by Martha Keyes
She closed her eyes and lifted her chin, and, with a thumping heartbeat, he shut his own eyes and leaned in, letting his lips find their way to hers, trying to forget that four people watched him kiss his wife for the first time in months.
The kiss was timid and gentle, so very different from the perfunctory ones which had finally persuaded him to stop even trying to kiss her not long after they had stopped sleeping in the same bedroom. Impulse told him to put his arms around Lydia’s waist, but he refrained. He didn’t want to do anything to ruin this moment.
Two hands came up to Miles’s chest, holding onto the lapels of his coat and pulling him in toward her. Giving in gladly to the force, Miles wrapped one arm about Lydia’s waist. With the other, cradled the back of her head, letting his lips explore hers, reveling in the simultaneous novelty and familiarity of the feeling, of the connection he had nearly given up on rekindling.
Clapping and whistling sounded, and they broke apart, Lydia averting her gaze as her cheeks immediately filled with color. She let her hands drop from his chest, and he reluctantly released her from his hold, his breath coming quickly and his mind racing.
“That’s much more like it,” Harry said with a wide grin as he clapped slowly.
Mary had her hands in her lap and was rubbing them. She had been playing for the better part of half an hour.
“Don’t forget to take a berry,” Diana said cheerfully.
Miles glanced at Lydia, who smiled shyly at him and looked up at the kissing bough. He reached up for the nearest berry and plucked it off, offering it to Lydia. She took it and, with another glance at Miles, turned toward their company.
Try as he might, Miles had been unable to keep his eyes from his wife for the duration of the evening. He had so many questions, and perhaps if he looked at her often enough, he would find the answer there. Only during dinner, when she was seated to his side, did he manage to refrain from looking at her and then simply because to do so would be too obvious.
The question that kept repeating in his mind like the chiming of a clock on the hour was what in the world just happened? He might have believed he had imagined the entire thing if it weren’t for the fact that he could still feel the tingling of his lips whenever he thought on the kiss. He could remember, too, how it felt to have Lydia pulling him toward her. How could he ever forget it?
What did it mean, though? What had changed? Or were they to return to the way things had been for the past year, mere passing ships in the house they lived in together?
Lydia’s gaze met his a number of times over the course of the night, and whenever it did, there was a pensive look about her that Miles would have given anything to have interpreted for him. Did she regret it? Had it just been to appease the company there?
It was with a racing heart that Miles scaled the stairs with Lydia and her sisters after Harry’s and Robinson’s departure. It might be foolish of him to expect anything different tonight, but—heaven help him—he couldn’t stop himself. Diana and Mary bid them goodnight, continuing on their way down the corridor toward their own bedchambers, while Lydia and Miles stopped in front of Miles’s door.
There was silence between them as they watched the sisters disappear through their respective doors, and then, as if at the snap of two fingers, the air thickened.
Lydia looked up at him, and he smiled at her, hoping to set her at ease.
“I think that was rather successful,” he said.
“I think so too. Both Mary and Diana seemed to enjoy themselves.”
“Harry and Robinson, too, which is significant, as they think themselves above most simple entertainments these days,” he said dryly.
She laughed, and more silence followed. He wanted to invite her into his room to continue discussing the evening—he was reluctant to end their time together—but he was still too unsure what had happened between them under the kissing bough to face the rejection he avoided at all costs these days.
Her gaze flitted to the door behind him, and she opened her mouth, only to be interrupted.
“My lady,” said Jane, holding Thomas in her arms and a bottle in one hand. His face was red and unhappy. “You said you wished me to bring him to you when it was time to feed him before sleep?”
Lydia glanced at Miles then smiled at Jane, putting out her hands to receive him. “Yes, of course.”
Thomas fussed and wriggled.
“Oh dear.” Lydia took the prepared bottle from Jane. “Very ornery, aren’t you? There, there, my dear. Let us get something in that belly of yours. Thank you, Jane. You may go.”
