With This Ring Part 3

"Yes, Kitty, it was graceful," Lydia said. "Thank goodness something profitable came of your visit of charity to those stinking, wicked men."

"That's how I feel, too," Kitty said happily. She made a face. "I cannot see what possessed you to remain a moment longer than necessary, and whatever were you thinking of, to ruin your dress?"

"I can't imagine," Lydia said. She sat Kitty down at the stool in front of her dressing table.

"Next to your looks, that is your biggest problem, Lyddy dear," Kitty said as she smiled at her reflection. "You have no imagination. You never would have thought to faint, would you?"

Of course not, Lydia thought. I was too busy taking care of a dying man. Her hands were rock steady as she combed her sister's hair.

"I thought not, Lyddy," Kitty said as she raised her chin and turned her face to this side, and then that. "Tell me, sister, which is my best side? I need to know, so I can claim the chair that shows me to best advantage."

"I rather think one is like the other," Lydia said.

"No, silly! I have studied this matter for hours in front of the mirror, and can reach no conclusion." She looked at Lydia in the mirror, her eyes anxious.

I have spent an afternoon watching a man die, and you want to know which side of your pretty face is the prettiest? Lydia thought. No wonder I am so tired. "It is your right side, Kitty," she said finally as she pulled back her sister's ma.s.s of s.h.i.+ning gold curls and anch.o.r.ed it expertly with pins and ribbon. "I am certain of it."

Kitty turned her head so her right profile showed. After a moment's earnest concentration, she smiled at herself in the mirror. "You are right!" She leaped up and kissed Lydia. "Oh, this is such a weight off my mind!"

Kitty left an hour later in the company of the young gentlemen and ladies who had braved the rough society of Wellington's soldiers to spread about a little hypocrisy as their patriotic duty. From her accustomed spot at the top of the stairs, Lydia watched them go. Mama had made no mention of dinner, and she did not wish to press the issue. Lydia returned to her room, tired right down to her toes.

She stood at the window for a long moment, trying to get up the energy to remove her dress. She closed the draperies finally, wis.h.i.+ng that when she opened them, the view would be foggy Devon. "Or Northumberland," she said suddenly. "Laying aside damp sheets and too much oatmeal, I imagine you will be glad to get home to clean air, and nothing more dangerous than Highlands cattle on your hills, Major Reed!"

It is something to look forward to, she thought as she unb.u.t.toned her dress and stepped out of it. There were few pins in her hair; Mama had shaken most of them loose downstairs. She sat on her bed and brushed her hair, long and brown, but just brown, as her eyes were just brown, and the sprinkling of freckles on her nose just brown and irredeemable of removal. And my mouth is too wide, and my cheekbones have no character, and my forehead is too high. She brushed harder. But how fortunate I am to have Mama and Kitty to point out all my failings, she thought. Thanks to them, I have never been compelled to devote hours to mirror gazing, like poor Kitty.

Her hands were shapely, she knew, and there was nothing really wrong with her figure, beyond a tendency to overgenerosity through the bosom, which was not at all fas.h.i.+onable these days. My bosom was la mode three hundred years ago, she thought with a smile. Raphael would have loved to paint me, if he could have overlooked an ordinary face. And why not? Everyone else does.

The bed was cold, but she climbed into it with a sigh, grateful she had no wounds that stank and throbbed, and no one to worry about except herself. And nothing to look forward to, she considered again as she closed her eyes. Unlike you, Major Reed. She sighed and turned over, seeking warmth where there was none. I cannot even return to St. Barnabas tomorrow to see how you are doing.

I wish I had the courage to just leave the house tomorrow morning and return to that church, she thought, then put it from her mind. Lydia, you have wished and wished for things all your life, but you have forgotten the most important wish of all, she told herself: You need to wish for a braver heart.

Chapter Three.

She dreamed of Picton's Own Battery, all one-legged, one-armed, and one-eyed men in dirty uniforms hauling their guns back and forth down Holly Street, aiming and firing upon pa.s.sersby. The pounding of the guns was relentless, even when she put her pillow over her head to mute the sound.

