When Lord Hastings’ groom banged the knocker ten minutes later, he jumped back in surprise as the cousins, not waiting on their dignity, erupted on to the steps with smiling greetings.
Lord Hastings, attired in a caped driving coat, responded suitably to Aubrey’s salutations as the boy clambered up to sit beside him in the curricle, but his startled eyes passed over him to Laura, who was being assisted by the groom. He did not laugh as Sophia had at her funereal garb, but Laura, turning from thanking Huckston, spotted his twitching lips before he greeted her, and she put up her chin. The colour of her level gaze was closer to Arctic than Caribbean waters as she replied coolly to his greeting.
“It was farsighted of you to wear a scarf today, Miss Marsh. There seems to be a chilly little breeze about.”
“I do not feel any breeze at all,” Aubrey said in surprise. “It seems like a perfect day for our outing.”
Since their driver was giving Huckston some final instructions as they eased away from the pavement, the subject of the weather was allowed to drop. Aubrey’s bubbling enjoyment and questions to their host covered Laura’s silence during the next quarter hour during which the warm sunshine, crisp air and cloudless skies combined to soothe her ruffled feathers and evoke a feeling of wellbeing. Her frozen mask of polite sufferance melted into a bright-eyed interest in the busy streets through which they were driving.
“Ah, that’s better. You’ve come down off your high horse,” Lord Hastings announced with a cheerful smile over Aubrey’s head.
About to take automatic umbrage at his presumption, Laura let her innate sense of fairness come to the fore. “Yes,” she admitted, trying to repress an answering smile, “but —”
“But you were shamefully provoked. I own it freely. Are we quits now?”
“Yes,” she said again, her countenance as unclouded as the sky overhead.
He kept his eyes on her until the sound of a piece of coal hitting the wheel of the curricle brought his gaze back to the task at hand. After a moment he gave her a rueful look and confessed, “I know I manipulated you into agreeing to this stunt, not once but twice. It was not the action of a gentleman. If you have any reservations about attempting it, we can go somewhere else this afternoon and I will gladly take Aubrey to St. Paul’s another day,” he added as the crestfallen boy raised an imploring face to his.
Laura shook her head decisively. “You are most kind, sir, but I am equally at fault here. When I was a child I never could refuse a dare, and as an adult — I cannot in truth say a lady — I have not entirely outgrown that sort of stubborn pride. Besides, I am really thrilled at the idea of being able to see all of London spread out at our feet.”
“So … onward?” he asked with the infectious smile that played havoc with her intention to keep him at a civil distance.
“Onward,” she agreed.
“May I say that you are a good sport, Miss Marsh, meaning no offence?”
“Perhaps you had best wait until we are on top of St. Paul’s before bestowing that encomium, sir,” she said with a wry little twist to her lips.
An hour and a half later as the three stood on the highest point possible at the cathedral, Lord Hastings repeated his praise and held out his hand. She had earned it, Laura acknowledged internally as they solemnly shook hands in the rarefied air.
The first stage had not been difficult. They had strolled about, admiring the ornately painted and gilded saucer domes over the huge nave, before climbing broad shallow steps to the Whispering Gallery. Here the accommodating verger had demonstrated the marvellous acoustic properties by whispering something into the wall at one point that was perfectly audible to Aubrey, who had raced around to the other side of the gallery to prove the phenomenon. The steep climb to the Stone Gallery above the ring of Corinthian columns outside the main drum below the dome was more of a challenge, but from the balustrade they were rewarded by fabulous views of the city and river far below. En route it had been possible to see inside to the brick cone above the interior dome that actually supported the lantern with its copper ball and cross. Having attained this eminence, the cousins indignantly rejected Lord Hastings’ diffident suggestion that they might consider their mission accomplished, and they had embarked upon the final ascent into the contracting dome toward the Golden Gallery just below the lantern.
