offering for you for the past week or more.’
She stared at him in surprise. ‘You said nothing of this to me.’
‘Well, no,’ he muttered. ‘I mean, I wasn’t sure what to do, so naturally I would not embarrass you so.’
‘I see.’ She did not, in fact. But what else could a young lady say?
‘I suppose I must write to your papa,’ John said.
‘Perhaps it would be best if I wrote to him first.’
‘If you think it best.’
‘I do.’
‘You had better inform your aunt,’ he said with a wry look, ‘before she hears it from one of her friends!’
* * * *
‘What!’ Camilla Denton sat bolt upright in bed. The powders which Lydia had fetched from the apothecary were forgotten.
‘I am betrothed to Mr Savidge,’ Lydia repeated, and followed her news with a frank description of what had transpired today at the inn.
‘Thank God John was willing to offer for you!’ Camilla croaked, sinking back onto her pillows. ‘Have you any idea how near you have been to total disgrace?’
‘I have.’ Lydia shrugged philosophically. ‘But John would never allow my reputation to be ruined.’
‘What were you thinking of, kissing him in such a wild fashion?’
‘I very much enjoy kissing John,’ Lydia replied. ‘Why should I not?’
‘Why not!’ Her aunt looked as if she were about to expire in her bed. ‘Unnatural child! Kissing can lead to ... well, when you are married, you will find out what it leads to.’
‘I imagined that there must be more to it than that,’ Lydia confessed. ‘I quite look forward to finding out what it might be. John says he likes kissing me much better than kissing Miss Carteret.’
Camilla closed her eyes, apparently abandoning the struggle to preach propriety to someone who was clearly out of her senses.
‘John has made a noble sacrifice to save your virtue,’ she said at last.
‘Nonsense!’ Lydia objected to this romantic excess. ‘He would quite like to marry me, and I can think of nobody else I would prefer to marry.’
‘You are in love with him?’ Camilla asked, her eyes growing somewhat misty.
‘I do not know.’ Lydia cocked her head, considering the matter. ‘I have never been in love before. How can one tell if one is in love?’
‘One just knows,’ Aunt Camilla said with simple faith in the mysterious powers of the human heart.
‘Well I do not.’
‘Then you are not in love.’
‘Very well, then.’ Lydia was not dismayed at this revela tion. ‘I am not. I must go and write to papa.’
She left her aunt with a look of complete bewilderment upon her pretty face. For herself, Lydia was not certain what she thought about ‘being in love’, as expounded by her aunt and so many others. It seemed an ephemeral condi tion at best, which scarcely survived a year of marriage. How many miserable love matches had she heard her mother speak of to her friends. In choosing a mate, it seemed to Lydia that the head had at least as much right to contribute to the decision as the heart. A little more common sense and a little less emotion was called for.
* * * *
It took more than an hour for her to compose a letter to her father which managed to convey something of what had taken place, without alarming him unnecessarily. She reflected that it could not but be difficult for a daughter to announce that she intended to marry a young man she had known for only a few short weeks. Indeed, perhaps she was in love, for the most lovestruck young lady could hardly behave more idiotically.
Yet, in truth, she had not meant to consider marriage so soon. It had been, so to speak, thrust upon both of them: herself as much as John. Yet now that she thought about it, it had definitely been in the back of her mind. She really had meant to marry John someday, so why should it not be sooner rather than later?
She felt no common enjoyment of his company, and their thoughts often seemed to jog along remarkably well together. Except for his occasional lapse in kissing
She stared at him in surprise. ‘You said nothing of this to me.’
‘Well, no,’ he muttered. ‘I mean, I wasn’t sure what to do, so naturally I would not embarrass you so.’
‘I see.’ She did not, in fact. But what else could a young lady say?
‘I suppose I must write to your papa,’ John said.
‘Perhaps it would be best if I wrote to him first.’
‘If you think it best.’
‘I do.’
‘You had better inform your aunt,’ he said with a wry look, ‘before she hears it from one of her friends!’
* * * *
‘What!’ Camilla Denton sat bolt upright in bed. The powders which Lydia had fetched from the apothecary were forgotten.
‘I am betrothed to Mr Savidge,’ Lydia repeated, and followed her news with a frank description of what had transpired today at the inn.
‘Thank God John was willing to offer for you!’ Camilla croaked, sinking back onto her pillows. ‘Have you any idea how near you have been to total disgrace?’
‘I have.’ Lydia shrugged philosophically. ‘But John would never allow my reputation to be ruined.’
‘What were you thinking of, kissing him in such a wild fashion?’
‘I very much enjoy kissing John,’ Lydia replied. ‘Why should I not?’
‘Why not!’ Her aunt looked as if she were about to expire in her bed. ‘Unnatural child! Kissing can lead to ... well, when you are married, you will find out what it leads to.’
‘I imagined that there must be more to it than that,’ Lydia confessed. ‘I quite look forward to finding out what it might be. John says he likes kissing me much better than kissing Miss Carteret.’
Camilla closed her eyes, apparently abandoning the struggle to preach propriety to someone who was clearly out of her senses.
‘John has made a noble sacrifice to save your virtue,’ she said at last.
‘Nonsense!’ Lydia objected to this romantic excess. ‘He would quite like to marry me, and I can think of nobody else I would prefer to marry.’
‘You are in love with him?’ Camilla asked, her eyes growing somewhat misty.
‘I do not know.’ Lydia cocked her head, considering the matter. ‘I have never been in love before. How can one tell if one is in love?’
‘One just knows,’ Aunt Camilla said with simple faith in the mysterious powers of the human heart.
‘Well I do not.’
‘Then you are not in love.’
‘Very well, then.’ Lydia was not dismayed at this revela tion. ‘I am not. I must go and write to papa.’
She left her aunt with a look of complete bewilderment upon her pretty face. For herself, Lydia was not certain what she thought about ‘being in love’, as expounded by her aunt and so many others. It seemed an ephemeral condi tion at best, which scarcely survived a year of marriage. How many miserable love matches had she heard her mother speak of to her friends. In choosing a mate, it seemed to Lydia that the head had at least as much right to contribute to the decision as the heart. A little more common sense and a little less emotion was called for.
* * * *
It took more than an hour for her to compose a letter to her father which managed to convey something of what had taken place, without alarming him unnecessarily. She reflected that it could not but be difficult for a daughter to announce that she intended to marry a young man she had known for only a few short weeks. Indeed, perhaps she was in love, for the most lovestruck young lady could hardly behave more idiotically.
Yet, in truth, she had not meant to consider marriage so soon. It had been, so to speak, thrust upon both of them: herself as much as John. Yet now that she thought about it, it had definitely been in the back of her mind. She really had meant to marry John someday, so why should it not be sooner rather than later?
She felt no common enjoyment of his company, and their thoughts often seemed to jog along remarkably well together. Except for his occasional lapse in kissing
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