When it wouldn't go away, she opened her eyes and removed the pillow. Someone was pounding on her door. How singular, she thought. Can it be that Kitty has somewhere to go before .... She raised her head and stared at the clock beside her bed ... nine in the morning? It cannot be. The world will end first.

"Just a moment," she called as she reached for her robe. Her slippers were nowhere in sight, so she padded barefoot to her door and opened it, then stepped back in amazement.

Her first thought was that Birnam Wood must have come to Dunsinane, except that these were flowers, beautiful flowers, more flowers than she had ever seen in one container-roses, daisies, lilies of the valley, heliotrope, violets tucked here and there, and most impressive irises. It was a conglomeration of an English garden, and she stared in stupefaction, and then delight.

"Oh, do bring them in, Mackles. Mackles?" she asked, unable to see who carried them.

The footman staggered forward and deposited his burden on the table by the window. "These are for me?" she gasped, walking around the enormous bouquet, rearranging a flower here, touching a fern there. She breathed in the conglomeration of fragrances, marveling that the total acc.u.mulation could smell so wonderful.

"No one else, Miss Perkins," the footman said. "Begging your pardon, miss, but I wanted to bring them here before ...." He coughed politely. "Well, Miss Kitty might a.s.sume they were hers." He scratched his head. "I disremember when Miss Kitty had such an offering. Miss Perkins, you must have a real admirer!"

"I can't imagine who it would be," she replied honestly. "I hope there is a note. We'll probably discover that these were intended for another house."

There was a note. It was anch.o.r.ed in the ribbon and hidden by a fairy fern. She broke the seal and spread out the note as Mama, her eyes wide, charged into the room and plumped herself down.

"Surely these are for Kitty," Mama said.

Lydia read the note, shaking her head in amazement. "No, Mama, they are mine." She read the note out loud. " 'My Dear Miss Perkins, The men and I of Battery B wanted you to know of our grat.i.tude for the kind service you rendered yesterday. Angels are notoriously hard to find, but you were there. Regards, etc., Major Samuel E.H. Reed, Lord Laren of Laren Hall, Northumberland, Battery B Commanding, Third Division.' He has good handwriting, Mama." She handed the note to her mother. "I am amazed."

Her mother s.n.a.t.c.hed the note from her hand and read it again, her lips moving. " 'Pon my word!" she exclaimed, then read it again. "Lord Laren?" she asked.

"I believe he is an earl, Mama, although you would be hard put to believe it," she said. "You never saw a more scraggly haired, shabby fellow."

"I am astounded," Mama said as she walked around the flowery tribute, too.

So you are astounded, Mama, Lydia thought with amus.e.m.e.nt. Here Kitty has flirted on the fringes with baronets and second sons, while an earl sends me flowers. I wonder ....

The footman, who had left the room, returned with another announcement. "Lady Perkins, there is a second bouquet in the drawing room, and it is addressed to you."

Lydia looked at her mother, barely able to contain her delight. I think I am in the hands of a thoroughgoing rascal, she thought, if that note downstairs says what I think it will. No wonder Wellington triumphed in the Peninsula; the men he leads are positively unscrupulous.

"Do let us go downstairs, Mama, and see what we find," she said. She descended the stairs calmly as Mama thundered ahead, her wrap billowing around her like a topsail. Lydia paused at the foot of the stairs as Mama, shrieking now, ran into the entranceway, suddenly rendered far less shabby by a majestic bouquet of the reddest roses Lydia could remember.

Mama fumbled at the note lying beside the roses, finally handing it to Lydia. "Open this!" she demanded. "I vow I am all aflutter!"

At least I am not giving you heart palpitations, Lydia thought as she picked up one of her hairpins still lying on the floor from last night's encounter, and slit open the note. She handed it to her mother, who read it, her eyes growing wider and wider. "Daughter!" she exclaimed. "This is amazing!"

"Do read the note, Mama," Lydia said.

