by Stella Riley
I can’t either, she thought. That’s just the trouble.
Upstairs, Eden was met with a barrage of questions about how he’d got Miss Lydia and himself out of the flooding cellar in the dark. He answered them briefly and with grim humour while he absorbed the progress that had been already made on the devastation he’d seen the previous night. Then, pulling off his coat, he asked Trooper Buxton how he could help and set to with the rest of them.
For a time he and Buxton worked largely in silence, nailing down the oak planks. But after a while the trooper said, ‘What do they want to go and hurt Miss Lydia for, Colonel? She’s never done nobody an ill turn – nor ever would. Why won’t they leave her alone?’
‘They’re being paid to find something.’
‘And they think Miss Lydia’s got it?’
‘Yes.’ Eden hammered down one corner and reached for another nail. ‘So let’s hope they found it and that this bloody mess won’t have been for nothing.’
Buxton finished nailing down his end of the plank and sat back on his heels. He said mournfully, ‘It’ll sound daft … but it’s a shame about the old cupboard. It wasn’t locked and there was nothing in it apart from a few old ledgers – but look what the buggers done to it.’
Eden glanced across at the cupboard in question. It was a big, ugly thing resembling a dresser; narrower above than it was below and built into the wall. Now, those of its doors which hadn’t been wrenched off completely hung drunkenly from their hinges and much of its heavy, black oak frame bore signs of someone having taken a hatchet to it.
He shrugged slightly and went back to work.
‘The doors can be replaced, I imagine.’
Buxton grunted an assent and said, ‘I know it don’t look much, Colonel. But Mr Stephen was fond of it. Said it must have been built along with the house. Even gave it a name, he did.’
The back of Eden’s neck prickled and he laid down his hammer. Rising, he picked his way across the beams to take a closer look at the monstrosity. It looked perfectly ordinary. He ran his hands over it, he tapped each section for secret compartments and he investigated the crude, lumpy carving for anything that moved. He found nothing. Stepping back, he scrutinised it bit by bit. Eventually he noticed a pair of irregularly shaped insets, one at either end. He peered at these more closely, pushing his index finger inside and encountering nothing but years of accumulated dust. Finally, he gave up. Just for a moment, he’d hoped … but no. He really should have known better. And for all he knew, the late Mr Neville might have had an affection for a dozen of pieces of furniture.
‘Called it Old Job,’ muttered Trooper Buxton, more to himself than to Eden. ‘Never did understand why.’
* * *
Lydia worked until the office was once more restored to order and then, reluctantly sent word upstairs that she was ready to go home. She’d expected Peter to materialise alongside the Colonel but he didn’t. Eden came down alone and blithely informed her that the young man wanted to finish what he was doing and would follow later.
Out in the street with her hand on his arm, he said mildly, ‘Are you feeling awkward because things have changed between us or because you’re wondering what happens next?’
‘I’m not --’ she began and then stopped, sighing. ‘I don’t know. Both, I think.’
He nodded. ‘Then let me clear up at least one point. Much as I’d like to lie with you again, I’m making no assumptions … and I won’t. Does that help?’
Since this sounded very much as if he was leaving the nature of their future relationship up to her, Lydia wasn’t sure whether it did or not. His admission brought a flush of pleasure. But finding a way of hinting that she wanted the same thing and didn’t require a wedding band seemed as difficult as telling him she was a virgin. However, she murmured politely, ‘Yes. Thank you.’
Eden shot her an amused smile but, realising that this wasn’t a conversation to be having in the street, changed the subject to the one still niggling at the back of his mind.
‘Tell me about the cupboard upstairs.’
Lydia gave a tiny puff of amusement. ‘Old Job?’
‘That’s the one. Did Stephen make a habit of naming articles of furniture?’
‘No. Just that one.’
‘Why? And why Old Job?’
She tutted. ‘Don’t you remember your Bible? “Job lived an hundred and forty years … and died being old and full of days.” That’s roughly the age of the building.’
