Page 12 of Mounted By Her Officers

They’d turned back toward the inn, and if she were ever to say something, this was the moment.

“I might be silly—”

Her mother made a noise in agreement.

“—but I had barely turned sixteen when I made what has revealed itself to be a colossal mistake.”

“Such is the way of life for ladies. At least you caught yourself a handsome husband.”

The sun must have come nearer to this idyllic village because Lydia grew hot beneath her dress. Sweat dripped between her breasts, and her chemise stuck to her skin.

“I can think of other descriptions,” she said. “Dissolute. Immoderate in his gambling. Indiscreet in his chase of other women.”

“You should have married an ugly man like Mr. Collins if you wanted to hear sermons in your bedchamber, young lady.”

Words that would tell her mother precisely the shame her husband had inflicted on her by wagering her not once but twice on the turn of a card lived just within her lips. Nothing Mama had said suggested that she was any wiser about what George had done to her daughter in nearby Meryton.

It would settle the argument in her favor. And make her mother look upon her with sadness for the rest of her days. Mama wouldn’t understand the joy she’d found in the wake of disaster; she’d only see that one of her daughters had made herself a most unfortunate match.

“There’s the mail coach preparing to depart now. We should hurry,” said her mother, taking Lydia’s hand and leading her to the yard.

“I’m not going, Mama.”

“Of course you are. We’ll be home tomorrow.”

At the door of the inn, three familiar figures loitered without looking their way. Lydia wanted to laugh; their subterfuge was not convincing, no matter their victories on the Continent.

“I’m not returning to Wickham. Not now, not ever. You once thought it so important that I have a protector that you allowed me to get myself entangled with a villain at an age when you should have counseled otherwise. Therefore, you should be most relieved to discover that I now have three protectors, and they will not stand for my being carried away.”

Chapter 6

Mama’s squawking echoed up the stairs, through the door, and, Lydia suspected, most of the way back to Hertfordshire.

Chamberlayne had taken the lead in deflecting Lydia’s mother, then Carter strode forth to absorb the abuses she hurled his way while navigating her into the mail coach.

Hanging back to watch over Lydia, Denny artfully leaned on his cane. “You’ll need a key,” he said behind her when she paused outside her room, thoughts swarming her mind.

“A key, yes,” she said, attempting to fit it into the lock several times before opening the door successfully.

If asked to turn around and recount what the room looked like, Lydia would have struggled to recall. Tears came the moment she collapsed against the counterpane.

“There, now,” said Chamberlayne. He stroked her hair.

“Is she gone?”

Carter slipped into the room. “The mail coach has departed. And your mother was on it.”

“Thank you,” she said with a sniff. “I don’t know how much longer I could have lasted without telling her the whole rotten story.”

“You had her shocked silent for half of the walk to the coach, m’ girl,” said Chamberlayne with a laugh.

“Nearly stepped in muck,” said Carter, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“And now she’s angry. At you, at me. She’ll no doubt call upon the entire family to collect her youngest. To spare them the dishonor of being connected with a known harlot.”

Turning her face into the bedclothes, Lydia’s tears fell faster.

“What’s that, darling?” asked Denny.