Jane curtsied and left them, while Thomas writhed and flailed his arms, his whining turning into cries.
Lydia looked at Miles with a sort of grimace. “I should go feed him.”
He nodded quickly, hoping it hid his disappointment. “Of course.” He took one of Thomas’s hands and shook it lightly. He didn’t know whether to kiss the baby or curse him. Lydia had changed for the better with Thomas’s arrival, but the baby certainly had little respect for Miles’s wishes. “Goodnight, little chap.”
Lydia hesitated for a moment as though she might say something, but Thomas would have none of it. “Goodnight, Miles,” she said.
“Goodnight, Lydia.” He stifled a sigh and opened the door to his room.
Chapter 12
January 1810
Lydia winced as she pulled the brush through her hair, sitting before the mirror. “Ouch,” she said, setting down the brush and exploring the knotted mess with a frown. Her fingers met with something cold, and she paused. She had missed a pin. She extracted it, sighed, and picked up the brush again.
“Where is Sarah?” Miles asked as his valet left the room.
“I gave her the night off,” Lydia responded.
She saw Miles cringe sympathetically as her brush snagged yet again.
“Can I try?” He came up behind her, and Lydia met his gaze through the mirror, her own questioning. He put out a hand for the brush. “I promise I shall be gentle.”
She surrendered the brush to him, and he took a section of her hair in hand.
“I think you must start brushing from the bottom,” he said, doing just that.
She raised a brow at him, and he seemed to sense it, since he looked up and laughed at the sight of her expression. “What? I used to watch my mother sometimes.”
“I know very well how to brush hair,” Lydia said. “I am merely impatient. And perhaps out of practice as well.” She had brushed her own hair growing up. It was only when she’d had her coming out that her mother had insisted she allow a maid to see to her hair.
Miles managed to pull the brush all the way from the roots to the ends, and she closed her eyes. Her head was aching from her coiffure, and the feel of the bristles against her scalp relieved some of the itching. Miles repeated the motion a few more times then set aside that section, starting on another.
“Perhaps I should be employing you rather than Sarah,” Lydia said with a teasing smile.
Miles lifted his shoulders. “I wouldn’t mind taking on this part of her duties. It is somewhat relaxing, in truth. Besides”—he moved the section of hair to the side and leaned down to kiss the part of her neck it revealed—“I would never say no to more time with you.”
Her skin tingled where his lips had been, and she turned her head up to look at him. What other husband offered to brush his wife’s hair every night? She put her hand to his cheek and pulled him toward her for a long, deep kiss.
The Present
Lydia watched Thomas’s lashes flutter and close, only to open again for a moment, droop, shut, and repeat. He was fighting sleep, but the calming of the bottle he was drinking seemed to be quickly winning out, and his eyelids finally closed more firmly.
She glanced at the door connecting her room to Miles’s and stared at it thoughtfully. She still wasn’t certain whether to be glad or regretful over what had happened in the corridor. She had wondered for a moment if Miles might invi
te her into his bedchamber after their kiss—and at the realization that she didn’t know whether she wished for or dreaded it. Her emotions were in a tangle, and she hardly knew what she wanted anymore.
With their kiss, hope had burgeoned within her. She had certainly initiated the kiss, but Miles had returned it with a fervor that had set her on fire—but brought on a sliver of misgiving in retrospect. How could she want his affection so desperately while also fearing it? She wanted reassurance that he didn’t regret marrying her, that he didn’t wish he had married Miss Kirkland, and the kiss had felt like just that.
But perhaps she had misinterpreted it. Perhaps it was another instance of the very thing she had spent the last few months avoiding: evidence of his wish for a return to intimacy between them, a persistent hope that she could still give him an heir.
She clamped her eyes shut, aggravated with herself and the complete mess she was in. The hesitancy and apology she had seen in Miles’s eyes earlier? How could that possibly come as a surprise? She confused herself with how back and forth she was in her thoughts and feelings—of course he would be confused as well.
