She thought the major was asleep, so she settled herself more comfortably in his lap. He kept his firm grip on her, and his lips were close to her ear.

"You can prevaricate almost as well as I can," he whispered.

"So pleased to hear it," she whispered back. She turned herself to be closer to his ear, enjoying the fragrance of cologne on his skin as a welcome antidote from the ripe herring that filled the coach. "I can only wonder what other taradiddles you have in store."

He considered her comment. "None that I can recall, Lydia. A wife invented to preserve an inheritance seems to be the best that I can do."

She smiled and removed her bonnet. "Was I sticking you in the eye with this thing?"

"Uh-huh," he murmured, his voice full of sleep now.

"Good!" she said with some feeling, even though her voice was low. "I still think you are a rascal."

"I will improve upon acquaintance," he said. In another moment he was asleep.

The mail coach stopped in Crosswich to change horses and deposit pa.s.sengers. "A tea leaf poultice," the woman insisted to Lydia as she got off the coach. The old man only snorted, then returned to sleep.

Lydia kept their place as the major went inside the inn with the others for food. He came back with tea and two pasties wrapped in greased paper. "We'll stay the night at Mallow," he said, handing her a pasty and stretching his long legs in the coach.

"How is your back?" she asked as they ate.

"It hurts. I can tell you that I look forward to a bed tonight."

"Shouldn't wonder, lad," said the old man. "She's a pretty morsel. Coo, laddie, so you can blush, too? What a pair you are!"

Lydia looked at the major and burst into laughter. "And I will find tea leaves!" she said.

The coach was just as crowded when they resumed travel, except that a mother and child had to double up this time. Lydia sat beside the major and listened with interest-and some personal pride-to his battle narrative, sparked by a comment from a salesman about the victory at Toulouse. He never mentioned his rank, and dressed as he was in civilian clothes-in style six years ago-she wondered if the coach's inmates would have believed him, anyway. They would not imagine a major riding on the mail coach, either, she thought, as she sat hip to hip with him and absorbed his story of battle and army life. He is certainly no one to be ashamed of, she told herself. Late in the afternoon, he began to close his eyes, and fidget and suck in his breath every now and then. She put her hand firmly on his leg. "He needs to rest now," she told the listeners. "Would you mind terribly sitting over there, sir, so he could rest his head in my lap and put his feet up?"

No one minded. Without a word of objection, the major did as she said. He was even starting to shiver, so she spread her shawl over him, and put her arms around him. When he was asleep, she touched his shoulder and frowned. It was hot. She rested her hand against his forehead, and her frown deepened. Major Reed-Sam-you are not ready for this trip, she thought. I wonder how long it will take us to get to Northumberland?

Helped by their fellow pa.s.sengers, Lydia and the major left the coach at Mallow as the sun was going down. "I know I can stand up," he insisted, even as he continued to lean against the salesman.

"Sam, my dear, you can humor these nice people who want to help," she told him as she hurried ahead across the inn yard to find a room for the night. She forgot to be afraid or shy, even though she had never dealt with an innkeeper before, and in a few minutes the keeper and the salesman had helped him up the stairs and into a bed. "Thank you so much," she told the men. The keeper told her he would be back soon with soup and tea, and she turned to the major.

You would think I was an expert at this, she told herself as she helped him from his clothes, wincing when he did, and holding her breath as she removed his shirt. He obliged her by lying on his stomach, and she looked with some distress at his right shoulder. "You know there is more matter in this wound," she told him. "I had thought General Picton's surgeon ...."

Wearily, the major shook his head. "He got what he could, but not all. I .... I just couldn't stand any more. More shame to me."

Lydia sat on the bed and rested her hand on his head. "No shame at all, Sam." His hair felt good and thick under her fingers. She ma.s.saged his head, and he sighed, then closed his eyes in sleep. "I don't imagine I will ever hurt like this," she whispered. "Bless your heart."