Eden, frowned a little. There was something odd about that and it increased the annoying feeling that he was missing something. However, since whatever it was wouldn’t come into focus, he restored his attention to Lydia, chatting easily about the damage in Duck Lane.
Back at home and having laid aside her cloak, tidied her hair and ordered a meal to be served in the dining parlour, Lydia joined Eden by the fireside and said, ‘Do you think there’s any chance we’ve seen the last of Quinn?’
‘It’s not impossible.’
‘But you don’t feel inclined to rely on it.’
‘No.’
‘No.’ She sighed. ‘Neither do I.’
‘Good. Then you’ll be more careful than you were yesterday, I hope.’
‘You can rely on it. I know what happened was my fault. If I’d listened to Henry --’
‘Listen to him next time,’ said Eden crisply. And then, with a smile, ‘And increase Peter’s wages. God knows, he’s earned it.’
‘I already tried. He got rather annoyed and said the only reward he wanted was a chance to get his hands round Quinn’s throat.’
‘A man after my own heart, then.’
Lydia eyed him thoughtfully.
‘If you had the opportunity … would you kill him?’
‘Yes.’
It was perhaps fortunate that Henry chose that moment to tap on the door and announce that food awaited them. Eden who – aside from the bread and meat that should have been Lydia’s supper – had eaten nothing for twenty-four hours, decided that he might make a better job of asking Lydia to marry him when his stomach had stopped growling. It also occurred to him that he was likely to meet with more encouragement if he kept the mood light and worked on re-establishing their previous easy relationship.
Consequently, while they dined off mutton stew and peppery mashed swede, he spoke only of trivialities and watched Lydia gradually slip back into her usual manner.
However, the meal done and once more settled beside the fire, he knew he couldn’t put it off any longer; didn’t, in fact, want to put it off any longer. So he said, ‘I need to rectify some omissions. Things I neglected to say last night. Do you think you might bear with me?’
Instantly, she looked wary. ‘Is it important?’
‘I think so. Yes.’
‘Then I suppose I’ll have to, won’t I?’
‘There’s no need to look so worried,’ said Eden, as casually as he was able. ‘I merely wanted to clarify a few things.’
‘Such as what?’
‘Such as the fact that I don’t take what happened between us lightly. I recognise that you gave me a great gift and one I’m honoured to have received.’
‘That sounds very formal,’ said Lydia. And thought, Please don’t ask me why I did it; why I chose you in particular. I shan’t know what to say. ‘Grandiloquent, even.’
‘It isn’t meant to. Does “thank you for trusting me” sound better?’
‘Yes.’ A swift, unexpected and slightly wry smile dawned. ‘Though it seems a small thing to trust you with – considering that my life has been in your hands for quite some time now.’
‘I disagree … but we won’t pursue it.’ Eden paused, trying to assemble the right words. ‘Last night I made what you called a suggestion and which you dismissed out of hand for a whole barrage of assumed reasons – none of which were correct. It’s true that I hope I have some honour and know how to behave like a gentleman even if I don’t always do it. But, given my personal history,
you must surely admit that my having … how did you put it? Yes. My having deflowered you is hardly enough to make me plunge into matrimony.’
At some point during a sleepless night, Lydia had finally realised that. What she hadn’t done was come up with any other credible reason. She said, ‘When you put it like that … no. Probably not.’
‘Definitely not.’ He hesitated again and then said, ‘Of course, you weren’t the only one making assumptions. I took it for granted that, if … if you liked me well enough to go to bed with me, you might like me well enough to live with me. That may have been foolish. Was it?’
‘I – no.’ She wasn’t entirely sure what he was asking so she said cautiously, ‘It was a reasonable enough thing to think.’
‘I’m aware. But was it true?’
Lydia was beginning to feel as if she was picking her way through a bog in the dark. He seemed to be skirting around something but she didn’t know what it was – which meant she could as easily say the wrong thing as the right one.
