Simply Love

rained, convinced that she had made a terrible mistake in marrying Sydnam, convinced that what she had said to him-quite unplanned-had hurt him beyond measure, and convinced that he was terribly wrong in saying that they- she-must go back before they could go forward. The only chance anyone had in life was to move constantly onward.

But then, after the rain had stopped, they had picked their way through the wet woods and walked side by side up the long driveway, and David had met them in the hall with his excited tale of riding on his own, first with a leading rope and then with none, beyond the paddock and to the limits of the park before turning around and being rained upon before they arrived safely back at the stables.

“You should have seen me, Mama,” he had cried. “You should have seen me, sir. Uncle Kit says I have a good seat.”

“I could see that yesterday.” Sydnam had reached out a hand to ruffle his hair, and David had beamed happily up at him.

And suddenly a great deal of the gloom had dispersed.

And suddenly and for no real reason it had seemed that after all there was hope.

This morning they were going to ride over to Lindsey Hall to call upon the Duke and Duchess of Bewcastle. When they had mentioned their plans in the nursery after breakfast, David had begged to go too and had renewed his pleas even after Anne had explained to him that all the children with whom he had played at Glandwr were now at their separate homes.

“But James will be there,” he had reminded her. “Let me come, Mama. Please, sir?”

And then, of course, Andrew had wanted to go too. And Sophia had wormed her way into the group and tugged at the tassel on Sydnam’s Hessian boot to gain his attention.

Yes, this morning, despite a night spent at opposite sides of their bed and no real resolution to any of their problems, Anne was filled with hope. The sun was even shining again from a cloudless sky, and there was warmth in the air.

Andrew, mounted on his pony, was attached to Kit’s horse by a leading rope, the understanding being that he would ride as far as he was able and then be taken up before his father.

The two men mounted last.

Anne watched Sydnam, appreciating anew the power of his leg muscles, his sense of balance, his control over a horse that was not even his own. He sat squarely in the saddle and gathered the reins in his hand.

“Ho!” David said admiringly. “How did you do that, sir?”

“There is very little a person cannot do if he has the will to do it,” Sydnam said, smiling at the boy and glancing at Anne. “A horse is not ridden with the hands, after all, but with the thighs. I heard Uncle Kit telling you that the day before yesterday.”

“I did not know then that you could ride,” David said, “or you could have taught me.”

“I would not be able to do my work at Glandwr if I could not ride, would I?” Sydnam said. “But now that you can ride, you will be able to come with me whenever you wish.”

“Will I?” David sounded interested.

“Of course,” Sydnam said. “You are my boy, are you not?”

They rode off side by side, following after Kit and Lauren and Andrew, and Anne drew her horse in alongside them. Sydnam smiled at her across David’s horse, and she smiled back. There was genuine warmth in the wordless communication, she thought. They were a family.

They rode at a very sedate pace all the way to Lindsey Hall, much to Anne’s relief, though she thought that the men might find the speed irksome. Lauren looked back when they were almost there and called out to Anne.

“I am always thankful to have Andrew with us when we go riding,” she said. “Kit is less likely to challenge me to a race.”

They both laughed.

“A race?” Kit said. “Heaven help us, a race with Lauren involves taking our horses into a fairly moderate trot. It is enough to make one weep, Syd, I swear.”

But Anne’s attention was soon taken by the approach to Lindsey Hall along a straight, tree-lined driveway-the very driveway down which Claudia must have stridden on the day she resigned from her post as Lady Hallmere’s governess. The house itself, huge and sprawling, was a mixture of architectural designs, testament to its great age and to the attempts of former dukes to enlarge and improve it. It was impressive and surprisingly beautiful. Before it was a large circular flower garden, still colorful though it was late in the year. At its center was a massive stone fountain, though the waterworks must have been turned off for the approaching winter.

After dismounting at the stables and turning the horses over to the care of grooms, they were shown into the house, and Anne’s breath was fairly taken away by the medieval splendor of it, with its intricately carved minstrel gallery, its huge stone fireplace and whitewashed walls covered with shields and banners, and the enormous oak banqueting table that stretched along its length.

But they were not left long to contemplate it. The duchess came hurrying into the hall only a minute or two after the butler had disappeared to announce their arrival. Both her arms were stretched out ahead of her.

“Lauren, Kit,” she said. “And Andrew and Sophie. What a delight! And Miss Jewell-it is you. And David. And Mr. Butler.” She laughed. “Oh, what is this? Do tell me.”

“Not Miss Jewell, your grace,” Sydnam said, “but Mrs. Butler.”

The duchess clasped her hands to her bosom and beamed from one to the other of them. But before she could say any more, the Duke of Bewcastle himself strolled into the hall, his eyebrows raised, his quizzing glass in his hand and halfway to his eye.

“Oh, Wulfric,” the duchess said, hurrying to his side and taking his arm with both hands, “here are Lauren and Kit and the children, and Mr. Butler has married Miss Jewell after all. We were right, you see, and you were wrong.”

“I beg your pardon, my love,” his grace said, making a slight bow that encompassed them all, “but I must protest in my own defense. I do not believe I ever said that either you or my brothers and sisters and their spouses were wrong. What I did say, if you will remember, is that matchmaking was an undignified and unnecessary activity when the two people concerned were quite capable of conducting their own courtship. It would seem, then, that I was right. And so you have taken leave of absence from your post in order to marry, have you, Sydnam? My felicitations. Ma’am?” He bowed again to Anne.

“And we are going to have a new baby,” David blurted happily.

The duchess’s hands flew to her mouth, though her eyes danced with merriment above them. Kit and Lauren were very quiet. The duke raised his quizzing glass all the way to his silver eye and directed it at David.

“Are you, indeed?” he said frostily. “But I would wager, my boy, that that was your mama’s secret to tell-or not tell. I doubt you would be delighted if she divulged one of your secrets.”

The duchess lowered her hands and stepped closer to hug David.

“But it is the most splendid secret in the world,” she said, “and belongs to your whole family, not just to your mama. But why are we standing here just as if there were no nursery for the children to play in and no morning room where there is a warm fire for the rest of us to take coffee? Mama and Eleanor are up there and will be delighted to welcome company.”

Anne felt somewhat as she had felt on her arrival at Alvesley. Why had she not thought of having a word with David before they came here? She glanced helplessly at Sydnam, who looked back, a twinkle in his eye. The wretch! He was actually enjoying this!

The duchess linked an arm through hers and led her in the direction of the staircase.

“I am so very happy for you, Mrs. Butler,” she said. “Is it not the most glorious feeling in the world to discover that one is with child? Both Wulfric and I believed when we married that we could not have children. James is our miracle, the little rascal. He kept his nurse up half of last night with his crying and then fell promptly asleep after his feed this morning when I wished to play with him.”

They had discussed a possible courtship between her and Sydnam, Anne was thinking-all the Bedwyns, that was, at Glandwr. They had tried to matchmake.

She had had no idea.