Rebecca's Ghost

by Marianne Petit

  Birds splashed in a nearby fountain.

  Toss it.

  His palm began to sweat.

  She turned. A tentative smile played upon her lips.

  His hand jerked behind his back.

  “You rise early my lord.”

  A bloody hell! Too late.

  “Sleep is for those light in thought,” he said.

  She blushed and he regretted his words.

  “Once again, I find my words quick of tongue. I did not mean to cause you any reflection upon the other night, I--”

  “Nay.” She glanced away, then back. “How can one dwell on such darkness with such a glorious day?” She took a deep breath. “What do you hide behind your back?” Her brows rose mischievously.

  Philip swallowed the dry lump wedged in his throat.

  His gaze darted around the garden and the significance of his whereabouts hit him square on.

  This was Rebecca’s garden. Her sanctuary.

  Birds chirped.

  Her escape—from him.

  The thorny puncture jolted his thoughts and he flung his arm out toward Elizabeth, who stood waiting for an answer.

  Her gasp of delight and the smile on her face shoved the ghostly past to the corner of his mind.

  Elizabeth hurried over, gently lifted his thumb from the stem and studied the oozing red blood.

  He tried to ignore the unwelcome surged of desire thumping his heart. Tried to ignore the way her soft fingers lingered against his.

  Without a word, she bent to her hem, tore her petticoat and tied the thin cloth around his wound.

  Again the thump; this time quicker; louder.

  “Much better.” She smiled.

  Words were at a loss to him.

  “For me?” She glanced at the rose.

  The only response he could muster was a nod of acknowledgment as he shoved the flower toward her, a clumsy act; he realized and once again felt foolish.

  “How very kind of you.” She brought the rose to her nose and inhaled deeply. “Did you wish to speak to me?”

  “I-Yes. In fact, I thought. Hmm…” He glanced away.

  Rubbish! He’d sounded like a nickering mare.

  His hands, pray-like against his lips, his fingers tapped together in rapid motion.

  The sheen of her creamy white skin and lush lips sent a stirring in his loins. What would she do if he touched that cheek, those lips? Would she run? She seemed relaxed in his presence and for that he was grateful.

  But, what if he gently brushed a lock of hair from her face? Would the fear he’d seen so many times in those beautiful green eyes return? He couldn’t abide to see that fear.

  Uncomfortable by the silence she smiled, turned and wandered down the path a few paces away from him.

  He took a step after her then, hesitated.

  Deep conflicting emotions surged through him.

  Lord, how he yearned to touch her. An ache rose in the core of his body; an ache so long ago thought dead.

  “Elizabeth wait.” His stride quick he stepped to her side.

  “I thought perhaps… May I accompany you on your stroll?”

  She twirled the stem between her fingers. “’Twound be my pleasure,” she smiled.

  Under the spreading sunrise, a warm breeze descended. Long billowing branches of a willow tree bobbed. Servants were up and mulling around the vegetable garden. Smoke rose from chimneys.

  Strongly aware of her presence beside him, of the vague sensuous light that seemed to pass betwixt them as they strolled through the rose garden, Philip struggled for words to fill the awkward silence.

  Her steps halted and she turned toward him. “I wanted--I’ve been meaning to thank you for bringing my glass armonica into your home. I realize the gravity of my request.”

  His gaze wandered cautiously up and down her body. “Thank my steward.”

  “’Twas your coin.”

  He shrugged. “I would like very much to hear you play.”

  “And so you shall.”

  Despite his trepidation to touch her, his loins responded with certainty.

  “How is your finger?” she glanced to his hand

  “You work magic.”

  Her eyes widened agape as though his words troubled her and he wondered why.

  He stepped in front of her, ripped off the bandage and stuffed the strip up his shirt cuff. “See. Nothing but a scratch.”

  He noticed the quick intake of breath and took a step back, allowing her room to breathe.

  “Elizabeth, please do not fear me,” he said, his voice a mere whisper.

  An almost hopeful glint glowed in her compelling eyes; a glint that snapped his body to attention. Alert to her every movement he gathered her hands in his.