Had she but known it, Eden felt worse. The more he tried to put his thoughts in order, the more muddled they became. Having embarked on this conversation, he’d suddenly recognised that the only thing that mattered was whether or not she loved him. If she didn’t, his only sane course was to walk away … because he was fairly sure that marriage to another woman who didn’t truly want him would destroy him. He’d do it – he’d have to do it if there was to be a child; not just for Lydia but because no child of his was going to be branded a bastard. But otherwise? He didn’t think he could. More fully perhaps than ever before, he understood how Deborah must have felt and wondered where she’d found the strength not only to live with him knowing he didn’t love her but also, in the end, to set him free.
Lydia was no Celia. He knew that. She was honest, loyal and incapable of betrayal. But love didn’t wait for an invitation. It arrived unbidden. So if, by now, she felt nothing more than friendship, the likelihood was that she never would. Or not for him. And therein lay the rub. She would never betray him. But the time might come when she’d want to.
That thought ripped through him like a knife. He couldn’t do anything about his own feelings. He’d fallen completely and irrevocably in love with her longer ago than he’d been prepared to admit; but he could spare himself a lifetime of waiting for something that might never happen or, worse still, watching her face light up for some other man. So he had to know … had to ask; but still couldn’t quite bring himself to lay his heart at her feet and risk having her reject it.
He realised she hadn’t answered him. Clearing his throat, he said, ‘Perhaps I’m not making myself clear.’
‘Not entirely, no.’
‘Then I’ll be blunt. Will you marry me?’ He paused, absorbing her expression of utter shock and then added, ‘You’ll notice that wasn’t a suggestion.’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes, you’ll marry me – or yes, you noticed it was a question?’
‘The l-latter. I haven’t come to terms with the first bit yet.’ Everything inside her was in turmoil. Despite what he’d said last night, she’d never thought he’d actually propose to her; unless, of course, she was with child. He’d definitely ask her then and probably refuse to take no for an answer. But he wasn’t waiting for that. He was asking her now. And though she didn’t understand what his motives might be, she wanted to simply say yes more, she thought, than she’d ever wanted anything in her life. Drawing a slightly ragged breath and preparing to speak as bluntly as he’d done, she said, ‘You’ve always been adamant that you wouldn’t marry again.’
‘Perhaps I’ve changed my mind.’
And perhaps you haven’t.
‘Why would you do that? You don’t need to marry me. If there should be a child … things might be different. But as it is --’
‘Are you refusing me?’ The words felt like razors in his throat.
‘No. I’m saying you’ve no reason to – to feel obligated to do anything you don’t want to. I thought … I wondered if we might …’ She stopped, feeling her cheeks grow hot and thinking, What am I doing? If he says no … worse still, if he laughs - I’ll die of mortification.
‘You wondered if we might … what?’ he prompted.
‘Carry on from where – from where we left off last night,’ she blurted out. ‘Marriage isn’t a necessity.’
It was Eden’s turn to be shocked into silence. Finally he said slowly, ‘Are you … did you just offer to become my mistress?’
‘Yes.’
‘Rather than marry me?’
‘Yes – no. Not exactly. That would be insulting.’
‘Just a little,’ he agreed. ‘And so?’
‘I’m honoured and f-flattered that you should offer. Of course I am.’
‘Thank you.’ Inexplicably, the weight that had been pressing down on him lifted and was followed by a surge of hope so strong it made him dizzy. She wasn’t saying no … though quite what she was saying and, moreover why she was saying it, still eluded him. ‘As, indeed, I am by your own offer. Were you serious about that, by the way?’
‘Perfectly serious.’ It would be more than I dared hope for. God knows I’d like to marry you; but I can’t if there’s even the slightest chance you’ll end up feeling trapped. ‘Yes.’
‘That is extraordinarily tempting. But I interrupted you … just at the point I suspected you were about to add the word but.’
Lydia nodded.
‘But I didn’t expect it. How could I? And it seems so – so sudden.’ God help me, I sound like a ninny. ‘Especially on the heels of what happened last night. With Quinn, I mean,’ she added hurriedly, in case he thought she meant something else. ‘Really, you ought to consider whether or not you’re being over-hasty. It’s only been a day, after all.’