She rose from the chair and went to place Thomas in his cradle. She was still in her evening dress, her hair still coiffed. It was only in the last year that she had called for her maid at night. Before that, Miles had helped her undo the fastenings on whatever dress she was wearing and then brushed out her hair.
Lydia felt the familiar pang of longing then went and pulled the bell for Sarah.
Miles was not at the breakfast table at the normal hour the next morning, and it wasn’t until Diana and Mary descended from their rooms later on that he returned, cheeks and nose red from the cold and a wide smile on his face.
“It is far too early for anyone to look so odiously joyful,” Diana said teasingly.
“Early?” he responded. “You have missed the better half of the day already.”
Diana took the cup of tea Lydia poured. “The better half? Hardly. Nothing of note happens before the afternoon.”
“Well,” Miles said, snatching up a roll from the table, “today that may well be true, but only because, unlike you, I didn’t stay abed.”
Lydia looked at him through narrowed eyes, letting Thomas chomp on her finger. “What do you mean?”
He only grinned. “It will be better as a surprise. All I can say is to dress warmly once you’ve breakfasted.”
Lydia searched his face for any sign of what he was concealing, but without success. “Is this secret activity safe for the likes of this little one?” She clapped Thomas’s slobbery hands together, and his mouth stretched into a smile full of gums.
Miles looked at him consideringly. “I cannot see why he should not join with us.”
“Will it be too cold for him, do you think?”
Miles crouched down and made a dramatic frown. “You dare doubt the strength of the mighty Thomas?” He pulled the baby’s arms up in a victorious pose. “He spent an evening in naught but a blanket at the Frost Fair, and he seems none the worse for it.”
Lydia gave him a censuring look. “I doubt he wishes to repeat the experience.”
Miles let Thomas’s hands drop. “Well, then, it will all depend upon how tightly he can abide being bundled, won’t it?”
They left the townhouse at two o’clock, everyone wearing their warmest coats, gloves, and scarves. Miles laughed at the sight of Thomas, whom Lydia and Jane had swaddled in no fewer than three blankets.
“Is there truly a baby in there?” Miles asked, coming over to peer down at the bundle in Lydia’s arms.
Wide eyes looked up at them amidst the blankets.
“We are to go on an adventure, Thomas,” Miles said. “Here, let me hold him. We have a bit of a walk before us.”
Lydia complied, looking through narrowed eyes at her husband. “Where are we going?”
He only wagged his brows enigmatically and signaled with a tip of the head for her to follow him. He was at his most charming when he had a secret, and Lydia couldn’t help feeling intrigued by his energy.
Down the cold street, the five of them walked, avoiding patches of ice and dirty snow, while a few snowflakes drifted down lazily from the sky. They were heading in the direction of the Park, and as they passed under the gates, a little gasp came from Diana.
“What is it?” Mary asked, trying to follow the direction of her sister’s gaze.
Diana pointed. “Are those for us, Miles?”
Two red sleighs, both pulled by a pair of matched horses and attended by men in dark great coats, stood on the snow.
“Maybe,” he said, but his smile was answer enough.
“A sleigh ride?” Lydia asked, blinking.
A hint of uncertainty crept into Miles’s eyes as he looked down at her. “Yes. Is that all right?”
She laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Miles. I have always wished to ride in a sleigh.”
“I know,” he replied.
Diana and Mary were already scurrying toward the second sleigh, and the driver assisted them into their seats, leaving Miles, Lydia, and Thomas to share the first one. Thomas was fidgeting, seemingly unhappy with having such limited use of his arms, and Lydia pulled off the outermost—and thickest—blanket so she could sit him on her lap, giving him the chance to look around. He blinked as a stray snowflake landed on his eyelash, and Miles laughed and brushed it away.
“Anywhere in particular you wish to go, my lord?” asked the driver.
