Eleanor turned and gasped. “What’s she doing here?”
Stratford peeked over his shoulder. Lydia? He angled his body away from Eleanor, intent on going to Lydia, but he was stopped short. Eleanor had his arm in her manacle-like clasp. He would have to knock her down to break free. Not that he was opposed to it.
What was Lydia doing? Had she come to make certain Eleanor kept her word? That once she and Stratford were wed, Lydia would be truly safe?
No. That made no sense. Lydia had begged him not to marry Eleanor. Even though it would have meant her becoming a permanent resident of Bedlam. Then why…
Lydia, grasping the edge of each pew as she walked down the aisle, still kept her gaze steadily on Stratford. She was walking… by herself! A thrill shot through him. How wonderful for her to be able to move about freely once again.
He watched her make her slow journey down the short aisle, his gaze steadily on her. He could do nothing else. It was like a bright light had entered the darkened room the moment she appeared.
Like an angel.
He must have absentmindedly tried to head in her direction, because Eleanor tugged sharply on his arm again. She could paw at him all she liked. She couldn’t force him to not look at the woman he truly loved.
“Say,” said the vicar. “What’s all this? Young lady, we are in the midst of a wedding ceremony.” He turned to Eleanor. “Is this woman known to you? An invited guest perhaps?”
“Certainly not.” The words came out sounding like a hiss.
The vicar lowered his bushy eyebrows and addressed Lydia again. “Miss, I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave, we are—”
She gave a small shake of her head, halting the man’s words. “I’ll leave. But only after I have my say.”
Stratford frowned. “Lydia, what are you about? You know that I must…” He angled his head toward Eleanor, earning a loud harrumph from her.
Lydia clung to the edge of the first pew, her ungloved knuckles turning white with the effort. Traveling to the chapel and walking without assistance appeared to be costing her dearly in terms of strength and energy. Having had to carry her a few days earlier, Stratford was still amazed and proud at what she’d accomplished in so short a time out of her chains at Bedlam.
Eleanor stomped her foot. “Make her leave. You know what will happen if this marriage does not take place.”
From the corner of his eye, Stratford noticed both fathers stand. But he ignored them.
Lydia stood up straighter. “I don’t care what you do to me, Miss Queensbury. But the vicar will hear what I have to say first.” She stared at the man until he gave a slight nod. As if even getting those few words out exhausted her, Lydia slumped against the side of the pew.
Not caring who saw him or what they thought, Stratford yanked away from Eleanor and helped Lydia to sit on the first pew. He longed to sit next to her, hold her in his arms, and comfort her. Alas, since he was to marry the shrew, it would only make getting through the ceremony all the more difficult.
The vicar peered down at Lydia. “Go ahead, Miss, uh—”
“Sullyard. I am Miss Sullyard.”
“What is it you feel you must say?”
“How dare she?” came out as nearly a shriek from Eleanor.
The vicar halted Eleanor from further speech by lifting his hand. He turned back to Lydia. “Please. Say what you feel you must so we can continue.”
Lydia took a deep breath as she closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them, she stared right into Stratford’s eyes. And his heart. “I was recently housed at Bedlam Hospital. Mr. Bexley—” She tilted her head toward Stratford. “—came to visit me.”
The vicar nodded, encouraging her to continue.
She brushed some hair away from her eyes. “He was there on several occasions.”
“We are told,” intoned the vicar, “to visit people in prison and when they are ill. I’d say both might qualify in your case.” He gave a small smile to Stratford, appearing proud that someone who would soon be among his flock had followed the teaching of the scriptures so faithfully.
Lydia continued. “When he paid me visits, he brought me food.”
“As he should,” said the vicar.
“And also… Mr. Bexley, Stratford—”
Eleanor gasped.
“Would sit next to me on my bed of straw.”
A frown formed on the vicar’s face. “Oh…”
Lydia kept her gaze on Stratford and smiled. “He held my hand on several occasions, even once taking me in his arms. Stroking my face with such gentleness I nearly wept.”