No, darling. It’s been a lot longer than that.
‘You think I might regret it?’
‘Yes. I want to be sure you’re sure.’ That you’re not just doing it because you think you should. ‘And I need time to think as well. But in the meantime …’ She stopped again.
‘In the meantime – while all this considering is going on,’ supplied Eden helpfully, ‘you thought we might enjoy a love affair.’
‘Yes.’ She shot him an acute glance, suspicious that he might be laughing at her after all and relieved to see he looked perfectly serious. ‘As I said, we don’t have to be married to – to be together.’
‘I see.’
And suddenly he did. She was just being so Lydia. Simultaneously arguing him out of offering his hand, and herself out of accepting it; because she would accept it. He was confident of that now. A woman like Lydia didn’t suggest sharing a man’s bed out of wedlock unless her heart was engaged. Joy exploded through every vein and along every nerve and sinew. He wanted laugh, to cry, to sweep her up into his arms and pour out everything that was in his heart. The only thing that stopped him doing so was the fact that it seemed she wasn’t quite ready to hear it … or had possibly not fully explored her own feelings as yet. So he’d wait. He could do that now. He could do anything now.
‘Perhaps you don’t think it’s a good idea,’ he heard her murmur doubtfully.
No, love. I think it’s positively hare-brained – and if I wasn’t sure it would end in marriage, I’d have some very serious objections to it. As it is, have you really not recognised that you’re giving me the chance to remove your options with a week or two of love-making?
Shrugging, he said, ‘I’m a man, Lydia – so naturally I think it’s an excellent idea. I only hesitate because I’m just not entirely sure how this liaison is to be managed.’
She stared at him, clearly nonplussed. ‘Managed? I don’t …’
‘Well, were you thinking of visiting my bed – or do I visit yours?’ Eden frowned thoughtfully to hide the fact that, against all expectation, he was enjoying himself. ‘It’s just that I can’t imagine Aubrey being very happy with the situation – or with me. And it really w
ouldn’t do for the pair of us to end up fighting each other, would it?’
‘Oh. No.’ Her heart sank. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘No. So perhaps we should take a little time to work out the best course of action. For example, I could take a room in a tavern … but that seems rather sordid.’
‘Yes. Yes, it does.’ It was also beginning to sound a lot more complicated than she’d imagined it would be. Suspicion stirred afresh and she said, ‘Are you trying to put me off the idea? Because if you are … if you don’t want to – to --’
‘Of course I want to. But the thing about illicit love affairs,’ he confided blandly, ‘is that they inevitably involve a good deal of subterfuge. In one sense, that might add an extra frisson of excitement – but in another, it doesn’t seem very romantic.’
‘No. I can see that.’ Lydia eyed him with a glimmer of resentment. ‘How fortunate it is that you know so much about all this.’
‘Isn’t it?’ said Eden, leaving his chair to advance on her with predatory intent. And pulling her easily to her feet and into his arms, ‘Leave it with me, sweetheart. It may take a few days but I’m sure I can work something out. And while we’re waiting, there’s always this.’
He kissed her with everything that was in his heart and soul. He’d withheld the words for the time being but he wanted her to know, on some level, what she had. So he kissed her long and deeply and with undisguised passion; and when he was fairly sure that the only thing holding her up was himself, he released her mouth briefly to murmur, ‘Convinced yet?’
The long silky lashes fluttered open revealing dazed blue eyes. ‘I – what?’
Eden smiled down at her, knowing the answer.
‘Good,’ he said. And kissed her again.
~ * * ~ * * ~
SIX
On the following morning, Eden – still trying to stop grinning like an idiot – walked into the parlour and narrowly avoided tripping over his brother’s saddle-bags, full to bursting and lying just inside the door as a trap for the unwary.
Tobias himself was standing up, hastily consuming some bread and a lump of cheese. Reading these signs without any particular difficulty, Eden, ‘I gather Tabitha’s having the baby.’