Mama read it out loud, her voice trembling. "'My dear Lady Luisa, You are to be congratulated on the rearing of a daughter as kind and useful as Miss Perkins. One rarely meets a parent who is so willing to sacrifice a daughter for a day of philanthropy among those who serve their country. You should be praised for your sagacity. If only I had the words to tell you what I truly think of you. Regards, etc., Major Samuel E.H. Reed, Lord Laren of Laren Hall, Northumberland, Battery B Commanding, Third Division.'" Mama sank into a chair. "Daughter, I doubt there is a single rose left in any flower shop in London." She stared at Lydia, unable to say more.

I can play this right, Lydia thought suddenly as she watched the amazement in Mama's face. She picked up the rest of her hairpins from the floor until she felt sufficiently calm to look at her mother again. Keep your voice normal, Lydia, she cautioned herself. Choose your words carefully. Major Reed has given you a toss into the saddle, if you use it right. An offhand disinterested tone would be best about now.

"Do you know, Mama, it is a pity that you forbade me to return to St. Barnabas." She sighed, with what she thought was a rather good imitation of Kitty. "Ah, well. Major Reed will manage without me, as you so helpfully pointed out last night. Excuse me, Mama. I should dress, shouldn't I?"

She went upstairs quietly, leaving Mama to stare at the flowers and then the note again. This could come to nothing, she thought as she dressed quickly. Mama is not easily led. Lydia looked at her bouquet again, breathing in the fragrance so riotous and exquisite at the same time. But I doubt that even Mama has ever met someone as determined as Major Reed. She smiled. Quite possibly he gets his way even more frequently than Kitty. I shall have to ask him, provided I see him again, and he is in the right mood.

Mama was nowhere in evidence when Lydia came downstairs again. The breakfast room was empty, except for the butler, who poured her tea. The twinkle in his eyes was most p.r.o.nounced, telling her without words that the tale of the early morning flowers had spread from below stairs to the attic.

"Stanton, did you see my flowers, and Mama's?" she asked as she helped herself to eggs and bacon.

"It would be hard to miss them, Miss Perkins," he replied.

The door opened then, and admitted her father. He took a cautious peek around the door before he entered the room. Seeing only her, he sighed and came in, making himself small in his chair and allowing Stanton to pour tea. After one cautious sip and then another, he relaxed.

"Papa, did you see the flowers?"

He smiled and nodded. "Do you have an extravagant admirer, Lydia?"

"No, Papa, just a poor, wounded veteran I was trying to help at St. Barnabas yesterday," she replied, pa.s.sing him the eggs. "I think he was delirious."

Papa shook his head. "Men don't send flowers when they are delirious, daughter. Do have a care." He spooned eggs on his plate. "Of course, your poor mother is even now sneezing from the effects of the flowers. Such a pity," he said, sounding anything but sad.

Lydia made some appropriate comment, hardly daring to look at her parent. I shall go into whoops over Papa's sympathy, she thought. She took a few bites of egg, a drink of tea, then regarded her father. "Tell me, Papa, would it bother you if I returned to St. Barnabas?"

Startled to be addressed, he nearly spilled his tea. "Lydia, you know your mother's views on the subject." He looked down at the cup. "She was amply clear last night."

"I know, Papa, I know," Lydia said. "But how do you feel about it?"

As he looked around to see if anyone could overhear him, she burned inside with embarra.s.sment for him. Oh, Papa, when did you get this way? she thought. I remember a time before Kitty was born when you played with me in the evenings and we laughed together. Was I suddenly too plain when Kitty came along?

"I won't do anything against Mama's wishes, if that is what concerns you," she a.s.sured him when the silence stretched out. "I just wondered what you thought."

With considerable effort, as though he were hiding behind it, Papa set down his teacup. "It has been so long since someone asked my opinion on something, daughter," he said, his tone apologetic.