“What?” Eleanor screeched.
“And, for all of the visits, I was covered with a thin blanket. And nothing else.”
“I say!” The vicar took a step toward Stratford.
Lydia glared at him. “I’m not finished, sir.”
The vicar’s mouth worked but no words came out.
“Anyway,” Lydia looked at Stratford again, “one particular time when he came to see me, I was wearing nothing at all.”
“This is most upsetting.” The vicar reached into his pocket, removed a handkerchief, and blotted perspiration from his forehead.
Lydia edged forward, that time eyeing the vicar specifically. “He and I were completely alone. With the door closed. Every single time. If you have doubts about that, you may question my keepers. They will verify what I’ve said.”
Eleanor narrowed her eyes and leaned toward Lydia. “What do you think you’re doing? Nothing you say will change my mind about marrying Stratford. You can’t possibly—”
Lydia raised one finger. “One more item… On more than one visit, Stratford and I had… relations. I… I am carrying his child.”
“What?” The vicar blanched. “Young woman, how can you say such things? About an upstanding citizen of the gentry like Mr. Bexley? If you’re only here at some attempt to trap him into—”
“I’m not trying to trap anyone.” She stood, slowly, and grasped the side of the pew again. “I don’t seek anything from him. Not money. Not marriage. I only wanted to set the record straight.” She tilted her head. “What you choose to do with it is up to you.”
Stratford watched, his mouth hanging open, as Lydia cautiously made her way up the aisle. When she opened the chapel door and left, no one uttered a word for a full minute.
Eleanor tugged on his arm again. “Let’s get on with it. Vicar, continue.”
He stared at her. “Don’t you wish to address the accusations of Miss Sullyard?”
“I do not.” She lifted her chin.
He stared at Stratford. “Well, I for one would like to know the truth before we proceed with the marriage. Mr. Bexley?”
Stratford took a deep breath, recognizing the gift that Lydia had just presented to him. Would it work? Would it be enough to keep Lydia out of Bedlam and him out of a loveless marriage?
He pulled away from Eleanor and stepped to the side, not wanting to touch her again or even share the same air. “Vicar, everything Miss Sullyard, that is, Lydia said… is true.”
The man blinked. “I see.”
Finally breaking his apparent stunned silence, Mr. Queensbury approached from behind them. “Daughter, I know you wanted to marry Stratford, and we both know the reason why, but I will not, will not have such a nasty scandal of my daughter’s husband and some crazy Bedlamite attached to our family name. The wedding is off.” He sliced his hand through the air.
“Father, no!” she wailed.
Stratford gave a tentative smile to his parents and sister, who stood and followed him out. His mother and father had looked aghast, but his sister, Annabelle, was smiling.
Chapter Twenty
Lydia walked along the garden path behind her great aunt’s house. She and Patience had moved back in a week earlier. It seemed time to return home since Lydia could walk, albeit slowly. And, with the new baby in the house, they wanted to give Kitty and Nathaniel time alone with Andrew.
Something brushed against her ankle, and she froze. The rat? She looked down. It was only one of their stray cats. She let out a long, slow breath and tried to relax.
Lydia. You’re safe now. Away from Bedlam. Away from the stench, the screaming, the beatings…
And Stratford.
If not for his act of courage and selflessness, Lydia would still be dying a slow death on the cold stone floor.
She’d hoped with everything in her that what she’d told the vicar in the chapel would have worked. That the wedding would have been stopped and Stratford would be free. There was of course, the chance that Miss Queensbury would come back for Lydia, make arrangements again for her to be housed in a cell. And Lydia would do it. Would do it all again for Stratford’s freedom.
Since there had been no word from him or about him, Lydia feared the worst. That he had gone through with the wedding and was caught, once and for all in Miss Queensbury’s — no, Mrs. Bexley now — web of deceit and cruelty.