Miles settled into his seat. “Take us wherever you would wish to go yourself.”
The man gave a nod. “I like that answer, my lord. And what pace would you prefer? Gentle or quick?”
Miles looked at Lydia, and she raised her brows. “Why not a bit of both?” he said.
Another nod from the driver, a flick of the reins, and the sleigh pulled forward.
Thomas had been watching the snowflakes, reaching out for some that were far too distant for him to touch, but at the moving of the sleigh, his characteristic wide-eyed expression appeared, one of his hands still suspended in the air, his face frozen in alarm.
Miles covered his mouth, but his shoulders shook. “Our little winter statue.” He pushed down with a finger on the baby’s arm, and it popped right back into place.
Lydia swatted at Miles’s hand. “He is not a statue. He is merely showing the appropriate awe for such a scene.” She looked around and felt a similar amazement fill her. The Park was hardly recognizable, enveloped in a blanket of snow that sparkled as she let her eyes follow the drifts they passed.
“It is quite a sight, isn’t it?” Miles said in a soft voice.
The sleigh suddenly picked up speed, and the cold air whipped at their faces. Lydia turned a shocked Thomas in toward her, laughing as falling snow stuck to her cheeks and nose.
“Here,” Miles said, sliding his arm around behind her, and she nestled into the empty space, turning her body and face toward him, glad that her smile was covered. The feeling of being close to Miles was even better than she had remembered it.
As the sleigh charged forward, Lydia noticed for the first time the clinking of the bells attached to the collars around the horses’ necks. They jingled especially loudly as the sleigh bumped over a stretch of uneven ground, eliciting a delicious giggle from Thomas and a glance of shared delight between Lydia and Miles.
Sliding through a wonderland of white, warmed by Miles’s arm cradled around her, and with a laughing baby on her lap, Lydia thought she might be living a bit of heaven in that moment.
Dark was falling as they made their way home from the Park, but merriment prevailed despite the chill air that had begun to seep through their clothing and cause their noses to run. Diana and Mary finished the last stanza of a Christmas carol as they passed over the threshold of the townhouse and began pulling off their bonnets and wool pelisses to hand to the footman.
“Oh heavens,” said Mary with a hand to her hair. “The wind has not been kind to my coiffure.”
“Yours is hardly better, I think.” Mary plucked the bonnet off Diana’s head and laughed at the sight.
Lydia let Miles take the sleeping Thomas as she pulled off her own bonnet and felt the shocking disarray of her hair. “Only Miles and Thomas have escaped unscathed, I think.”
Mary let out a large sigh. “What a mess it will be to brush through.”
“Yes, well,” Diana said, “it will have to wait until bedtime, for I cannot abide another moment in this state of starvation. You don’t mind if we stay in these clothes, do you, Miles? I must say, the sleigh ride was a stroke of genius, but would it be a vain hope that you also had the foresight to set dinner forward?”
Lydia glanced at him with an eyebrow raised in teasing challenge.
“Oh, ye of little faith,” he said. “Can you not even now smell the delights in store for you?”
Diana and Mary gave a couple of sniffs, and their eyes widened. “Do I detect goose?”
Miles gave a formal nod. “Is that acceptable to you?”
Diana only laughed. “Hurry on, then, everyone!”
Miles surrendered Thomas to Jane, who had a bottle in hand, prepared for the moment he woke, and Lydia went in to dinner on Miles’s arm.
There was never more than a moment of quiet with Diana in company, and the four of them made quick work of the food Cook had prepared for their consumption, reflecting on the happenings of the day and debating how long the current cold weather would last.
“Well,” said Diana on a sigh once they were all sitting back in their seats, satisfied with the meal. “I suppose after an entire day in our company, Miles might like some time alone to enjoy his port. And that is for the best, I think, for I mean to go straight upstairs and set to untangling this web.” She made an expression of distaste as she put a hand to her hair.