She looked at him, afraid to say more for fear that he would bolt from the breakfast room. With a start, it occurred to her that no one ever asked her opinion on any subject, either. Papa, you are no advocate, and someone who folds in the slightest breeze, she thought, but so am I. She put her hand over his. "Don't worry, Papa," she said finally.

"Actually, I have an opinion," he said, to her surprise. "I ... I think you should return to St. Barnabas if you choose." He looked around again, as if the wall covering were listening, and leaned closer to her. "You are twenty-two, after all, and ought to know your own mind."

She beamed at him as he leaned back in his chair, exhausted, apparently, with the strain of decision. "Thank you, Papa," she said.

"You won't tell your mother?" he asked, his voice anxious.

She shook her head. "Never."

They ate in silence, Papa still unnerved by his radical disclosure, and Lydia saddened almost to tears. At least you have a library to hide in, Papa, she thought. I must be at Kitty's constant disposal, and there is always Mama to tell me my failings, should I ever forget them. She looked out the window, beyond the view. And I do not see an end in sight for me or you.

She finished the eggs on her plate, only because Mama hated waste in everyone except Kitty, then pushed back her chair. There was a pile of mending-most of it Kitty's-she had been avoiding for weeks. Obviously even Major Reed's extravagant gift of flowers had been insufficient temptation to induce Mama to change her mind.

She was rising to leave the breakfast room when the door opened. From habit, Papa flinched, but Lydia stood where she was, her hand on the chair. Stanton entered the room first, the twinkle in his eyes even more p.r.o.nounced, even though his expression was impa.s.sive as always.

"Sir Humphrey and Miss Perkins: General Thomas Picton."

"Third Division!" the little man exclaimed, with a voice strong enough to wake the dead. "Sam said I was to fetch a fine-looking woman with a serene expression." He nodded to her. "Must be you. n.o.body else looks serene. Get your bonnet."

It is rude to stare, Lydia thought as she closed her mouth and dropped a small curtsy. This is General Picton? This little man in the indescribable coat and trousers who has not removed his top hat? She peered closer at the hat. I wonder if he cleans out stables with it, she thought. He was dressed in faded black with a military cut, and a waistcoat so loud it could only be Spanish. His face was that same mahogany as Major Reed's under his hospital pallor, as though he was too long in the sun. There was no sign of any insignia beyond an extravagant star burst of a medal pinned lopsided to his coat that looked too garish to be English. He was barrel-chested, his posture was impeccable, and he looked every inch a general, in his own strange way.

"I am Lydia Perkins," she managed, then indicated her father, who had risen as though pulled by strings. "This is my father Sir Humphrey. I am supposed to come with you?"

The general nodded. "Those were the terms." He looked at the table, and Lydia smiled. "General, would you like some breakfast?"

"I would." He sat in the chair that Stanton pulled out for him, whisked a napkin onto his lap, and helped himself to the eggs.

"Oh, I can have those warmed up for you, sir," Lydia said as she reached for the bowl.

He held it out of her grasp. "A word to the wise, Miss Perkins," he said in that staccato way of his as he spooned a liberal helping of cold eggs onto his plate. "Never take food from a soldier. I don't give a rat's a.s.s if it is cold. With enough horseradish, I could eat a Cossack three days dead."

Lydia blinked in surprise. The general appeared not to notice his own vulgarity, nodding when Stanton held out toast and cold bacon at arm's length. He ate quickly, with a certain economy of motion that marked him as a soldier. Lydia spared him any small talk; she could not think of a thing they had in common, beyond a minuscule acquaintance with Major Sam Reed on her part.

She had never confessed to Papa, but she knew of General Picton's exploits in the Peninsula. When the war was at its height, Stanton had allowed her to look at the newspaper when Papa had finished with it. Like most of England, she had thrilled to Picton's exploits at Badajoz, Talavera, Vitoria, and most especially at Ciudad Rodrigo.

He finished breakfast in the silent room, then leaned back in his chair. "Glad you're not one of those d.a.m.ned chattering magpies that blight the English landscape," he said to her. "You even look like a woman of sense. Well, get your bonnet, Miss Perkins."