The poor man. To be saddled with her until he died. Why, oh, why hadn’t he accepted Lydia’s offer to save him? To give herself in his place so he could be free?
Because that’s not who Stratford was. At least, not who he was now. He’d changed so much, even in the short time he’d visited her in the hospital. Gone was the rude man who would barely wish her good day. The admitted rake who’d flirted with Kitty though he’d known of the feelings between her and Nathaniel.
This man, the one she knew now, was so thoughtful. Kind. Selfless. Giving. Without his food, she would have gone hungry. His coat had given her warmth and protection. Even the fact that he shared with her his shameful secret of being unable to read had been a gift. From what he’d said, she was the only person with whom he’d disclosed the information. The joy she’d obtained from helping him figure out why reading was so difficult had uplifted her from the depressing nature and darkness of her cell. Gave her something other than her circumstances on which to dwell.
Stratford had saved her. In so many ways.
If only she could have done the same for him…
She sat down on a bench and tipped her head back, allowing the sunshine to warm her face. She couldn’t get enough of light. Warmth. The outdoors. Sometimes, even in the middle of the night, she had the insane desire to jump from her bed and climb out the window. Anything to remove herself from the confines of her room. Added to that, nighttime was the worst for the bad memories. The moment she closed her eyes, she immediately saw Mr. Steele’s face, heard his lame foot dragging on the floor. Smelled the rot of death and illness from the cells on either side of her. And from her own. Every time she wondered who might have occupied the cell before her, chilblains broke out across her back. What had happened to them? Had they starved? Been tortured? Perhaps they’d died, alone and cold, on the same bed of straw she’d occupied. Were there traces of their blood, now mixed with hers, from the constant chafing of the leg locks?
She rubbed her arms to ward off a sudden chill. The memories of Bedlam, still all too fresh, tormented her. Would they ever leave her alone?
The yellow tiger cat hopped up on the bench beside her, curled in a circle, and closed its eyes.
“It’s a wonderful place to sit, isn’t it?” Lydia ruffled the cat’s fur and was rewarded with a purr.
Footsteps came from the direction of the gate. “What a lovely panorama you two would make.”
“Stratford?” Lydia swallowed hard. What was he doing there? Shouldn’t he be on his honeymoon?
He smiled and stepped closer. “Don’t look so shocked. We have been introduced.”
She shaded her eyes with her hand and gazed up at him. “I… It’s only that…”
“May I sit down with you?” His glance downward had her following the same path.
“Oh…” With a grin, she hoisted the large cat from beside her onto her lap. The cat grumbled but soon settled back down. The bench shifted slightly as Stratford took his seat. Lydia, though she’d sat next to him practically naked, was now unaccountably shy. “How… how are you?” Should she have even inquired? If he was married to that woman, his life couldn’t be enjoyable.
“I am quite well.”
She frowned. How could that be? Surely he hadn’t found contentment with…
He leaned closer. “Are you disappointed?”
“Pardon?”
“That I’m faring well.”
“Yes. No! I…” Heat rose up her neck and warmed her cheeks.
His laugh, loud and full, gave her shivers. But not like her chilblains of before. No, this was something different entirely. And the heat she felt in her middle was nothing like what was now cooling from her face. “Which is it? I might be made to feel inferior if the answer is yes.”
She bit her lip and looked down at the cat. What could she say to that? If he was unhappy, she could be disappointed. But… if he were happy with his new wife, would she be content with that? “No.”
“What?”
In frustration, she shook her head.
Stratford reached over and took her hand, not unlike how he’d done in her cell. But there in the garden, it seemed somewhat forward. She checked around to make sure no one else was about. “Lydia, what’s amiss?”
“It’s only… that day at the chapel, your wedding day…” How forming those words caused pain to her heart.
“Ah yes. Quite the momentous occasion.”
“Was it? Momentous, I mean?”
“Very.”
“How… how so?”
“After you left, Mr. Queensbury announced that he’d not have his family attached to a scandal. His daughter was quite put out, as you can imagine.”