When the innkeeper brought Sam's campaign trunk, she rummaged in it until she found the salve that the surgeon had compounded, and applied it to the wound. She stood looking at him a long time, wondering what else she could do. She could think of nothing, so she covered him, took off her dress, and lay down beside him, careful not to touch his back, even though the bed was narrow. She was asleep sooner than she would have supposed.

When she woke, it was early morning and the bed was empty. She was on her feet in an instant, looking about in alarm. To her relief, the major was sitting in the chair by the window.

"You have not misplaced me, madam," he said, his voice full of humor now, and not pain. "I own, I wish I had had subalterns in the Peninsula as quick to their feet as you."

"Wretch!" Her face on fire again, she quickly twisted her petticoat into its proper position and reached for her shawl, which she wrapped around herself to cover her chemise. "I had thought to be up long before you, considering your state last night."

"Well, you weren't," he replied. "I have been sitting here this last hour, vastly entertained."

"Entertained?" she asked, then shook her head. "I am sure I do not want to know."

"It was charming," he insisted. "You hum in your sleep. Did you know?"

I am mortified, she thought. "I did not know." She looked away, considered the situation, and came closer. "I suppose there is no point to my being embarra.s.sed by all this."

"None whatsoever," he agreed cheerfully. "I feel better, too, by the way."

He had pulled on his trousers over his drawers, but his chest was bare. He turned around slightly, and she forgot her timidity to look at his shoulder. Much of the swelling was gone now, but the redness remained. Gently she laid her palm across the worst of the wound. It was still hot. "I tried to wish it away last night," she murmured as she ran her finger along the line of st.i.tches, noting how tight the skin was underneath. "You know that it will be swollen again by evening."

He nodded, then gently took her hand from his back. "I know. Picton's surgeon told me that I would probably make it to Northumberland, if the trip is uneventful." He sighed. "Things always seem easier to bear in your own bed."

"You'll have to be physicked again," she said. She picked up the comb on the table beside the chair and began to comb his hair. "Thoroughly."

He nodded. When she finished combing his hair, he looked up at her. "Are you feeling sorry for me?"

"I suppose I am," she said, smiling at his question.

"Really sorry?"

"I said I was!"

"Then, sit down. I woke up early because I remembered one tiny wrinkle to the plot that I forgot to mention earlier." He waited as she got her brush from her bandbox, sat down on the bed opposite him, and began to remove her hairpins. He eyed her brush, a heavy silver thing. "In fact, if you feel inclined to throw that at me, let me remind you right now that I am a wounded veteran and your husband."

She laughed and began to brush her hair. "I cannot really imagine anything worse than this deception that we have begun for the benefit of your mother's feelings and your aunt's fortune. But, then, I have been told for years that I am not creative."

"You are extremely creative," he said. "Do keep a tight grip on that hairbrush."

He put on his shirt and b.u.t.toned it, looking about for his neck cloth. "Lydia, I blame it on Sir Percy."

"Why not? So far you have blamed everything on that singular gentleman. What could be worse than the tale you hatched already?"

He thought a moment, as though attempting to figure out how to begin. She watched him with growing suspicion. I am dealing with an inventive, intelligent man who is far more creative than I will ever be, she thought. Quite possibly my mission in life will be to rein him in-provided, she added hastily to herself, that I choose to continue this unusual marriage.

"Confess it, sir. I do not wear well with suspense."

To her amus.e.m.e.nt, he got up and went to sit farther away in the window seat. "Percy really threw himself into his correspondence with my mother and aunt," he began as he examined his fingernails. "Beyond sherry, it was his chief source of amus.e.m.e.nt. I remember one rather gushing letter where, as Delightful ...."

"Oh, that name," she interrupted.

"Ah, yes ... he declared his love to me in quite resounding phrases. I intercepted that one in time, and reminded him that it was going to two ladies." He sighed again and slapped his hands on his knees. "There's no way to say this except to tell you right out .... Lydia, in the gospel according to Sir Percy, after nine months and some two weeks of wedded bliss, Delightful and yours truly had a baby."

Her jaw dropped. She stared at him. He looked back hopefully. "What could I do? He didn't tell me about that letter until after I returned from court-martial duty in Lisbon, and by then it was long sent. Oh, my dear, do close your mouth at least!"

