One corner of Nathan’s mouth lifted in a self-mocking smile. “If we were in San Francisco it would be much the same thing, only it wasyourfamily that was known. It’s really Mad Irish they know, and me by association. And if you’re carefully observant, you’ll notice that the Sterling don’t pay much heed at all, only the Currency.”
“Sterling? Currency? What does that mean?” Honestly, she thought, they spoke English in two different languages. At various times today she had heard herself described as a sheila, a cliner, a sninny, and most, disturbingly, as trouble and strife—the wife. Tea was supper, dinner was lunch, and supper was a light repast in the late evening. Bluey was a man with red hair and bloody was an interjection that turned inoffensive statements embarrassingly blue. “What does money have to do with anything we were discussing?” she asked.
“Everything and nothing. Sterling are the children of the English free settlers. The coin of the realm. No convict stain. Currency, though, refers to the paper script used here before there was a gold strike and a mint. It means the offspring of convicts.” His mouth flattened fractionally. “What our children will be.”
“Will you mind?” she asked.
“I should be asking you that question.” In truth, Nathan had spoken without thinking. He had never given much thought to having children, none at all to having children with Lydia. She could be pregnant now, he realized, and he had never even considered what that would mean to her, to him. God, but he was a selfish man. “I don’t think I’ve adequately prepared you for life here, Liddy. It’s not what you were used to.”
“I don’t remember what I was used to.”
“So you’ve told me.”
Lydia looked around the dining room. None of the other patrons were paying them the least attention. Her hand slipped under the table and touched Nathan lightly on his leg. “Our children will be quite proud to call you Father.”
Nathan held Lydia’s glance over the rim of his goblet. Her hand had traveled stealthily to his inner thigh, and though her features were serenely innocent, her thoughts were not. “Keep your hand there a second longer, Mrs. Hunter, and I’ll put you over this table, toss up your skirts, and see if I can’t start our family right now, right here.”
Her face flamed. She removed her hand quickly. “Nathan!”
“Try not to affect such shock, Lydia. The matrons are looking now.”
Ducking her head, Lydia applied herself to her meal. In her secret heart of hearts, though, she was pleased.
The first industries of Australia,and therefore the first industries of Sydney, were brickmaking, flourmilling, shipbuilding, and distilling and brewing. George Street was a wide and busy thoroughfare, opening up Sydney south toward Victoria and west to the Blue Mountains. Carriages and horses kicked up plumes of dust in their wake. Women lifted their skirts when they left the sidewalks and took their chances among the coaches, wagons, and carts in the street. Toohey’s Brewery offered ale and porter in bulk or bottled, and from the size of the warehouse, Lydia concluded they turned a handy profit.
Lydia thought they were strolling aimlessly, without any particular destination in mind, simply taking in the sights, when Nathan steered her into David Jones, Ltd., an emporium with the latest in fashion as well as the practical. A visit there, and a later one to Anthony Hordern and Sons in the Haymarket district, yielded Lydia two riding skirts, five cotton blouses, undergarments, stockings, nightdresses, three day gowns that needed only minor alterations, and two evening gowns for which she was measured, poked, and stuck with pins. Nathan chose the fabric and the color and Lydia forgave him his arrogance because he chose so well. He bought her riding gloves and boots, delicate slippers for parties, sturdy walking shoes, and plain leather ankle boots for daily wear. The drapers and haberdashers fitted her with hats for riding in the bush and bonnets for the city.
Nathan approached shopping, she heard one clerk whisper, like a willy-willy—a dry storm tornado. Indeed, he swept up most everything in his path. By the end of the afternoon, Lydia was exhausted. She fell asleep in their carriage, her head resting heavily on Nathan’s shoulder on the journey back to Petty’s Hotel.
When Lydia awokeit was dark. She stretched languidly, shaking off the dregs of sleep slowly. It was lighter outside than it was in the room, thanks to street-lamps and moonlight, and Lydia could see Nathan on the veranda, leaning against the iron railing, his arms braced stiffly in front of him. His posture was of a man deep in thought, of pain, perhaps, certainly of tension. She would have gone to him, but she did not think he would thank her for it. There were times, and surely this was one of them, when Lydia suspected her husband wanted nothing so much as his aloneness. She let him have it.
It wasn’t until he pushed away from the railing, shaking off the tension that made his spine rigid, that Lydia sat up and moved to the edge of the bed. Her dress was hanging over the back of an overstuffed armchair near the fireplace. Lydia didn’t bother with it, pulling her fur-lined cape over her shift instead. She slipped her feet into a pair of flat shoes and opened the French doors to the balcony.
Nathan held out his hand to her and she took it eagerly, allowing herself to be pulled into the warmth of his loose embrace. His arms slid around her from behind and his hands slipped into the opening of her cape, under her breasts.
“Still sleepy?” he asked, kissing the crown of her head.
“A little. Your generosity wore me out today.”
He nipped her ear and his smile and tone were wicked. “That’s too bad. I had planned on being more generous this evening. My God, Lydia, what are you wearing under this cape?”
“You should know. You took my dress off.”
So he had. Not that he hadn’t expected her to put it on again. The circle of his arms tightened and his chin nuzzled her thick hair.
“Even the sky is different here,” Lydia said.
“Hmm?”
“The sky. You must have noticed before. Where’s the Big Dipper?”
He didn’t comment on the fact that she could recall an arrangement of stars and not the faces of Samuel or Madeline. The tenacious hold she had on some parts of her memory still fascinated him, but he was becoming used to it. “There is no dipper Down Under,” he said. “But there, high in the sky to your right. That’s Crux, the Southern Cross.”
Her eyes followed the path of the stars making up the small but brilliant constellation. “It’s beautiful. All of it is, actually. Just different. I’ll grow accustomed.”
Nathan wasn’t so sure. She was determined now, but circumstances could change…wouldchange. Before the end of one year, Lydia might very well change her mind and choose to take a clipper back to California. Nathan wondered what he would do then.
“I have something for you,” he said.