Laura had been used to being on her feet for long periods of each day as her father’s right hand, but she had underestimated the amount of exertion necessary to climb ever upward. They had paused once at Lord Hastings’ insistence, to drink from the canteen of water he’d provided, and she’d had to fight against a craven reluctance to begin moving again. When they’d reached the top at last, she’d stood still with dry throat and laboured breathing. Her heart was pounding and she was afraid to trust her jellied legs to support any movement until Lord Hastings had slipped a sustaining arm around her waist and eased herweight back against his chest without even looking at her for permission.
Neither had spoken for a long moment while Laura’s breathing slowly steadied to a normal rhythm once more. She had not known exhaustion could be so oddly comfortable; she felt elated and peaceful at the same time. In fact, she could find no words to describe the serene complexity of the sensations simultaneously filling her tired body and liberated spirit. With an absurd sense of regret she straightened up at last, her aching legs taking her out of the sheltered cocoon of Lord Hastings’ arms to depend upon her own resources once more.
Completely at ease, she smiled up at him and confessed, “I fear I overestimated my own strength. The last part was truly an ordeal, but I would not have missed this for anything.”
It was then that the handshaking ceremony had taken place as Lord Hastings said, “There is no other female of my acquaintance who would have attempted, let alone accomplished that climb.”
Startled by the pleasure she found in his praise, Laura produced a soft laugh and said lightly, “That is most likely because you do not number any female farmers among your acquaintance.”
Puzzled, he replied, “You are not the only girl I know whose father farmed his own acres.”
“They are my acres now. I farm them, and have long done so with my father.” Interpreting his stunned expression as one of disbelief, Laura pulled off one of her gloves and held up her hand palm outward, declaring, “This is not the hand of a lady of leisure; these calluses are the mark of a working farmer. This London episode is merely a … an aberration in my life to please my mother. When it is over I shall become a farmer again.”
Laura’s last few words were nearly shouted, as the pair had moved into the open where a diabolical wind whirled aboutthem. With one accord their eyes sought Aubrey and they hurried toward the boy, Lord Hastings holding his hat and Laura attempting to keep her skirts from blowing over her head. Aubrey greeted them with an announcement that he’d discovered the peep hole the verger had described which allowed them to peer down and see the glorious interior of the cathedral.
Had the wind been one degree less intolerable, Lord Hastings would have found it difficult indeed to persuade the cousins to abandon their eagle’s view of the city as they questioned him in tandem concerning the various important buildings and features that caught their attention. When Laura could no longer disguise the occasional shivers that ran through her body, Lord Hastings pronounced it time to descend. He insisted on going first, in order to be in a position to stop any stumbles on the part of the cousins; a wise precaution, Laura conceded a few minutes into the descent when she realised just how reluctant her knees were to obey the commands of her brain.
“I never would have believed that going down could be harder than climbing,” she gasped at one point, before steeling her limbs for a period of grim determination that could not afford the luxury of spending energy on speech. She felt nothing but awed admiration for Aubrey’s uncomplaining perseverance, and had no strength left to resent their escort’s cheerful encouragement.
Her mind could appreciate that the worst was over when they finally reached the Whispering Gallery, though her body remained unconvinced. A short rest allowed her to regain her breath but did nothing to relieve the burning of her abused feet in their old half-boots, and her knees seemed permanently wobbly. Casting pride to the winds, she gratefully accepted Lord Hastings’ strong arm for the final trek to the waiting curricle.
The drive home was accomplished in near silence. Aubrey actually fell asleep against her shoulder, and Laura sat in amiasma of physical discomfort from which she only managed to rouse herself to the extent of protesting her wellbeing on the two occasions when their escort anxiously inquired about her comfort. She did not even question Huckston’s magical appearance outside her uncle’s house as she gently shook Aubrey awake, and was unaware that Lord Hastings, in helping her down, held her longer than was strictly necessary. She revived enough under his concerned examination of her pale countenance to place her fingers over his lips to stem his apologies for having submitted her to such a gruelling trial.
“Nonsense,” she said with a smile that set a little spark burning in the bright blue eyes commanding hers. “I shall boast of this feat ’til the end of my days, and I thank you for the most memorable experience of my London visit.”
