along. “Was she cross with you for the green grass smudges on it from where you sat down and ordered me to do all the lifting?”
Lydia laughed, knowing her ruse had failed. “How long have you known that I was tricking you?”
“From the first moment when you said, ‘Matthew dear, would you fetch the rocks while I stand them here? My gown might get wet.’ I knew the moment you’d spoken that you had no intention of lifting so much as a blade of grass.”
“Only why did you not say something then?” she asked, still laughing in surprise.
“Because I was glad to do it,” Matthew answered with a shrug. “I knew you were only playing at being dainty, as it had never bothered you before to be carted home with your gown bedraggled and splashed with mud.”
They rode closer to the small tower of stones and dismounted their horses, tying them to the bridge that crossed the flowing water. Lydia was the first to reach the stones, kneeling down in the grass beside the structure and looking at it with admiration.
“It seems so strange now,” she said softly. “We truly thought to build our own bridge and to tear down the one that still stands.”
“It was a good idea at the time,” Matthew said, defending their effort.
“I remember the great detail we put into the planning of it, though it is remarkably smaller than my memory clings to,” Lydia said, “but I cannot for the life of me remember why we sought to build this bridge in the first place.”
“It was because my governess would not permit us to build a swing beneath the real bridge,” Matthew said, pointing to the spot in the middle where they’d intended to fasten it. “We decided we should then build our own bridge so that we would be free to do as we pleased with it.”
“Clearly, it was the only option that makes sense,” Lydia said firmly, trying not to laugh at their innocent childish ways.
Together, they walked over to the span that stretched the distance between the two green banks and stepped up, coming to a stop in the middle and looking over its edge at the water.
“I suppose it would have been a shame to tear down a bridge this sturdy,” Matthew said, causing Lydia to laugh at his jest.
When her fit of merriment had died down somewhat, Lydia looked up at Matthew with an adoring expression. “Thank you for bringing me here,” she said, looking away and staring down at the water. “I will admit I have been unnerved since my arrival, first by your mother’s extreme displeasure at my appearance at Paxton Hall, then also by the uncertainty that has lingered between us. This,” Lydia said, gesturing to the serene beauty around them, “this is all I require in life. Anything else I can manage to scrape together for my own happiness is merely like lace or ribbon sewn to adorn a country bonnet.”