"You cannot be serious!" she gasped, when she could speak.

"Would I lie about that?" He shook his head. "Percy a.s.sured me that it was the logical step, considering how deep my love was for Delightful."

"If you say that name again, I am going to thrash you," she threatened him. She got off the bed and came toward him. He may have been taller than she and well beyond her weight, even in his convalescent state, but the major retreated to another corner of the room. "You couldn't possibly have forgotten that little detail yesterday when you convinced me to marry you! Now, be honest!"

In the middle of her turmoil, she was at least gratified to see his own discomfort. "Well, I thought to do this a step at a time," he admitted. "I will confess this morning that such reasoning may have been a tad arbitrary."

"I think I have leg-shackled myself to a lunatic," she said. Without thinking about it, she threw herself down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. She could not help herself; in another moment she was laughing. She laughed until her stomach hurt, and she had to press her hand against her middle. Tears streamed from her eyes and puddled on the pillow. "Oh, Lord, spare me." She wheezed as she wiped her eyes with the pillow case and rose up on her elbow to look him in the eye. "Sam, are you aware that you are certifiable? You'd feel right at home in Bedlam. It would fit you like second skin!"

"No. Blame ..."

"... it on Sir Percy," she finished in unison with him. She lay down again and stared at the ceiling. "Let me see: I reckon this baby of ours is thirteen months old now. Oh, how auspicious!" She reached over to the chair where he sat now, made a fist, and thumped his knee hard. "It appears that you will have to commit infanticide. When we arrive in Laren, you'll have to tell your mama that dear little ...." She looked at him.

"Celia," he said promptly.

"Oh, we had a daughter!" She flopped back again and threw her hand across her eyes. "Sam, you will have to tell your mama that Celia perished."

"I could never!" he declared, his eyes wide. "Lydia, I am fond of children. We'll have to come up with something better than that."

"Sam! You are a blockhead!" She sat up, swung her legs around, and faced him, knee to knee. "Celia never existed! How hard can this be!"

"My mother will be vastly disappointed," he said after a long pause. He looked her in the eyes finally, and then started to laugh, too. "Lord, you are right, my dear," he said finally, his voice equal parts of contrition and high humor. "I am a blockhead." He took her hand then, running his finger over her wedding ring. "Can't we think of something? Percy really outdid himself on Celia. She is a wonderful little baby."

"Sam ...." she warned.

To her surprise, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Didn't the priest say something yesterday about sickness and health, and a whole host of qualifications? I disremember; I was mostly scared."

"You, too?" she murmured. "There was no rider in our marriage vow about insanity, as I recall. If you're planning something, I think I will choose not to go along with it."

"I do recall something specific about 'obey' that you agreed to," he said with a grin. "And yes, I have an idea."

"Don't try me, Sam!"

He only smiled at her in that good-natured way of his that she was already familiar with. Whistling softly to himself, he turned away and found his neck cloth. He tried to stoop a little to see in the mirror, but all that achieved was a groan he couldn't hide.

Or didn't try to, she thought as she hurried to his side, turned him around, and took the neck cloth from him. I must be an idiot, too, she thought. So good that we found each other. "I'll do that for you," she said. "Hold still."

It was done in a moment, if a little crooked. He took a look in the mirror. "It'll do. I wish you would put on some clothes, Lydia," he said as he went to retrieve his shoes.

"I was only helping you!" she reminded him. "You are a trial."

"Yes, ain't I?" he agreed as he toed his foot into one shoe without bending down.

She hurried into her dress and knelt in front of him to put on the other shoe and buckle them. "You can't possibly bend over like that yet, so do not try," she scolded him. "Sam, I think I will like to murder you long before we get to Northumberland. The urge is on me now."

He nodded, his equanimity unruffled. He allowed her to help him into his coat, then he sat down as she continued to dress. She paused in front of the mirror, gratified to see that the swelling had gone down in her cheek. She touched it, and it felt no more than warm today.

"Does it feel better, Lydia?" he asked, his voice so gentle.

