Lydia bit off a thread with her teeth and critically examined her work. There was an ache behind her eyes that wasn’t there because of strain. Did she really want to know about Portsmouth Square? No, probably not…but there was something else.
“What sort of wager did you make with Mad Irish?” she asked casually.
The newspaper stayed precisely where it was. “Wager?”
She nodded. “Father Colgan said something about it. Remember?”
“Actually, I don’t.”
“Well, he did…or I thought he did. And Henry, he mentioned it this morning as I was leaving. I just smiled and pretended to understand. I know I didn’t imagine what Henry said.”
“I never said you did.” The paper was lowered slowly. “About Henry or Father Colgan. I simply said I didn’t remember.”
“But there was a wager, wasn’t there?” Something about it nagged at her. She could feel the prickling, the sparks and static. “What was it about?”
“We’re always making wagers. Will it rain on Tuesday? How many pounds of wool can Bob Hardy shear in a day? Who will win the next Melbourne Cup? It doesn’t mean anything in particular.”
“Yes, I’m sure it doesn’t. I was just curious. What was this one?”
Nathan’s face was impassive, his tone devoid of inflection. “Mad Irish wagered I’d never find anyone who’d have me.”
“Then you’ve won.”
He didn’t say anything immediately, then, “Yes. I won.”
Lydia’s sprainedankle delayed their trip to Ballaburn by seventy-two hours. Nathan half expected to see Mad Irish storm Petty’s Hotel in search of them. It was hard to imagine that word of their arrival in Sydney hadn’t reached the station. He wondered if his employer had been gripped by cold feet after all this time. Mad Irish afraid? It was something to think about. He certainly had good reason to be.
Hobbling over to the bed, Lydia sat on the edge closest to Nathan. He was reading theSydney Morning Herald,or at least pretending to read. The pages hadn’t been turned or folded in the last ten minutes. Lydia pulled on the bottom corner of the paper, lowering it, and peered over the top. “I’ve finished trying on the dresses from Hordern’s. They fit and they’re packed. Are we leaving today or have you changed your mind?”Again,she wanted to say. Have you changed your mindagain? Lydia found her husband strangely reluctant to leave Sydney for Ballaburn. Packed with ice, her ankle had presented a problem only on the first day. She had been willing and able to travel after that, but Nathan professed to be more cautious. Lastly he used the excuse of waiting for her gowns to be finished. Now that was taken from him, too.
Nathan closed the paper and let it slip over the side of the bed. “Do I detect a bit of censure in my wife’s voice?” he asked mildly.
“Anxiousness,” she said. “Impatience. Eagerness.”
“No censure?”
“None.” She crossed her heart.
Looping his arms around her neck and shoulders, Nathan brought her close so that their foreheads touched. “Only one of us is dressed for traveling.”
“That would be me.”
“I noticed.” His fingers started to unfasten the long line of tiny buttons at Lydia’s back.
Lydia gave him a playful shove and danced away from the bed, closing the difficult buttons. “Oh, no. I only just got out of bed. I’m not going back in again.”
Nathan’s dark eyebrows curved upward. “It wasn’t meant as a punishment. You make it sound like some horrible sentence.”
“Do I?” She paused in her task. “Well, I suppose it was in a way. You’ve been out and about these past three days while I’ve been confined here. My ankle’s just fine.”
She raised her skirt and turned her left foot in a series of circles. “See?” There was a fine blush to her complexion as she added, “I thought I proved that earlier this morning.”
One corner of Nathan’s mouth was raised in a half smile. “So you did.” She had indeed. Lydia had been playful this morning, creative in her loving. They had used every inch of bed space, rolling from the scrolled mahogany headboard to the fretwork in the footrest. Was it any wonder that he wanted her again? “All right,” he said, sighing. “But think about tonight at Ballaburn. I have a bed there half again this size.”
“Oh, my,” Lydia said softly. “I’ll need a map to find you.”
A Cobb& Co. coach, as popular in Australia as Wells Fargo was in the States, took them from Sydney via the Parramatta Road. The coach was gaily painted, hung on leather springs to take the worst jarring out of the journey. Each one of the matched roans was carefully groomed. They wore blue saddle cloths, silver mountings, and their harnesses, oiled and polished, were decorated with blue rosettes.
Lydia and Nathan shared the coach with twelve other passengers, their luggage, and the mail. The coach could have held more people but not with the trunks and valises that Lydia brought. She was more than a little embarrassed by her excess of riches though Nathan seemed completely unperturbed and none of the passengers commented.