Her heart leapt in her chest. Could it be? “So… you didn’t…”
“Marry her? Thank the good Lord, no.”
“How marvelous.” A slow smile spread across her face.
“My sentiments exactly.” Stratford chuckled.
Lydia laughed along with him but was sobered by a thought. “But if you didn’t… then I—”
“You’re safe, my dear.”
“No… She… she threatened that if she couldn’t have you, I would be taken back there. To that…”
He let go of her hand and cupped her chin in his palm. “My darling girl, I would never allow that to happen.”
“But don’t you see? You can’t stop her. No one can.”
“There is a way.”
“I don’t see how.” Lydia was so grateful Stratford wasn’t married. But now the idea of returning to Bedlam… she would do it. Had to! She wouldn’t let him get trapped again.
“What would you say if I told you there was?”
What was he talking about? “I don’t know. I mean, of course I don’t wish to return.”
Stratford drew even closer, wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Comfort, instant and warm, surrounded her, body and spirit. She closed her eyes, reveling in the feel of his touch. His nearness. “There’s something I must say to you.”
“And that would be…”
“I want to thank you for what you did. For being willing to stay in that prison in return for my happiness.”
“You don’t need to thank me.” She peeked up at him.
He ignored her statement. “But… there is a problem. A serious one.”
She widened her eyes. She should be used to shocking occurrences happening to her and around her, yet something in his tone brought her up short. “What is it?”
“When you came to the chapel and told the priest of our meetings in your cell, you, well, added in some things that hadn’t actually occurred.”
“Oh, that.” Remembering her words, how she’d blatantly lied, to a vicar no less, made her squirm. And the fact that she said that she and Stratford, that they…
Stratford reached down and removed the cat from Lydia’s lap. He set the animal gently on the grass. He was rewarded with a glare and flip of the cat’s tail before he stomped away. Lydia, however, was left with a trail of hot
, burning flesh where Stratford’s fingers had grazed over her lap. He faced her again. “Yes, that.”
“Am I now in dire straits with the vicar? I’ve no wish to have made an enemy of a man of the cloth.”
“I think your eternal soul is safe.” He winked. “But you did succeed in shocking the poor man.”
One side of her mouth rose. “Might do him some good. He came across as a tad stodgy.”
After laughing, Stratford nodded. “I do agree with you there.”
“So… if I’m not in bad with the vicar, then…”
“You see, in addition to saying you and I were intimate, you also made another claim.”
Lydia looked anywhere but at Stratford’s face. Kitty, of course, knew what Lydia had said, since the whole scheme began as her idea. But what would Patience think if she knew? “I do seem to recall something along those lines.”
“I’m sure you do. Saying outright that you were carrying my child is quite the bold statement.”
Was that the problem? She grasped his hand. “But you also heard me say that I wouldn’t hold you to a marriage. I wasn’t trying to trap you. I really wasn’t. I only said it to—”
He silenced her with his finger over her lips. “Shhh. I know exactly why you said it. And I’m grateful.”
She blinked. “You are? But it could cause you all sorts of trouble in polite society.”
“Yes, but while I think the knowledge that I’d had relations with you would not equate to some amusing anecdote to Mr. Queensbury, it would change things in his view if there were going to be a — pardon the words — Bedlamite bastard of mine running around. He just didn’t want to face a scandal of that sort.”
“I was happy to do it. Truly.” Her heart still cringed at the realization that Miss Queensbury might take revenge again. Might have Lydia hauled back to the hospital.
“There still remains a problem, however.”
In spite of his earlier words, did he fear for Lydia, as well? She peered directly into his eyes and waited.
“You see, though you’d said you had no intention of holding me to a marriage with you, I have no intention whatsoever of letting you go. I promise to keep you safe. Miss Queensbury will not cause you harm again. If it takes an army of guards at our door, I assure you she will never come near you.”
Color of Danger (The Sullyard Sisters Book 2) Page 15