  She drew back.

  “Do not.” He gently squeezed her hand. “I beg you. My intentions are pure of heart.”

  Staring at him, she didn’t move.

  He took another small step, closer still.

  He could almost taste her lips against his.

  “Give me rise to kiss you, just this once. Grant me this favor.”

  He held his breath.

  Though her eyes were wide, she hadn’t bolted from his touch.

  Gently wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her closer, and then pressed his mouth into hers with a searing kiss that rocked him to the tips of his toes.

  Heat seemed to radiate around him, sizzling like dry twigs thrust upon a fire.

  His heart slammed forcefully against hers.

  Sweet; she tasted like the scent of roses filling the air, and warm; a warmth that sent the pit of his stomach into a wild whirl.

  He wrapped his arm tighter gathering her soft body to his.

  How long had it been since he had kissed a woman, felt this fire igniting his soul?

  Not since Rebecca. The thought stopped him dead.

  Suddenly aware that her body felt taut against his, he released his hold and jerked backward.

  Had he gone completely mad?

  Her eyes were wide with a mixture of fear and surprise. Her cheeks flushed, she cast her glance downward.

  He had shamed her, as he had shamed himself. A vow of chastity wasn’t to be taken lightly, nor the consequences that followed lest he allowed himself to get lost in her womanly folds.

  He stepped behind a rose bush, a safe barrier between them.

  “My apologies, Mistress.”

  The words seemed flat, even to his ears.

  ***

  Despite the cool breeze upon her cheeks stuffiness closed in around her.

  Choked, unable to breathe, Elizabeth’s mind whirled.

  His request for a kiss had come as a surprise. But even more surprising was her eagerness to see what ‘twould feel like to have his lips pressed against his.

  Feverish blood surged from her fingertips to her toes. Her lips throbbed.

  His kiss weakened her knees, a reaction he must have noticed when he grabbed her arm to steady her.

  The pitiful look of appeal on his face confused her.

  Her heart hammered foolishly. Guilt spread its way across her mind. Perhaps he had seen something in her eyes, in her touch that had caused his desire.

  ‘Twas her fault. Hadn’t she been told that?

  Humiliated under the scrutiny of his intense stare, she glanced away.

  The silence echoed loudly.

  Her heart pounded.

  She had let herself get trapped, by the intense fire he’d built in the essence of her womanhood, with just a kiss. A kiss, she wished had not ended so abruptly.

  Wicked woman. Wicked thoughts.

  She broke from his arms and turned away, lest he see the tears forming in her eyes.

  Thoughts of her guardian skidded across her mind.

  She felt fear because of him. A caress meant to be gentle, had turned ugly.

  “Elizabeth. Please.”

  Philip’s hand on her shoulder felt strong and warm. “I truly regret my impulsive act
ions.”

  She turned, facing him.

  An apologetic look lined his face.

  He reached out, brushed away her tear and ran a gentle finger across her cheek. His eyes begged her not to turn away from him. “Please do not let my inappropriate behavior cause you fear,” he said softly. “I am not like the man in your dreams.”

  The color drained from her face.

  What had she revealed that night in her sleep?

  Her entire body began to tremble.

  Behind those sympathetic eyes, did he think she was to blame; that she was the cause of her guardian’s actions; of his actions?

  Elizabeth drew up her shoulders and took a deep breath. “I wish to leave and beseech of you to give me no objections.”

  Philip looked hesitant. His lips parted as though a thought formed on his lips, but he just nodded in silence.

  “I bade you good morn.” Her knees shook as she turned and left the garden.

  The door of her chambers banged against the inner wall as Elizabeth rushed toward the safety of her room and sank down into the quilted covering on her bed.

  He knew about her guardian’s vile actions.

  She cradled her face in her hands.

  That look of empathy in his eyes…

  He knew.

  Her cheeks burned in remembrance of their kiss. A kiss that still set her heart aflame. A kiss, if the truth be known, she had enjoyed.

  Her thoughts spinning, she dropped back against the pillow.