"But my mother ...." she began, then stopped when the door opened and Mama entered. "She preferred that I not return. General Picton, this is my mother. Lady Luisa Perkins."

He was on his feet in a moment to give her hand a hearty shake, and fix her with that narrow-eyed stare that must have discommoded many a subaltern. "Madam, she'll be in my charge today. You must be thrilled beyond belief to have a useful daughter. Come, Miss Perkins. An agreement is an agreement, and I require your presence."

Mama stared, openmouthed. "I do not recall that I gave ...."

"Permission?" the general interrupted. "I knew that you would, madam, considering your great generosity and foresight in allowing Miss Perkins here to visit the sick and wounded yesterday," he said briskly. "Miss Perkins, do go fetch your bonnet. I will await you in the carriage. Sir Humphrey and Lady Luisa, I will see that she is deposited back here this evening without fail."

Never removing that dreadful top hat, General Picton bowed to them and left the room almost as fast as he had entered it. Mama stepped into the hall for another look, as though she wondered if he were a phantom.

Holding her breath, Lydia tiptoed to the door, then looked back in amazement to watch Mama stagger to a chair and plop herself into it without comment. Better and better, Lydia thought as she hurried upstairs to locate her bonnet and to exchange her primrose muslin for something dark and useful-looking. A quick trip down the backstairs took her to the kitchen for advice from Stanton, an ap.r.o.n from Cook, and a handkerchief drenched in lavender water from the housekeeper. "For when you can't stand those smelly soldiers," she explained, pressing the cloth into her hand.

The ap.r.o.n over her arm, and her bonnet already dangling by its strings down her back, she hurried down the hall again, pausing long enough for another deep sniff of Mama's roses.

"Daughter."

She paused, her hand on the doork.n.o.b at the sound of Mama's voice. Don't stop me, Mama, she thought. General Picton will probably lay siege to the house, and you will blame me if Kitty's callers are stopped, searched, and turned away.

Mama came into the hall. "Mind that you do not bring home any nasty contagions that will cut up Kitty's peace."

"I wouldn't dream of it. Mama," she replied, tugging up her bonnet. "I'll even try to keep myself healthy."

They traveled most of the way in silence, General Picton looking out the window, and Lydia uncertain how to engage him in conversation. If I tell him how I have followed his division's career from Talavera to Toulouse, he will think I am a shocking female, she considered, and decided that silence was prudent.

Just as they pulled up in front of St. Barnabas, she gathered together enough courage to voice the question on her mind. "General, you said that this was part of an agreement between you and Major Reed," she said. "I do not understand."

The general smiled for the first time. "Miss Perkins, Sam Reed is much too used to getting his own way. He is also stubborn, and completely unconcerned about proper channels and protocol. His paperwork is probably the worst in any army since the days of clay tablets. He will lie, cheat, and steal for his battery and barely follows orders. I never met an officer-and an earl, too, I might add-with less sense of his own importance. It is a source of continual amazement to me that anyone would follow him to the latrine, much less into battle." He paused and drew a deep breath.

"Then, I wonder that you would help him," she said.

"I will tell you why. Having listed all his failings, I can state without perjuring myself that he is the bravest, most innovative officer I command, and I have owed my life to him on more than one or two occasions." He leaned toward her confidentially. "Naturally, I would never tell him that. No sense in ruining a man."

She smiled. "A little praise never hurt a body, sir."

"d.a.m.ned if I intend to start now, Miss Perkins!" the general said.

"He is most tenacious, it seems, with the idea of seeing his men placed well before he leaves them to convalesce himself," she said, prepared to overlook his profanity.

"And that is what chaps my b.a.l.l.s, Miss Perkins," he said as the footman opened the carriage door and lowered the step. The general descended first, and held his hand out for her. "If he does not quit pestering Horse Guards with his d.a.m.ned requests, I will be in more trouble than I care to be!"

He held out his arm to her, but she stood off for a moment. "General, what is this deal you have made with the major? Perhaps I should know before I go inside."