She nodded, and watched him in the mirror. I think I could have a hard time staying angry with you, Sam, she thought, but perhaps this is information I shall keep to myself. She finished braiding her hair, and wound it neatly into place with pins. She replaced the cameo at her throat.

"Neat as wax," he said. "Lydia, you do turn out well, even on short notice."

A hundred reb.u.t.tals rose to her lips. Beyond the occasional kindness from Papa, no one had ever complimented her before. My dress is wrinkled and worn from yesterday, she thought. I know I would like to bathe and wash my hair. My cheek is better, but I still look like an accident victim. "Thank you," she said simply. "Now, if it will not trouble you overmuch, my dear husband, do tell me how we are going to acquire a baby when we have been married only one day?"

"Simple," he said as he took her by the arm and led her to the door. "Let us call this a gesture in memory of Private Charles Banks and other men of my battery, who had rocky starts in life. My dear wife. Mallow is a prosperous community, and probably full of concerned Christian citizenry. We are going to locate a foundling home."

Chapter Eleven.

It was St. Catherine's Home, and located on a narrow street near the center of town. A sign over the door informed them that Sisters of Charity ran the place. The sister porter who opened the gate raised her eyebrows at Major Reed's request for a baby. "Usually people drop them off," she said. "This is singular."

I think I shall not say anything, Lydia told herself. It appears that I have married a master at manipulation. She tightened her grip on her husband. I am certainly along for a ride in this adventure that I will laughingly call marriage.

"Yes, Sister, we would like to adopt a baby," he was saying. He drew Lydia in close and brushed his lips against her ear. "We've had a tragedy of our own, dear Sister, and we are feeling a great void in our lives."

You'll feel an even greater void if your aunt ever gets wind of what you are doing, she thought. The picture of Sam trying to explain all this to his relations brought the handkerchief to her mouth to stifle her laughter. She choked and turned toward him. He obligingly held her close until her mirth pa.s.sed.

"It is difficult," he told the porter.

"Follow me, please."

Was it possible for a man to charm nuns? She would not have thought so, but after a half hour closeted with the convent's mother superior, a stern, no-nonsense woman, Lydia changed her mind. No one is safe from this man, she thought. She watched the mother superior hunt in the depths of her habit for a handkerchief, when he finished his artless narrative about the loss of their little one, her own heart trouble that precluded any other child of their own, and their great longing for another one about the age of their dear little Nell, who went to sleep with the angels one night.

This man doesn't have a scrupulous bone in his whole body, she thought as he turned away to stand by the window, the picture of a grieving father. She stayed where she was until the nun burst into tears, and gave her a little shove. "Oh, go to him, my dear! See how he suffers!"

She did as she was bid, careful not to make eye contact as she hugged him. "You ought to be kept away from an unsuspecting public," she whispered. "Really, Sam!" she protested as he kissed her neck a little longer than she thought necessary, considering their surroundings.

"Thank you, my love, for your blessed consolation," he said as he turned back to the mother superior with a real effort. "I think I can pull myself together now," he said, with just a quaver in his voice.

Mother Superior nodded, then looked sympathetically at Lydia. "My dear, you seem to have suffered an accident yourself."

All right, Sam, you explain it, she thought, looking at her husband. "My dear, I cannot talk about it. You tell her," she said.

Sam shook his head slowly, after a look at her from under his eyelids that would have melted tile. He stood close to the nun and lowered his voice. "It is a rare nervous disorder." He leaned closer. "It is worsened by her present trial, I need not scruple to add. The doctor is certain that when there is a little one in our house again, she will stop running into doors and things."

"Dear me!" said the nun faintly. "We shall have to see what we can do about this. Mr. and Mrs. Reed, you are certain you wish a small child, and not an infant?"

Lydia nodded and dabbed at her eyes.

"Do follow me, then, and St. Catherine's will do what it can to a.s.suage your grief."

The major, took Lydia's arm. " 'Doors and things.' Really, Sam," she scolded in a low voice.

"Well, you could help out a little here and there," he retorted as they followed the mother superior.