  How could she ever face him again? What he must think of her, she could only guess.

  A familiar tingle, a bright light flashed before her closed lids and Elizabeth groaned.

  “‘Tis my fault.” The words vibrated through her and Rebecca’s face illuminated the darkness. Her sorrowful dark eyes pierced through Elizabeth’s mind filling her with sadness.

  “I beseech of you leave me, I cannot, not now,” Elizabeth ordered as she sat up.

  Despite her plea, Rebecca stood before her pacing back and forth, the hem of her green gown trailing behind her. Her clasped hands rested on her stomach, swollen with child. “He is not to blame.” A tear fell from Rebecca’s eye.

  A tear Elizabeth also felt slip from hers; a tear that angered her. She did not want to feel the burden of Rebecca’s grief, only her own; for once, only her own.

  “The truth must be known…” Rebecca disappeared.

  “Why do you torment me then depart with empty words?”

  “…Forgive me,” the far off voice trailed.

  “Nay!”

  The sudden knock on the door jarred her from her conversation.

  Elizabeth wiped her eyes and glanced toward the door. “Yes?” She pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen across her brow.

  Mary entered. “Are ye alone? I thought I heard ye talkin’--”

  “To myself.”

  Mary glanced around the room her misgivings apparent. “His lordship sent me to look in on ye.”

  “I am fine.” Elizabeth’s voice quivered.

  “‘Tis not what I sees by the look of yer face.” She proceeded toward the bed. “If’n there be anythin’ ye be a needn’ to talk about, any burden needin’ to be relinquished, me bosom is big enough to take ye to me heart.”

  Overwhelmed by Rebecca, overwhelmed by the sadness gripping her, Mary’s kind words were like a crumbling wall, pulling down her resistance.

  Tears burst forth, spilling down Elizabeth’s cheeks. Uncontrollable tears full of guilt, full of broken dreams never obtainable and remembered ugly pasts.

  “I… he…”

  “Now, now, Missy, let it all flow out.”

  “‘Tis…’twasn’t his fault, nay, mine--’twas mine. I’m the one who’s wicked… I’m the one… that’s what he told me.” Elizabeth’s tears blended with the vision of her guardian’s face. “When…” she hiccupped, “he touched me… blamed me for his actions.” A flush of embarrassment heated her tear soaked cheeks.

  Alarm touched Mary’s face. “There, there, child.” She patted Elizabeth’s leg. “I’ll be a givin’ his lordship a piece of me mind, I will.”

  “Nay! Not his lordship.”

  “Thank the blessed Lord.” Mary looked to the heavens. “‘Twasn’t none of yer fault. The man, whomever he be, is a filthy pig. Did the beast ever…” Mary seemed to be searching for the proper words. “‘Tis none of me business, mind ye, but did he ever have his way with ye?”

  Elizabeth leaned back against the bed and shook her head. “Nay. But naught from a lack of trying. He lay down upon me. I could not take breath.” She bolted to a sitting position. “I’m abash’d to say he touched me. I should have fought harder. I should have--”

  “Nay, child. Ye are not to feel bad, or blame ye self for his actions. The man was no gentleman, he was; and ye such a petite thin’. Nay, the man should be horsewhipped. Ye no strength against a man like that one. Mercy me. Stop ye frettin’.” Mary sighed a breath of relief. “And I thought ye was cryin’ so because of somethin’ his lordship did, him bein’ so concerned over ye well bein’ and all.”

  “He kissed me.”

  “His Lordship?”

  Elizabeth nodded.

  A look of surprise, then a small smile tugged at the corners of Mary’s mouth. “He did, did he? Do not let the vile actions of one man, make ye fearful of all. ‘Tis a good sign his Lordship’s interest.”

  “Good?” Elizabeth’s voice rose in surprise.

  “Don’t go and get ye feathers’ all ruffled up. A spark of excitement might be what his lordship be a needin’, and ye too, I be a thinkin’.”

  Elizabeth swung her legs off the bed. “‘Tis not a proper way for a woman to act. My actions shame me.”

  Mary clucked her tongue. “Proper, poch. ‘Tis the natural way of it and about time I would say. Why, ye two be like swallows in an angry wind.”

  Elizabeth stared confused.

  “Ye both are fightin’ against nothin’ but air and gettin’ no wheres I might add.” She gestured emphatically. “Why can’t ye see? ‘Tis plain as the nose on Pattie’s pig; the two of ye are good for what ails ye both.”

  ***

  Seated on the settee in his study, the room bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun, Philip stared at the assorted liquors.

  The decanter of brandy glistened in the candle flames like the seductive smile of the devil. Only in its sweet nectar would he find forgiveness. Only with its warming numbness would he find forgetfulness.

  For an hour, he had wrestled with the demons inside him. Demons of the past that lived with him day and night, always trying to claw their way out from the back of his mind. He kept them locked away with the sunlight, but every night they escaped from their cell and brought with them the haunting face of his wife, of the dead child that lay in the grave beyond his home and of the unknown face of a man he cursed with every fiber of his being.

  ‘Twas Rebecca’s screams, he heard when he closed his eyes. Her pain, mixed with his guilt, over their loss of a child.

  Pain from her dying.

  Pain from her betrayal.

  And guilt that William’s ailment was his fault.

  His palms began to sweat. His mouth felt as dry as sand. One drink ‘twas all he needed, he thought as rubbed his hand over his lips and down his neck; one drink to erase the memories, the guilt and her deceit.

  Bloody Hell!

  Even whilst in Elizabeth’s arms, his wife’s image gave him no peace.

  Philip rose from his chair and strolled toward the table. He picked up the crystal bottle, swirling the golden mahogany liquid back and forth and stared deeply.

  ‘Twill help me sleep.

  He glanced away.

  ‘Tis becoming a nightly habit, spilling into his day.

  His gaze found its way back.

  He poured, brought the glass to his lips, closed his eyes and inhaled the strong sweet aroma.

  Blasted; I need sleep.

  He could almost feel t
he smooth liquid sliding down his parched throat, quenching his thirst.

  Elizabeth’s frightened face flashed before his eyes.

  Had she smelled the liquor on his breath? Did she think him a drunk? Did that add to her fear of him?

  Philip slammed the glass to the table. The amber liquid spilled across his fingers. Annoyed, he wiped his hand against his breeches, picked up a cheroot and lit the end.

  The last thing he needed at this moment was to drink himself to oblivion with a woman in his home. ‘Twould lead to nothing but trouble.

  Nay getting drunk would never do.

  He took a deep puff of tobacco and watched a swirl of smoke, waft toward the ceiling.

  ’Twas bad enough images of her filled his head throughout the day, spilling into the night.

  Dozens of times he’d imagined her standing in his chamber with the moonlight, shining through her nightdress, silhouetting her shapely figure; pictured her lying beside him, her long silken hair draped over his arm.

  Even now, the remember scent of lavender, that kissed her silken skin and hair, filled his every pore.

  What cause had she to bolt from the garden?

  For the first time, no fear had clouded her eyes.

  Her body had been willing. Had she found his kiss revolting?

  His lips curled around his cigar with disgust.

  Nay, once again, ‘twas his words that sent her from his presence; the mention of a man, a man who, he suspected, had done more than left his hand print upon her cheek.

  Feeling edgy, and without answers, Philip turned and left the room.

  He found himself as usual, looking in on his son.

  Quietly he sat beside him on the bed.

  Studying William’s face, he thought about the argument he’d had with Elizabeth. Perhaps she had been right. He had been neglecting his son. He had assured himself Mary and his staff knew what was best for the boy, when all along it had been an excuse. An excuse he’d built up for his inability to look upon the child’s face and not be reminded of Rebecca and the love they’d shared.

  He stood and raked his fingers through his hair.

  Damn her. All these years he had let her rob him of their son.

  William stirred.

  Philip stared down at the sleeping form, and for the first time since his son was born, he saw a little bit of himself in the boy’s sleeping face.

  Chapter Eleven