Lady in the Briars

by Carola Dunn

  “The why is my business.” He rose and advanced upon her. “I’ll have no more of your defiance or you know what’s coming to you!”

  She kept her seat, shaken more by the memory of his violence than by the threat. Another step closer and she would call the footman.

  He took that step, raising his hand. The door flew back with a crash and John strode into the room.

  His fists were clenched and his dark eyes burned in his thin, pale face. His gaze was fixed on Mr. Exbridge, who took a step backward in alarm.

  “Beckie?” John glanced at Rebecca.

  “I am all right,” she said softly, though inside her coiled the fear that he would once again resort to blows.

  Perhaps he saw it in her face, for he deliberately relaxed, letting his breath out in a long sigh. He too stepped back, to lean against the wall, watchful.

  “I beg your pardon,” he drawled, “I fear I interrupt. Pray do not regard my presence.”

  “My uncle was about to take his leave, my lord. He was kind enough to invite me to return to Buckinghamshire with him, but as I have been offered an excellent position I shall be unable to accept. Donald!”

  The footman appeared instantaneously and looked about with suspicion. “Yes, miss?”

  “Mr. Exbridge is leaving. Show him out, if you please.”

  “My pleasure, miss.” He grinned. “This way, sir.” The squire glanced uncertainly from the short but solid servant to John, tall and powerful despite his thinness, and then to Rebecca. Her calm dignity and resolute bearing appeared to be the deciding factor.

  “I hope you will deign to visit your poor old aunt and uncle one of these days,” he said with uneasy joviality. “For old times’ sake. Well, good-bye, then.”

  He put out his hand but Rebecca did not take it. She bowed slightly.

  “Good-bye, Uncle. Pray convey my...compliments to my aunt.”

  “My lord.” The squire’s nod was curt, accompanied by a glower of intense dislike. John did not respond.

  Mr. Exbridge made his ignominious retreat. Donald went after him, closing the door with a click distinctly audible in the silence that followed their departure.

  “Will you not sit down, my lord?” Rebecca’s voice sounded brittle in her own ears. Her nerves were ready to snap.

  “Thank you, no. I am no longer an invalid.” He moved to the table, leaned on it with both hands, towering over her. He was angry. “How could you agree to meet that man alone? Of all the ill-considered, muttonheaded starts!”

  “Do not scowl at me so!”

  “Suppose I had not come in just then?”

  “I should have sent him to the rightabout. I am not afraid of him any more. Besides, I had Donald wait just outside the door.”

  “You cannot rely on servants, and someone else’s servant at that,” he said impatiently. “Marry me, Beckie. Let me take care of you.”

  Astounded, she gazed up at him, incredulous, then joyful. All too quickly, she returned to earth. From the moment she had met him he had protected her, rescued her from danger and distress. Gallant, chivalrous, he saw marriage as the best way to fulfil the obligation he had taken upon himself. His offer was almost unbearably tempting—but she wanted his love.

  Besides, she told herself, turning away, he would come to regret it. His family would object to her undistinguished, though respectable, birth and her lack of fortune. One day, perhaps, he might find a woman to love, someone as lively and intrepid as Teresa. She would become a burden to him.

  “Beckie?”

  “No.” She had sworn never to allow a man power over her. Her uncle’s visit reminded her of her vow. “No, I cannot.”

  He laid one hand gently on her shoulder, trying to turn her towards him. If she looked into his beloved face, if he tried to argue with her, her resolve would fail.

  She broke away and ran from the room.

  * * * *

  “Damnation!” John swore softly. In his frustration and despair he drove his fist at the little table, pulling back at the last moment. Violence, even violence that would only hurt himself, was no answer. Was that why she had refused him? After all this time was she still unable to trust him not to react with blows?

  He sank wearily into the chair she had just vacated, his head in his hands.

  All his plans for the future turned to dust and ashes. There was no point in regaining his strength if he was never again to hold her soft slenderness in his arms. He might as well lapse back into a life of dissipation if she was not going to be there to encourage and applaud his efforts. He needed her belief in him, and there was so much he wanted to give her in exchange. Not only material wealth, but all the tenderness and passion, all the devotion that, unexpressed, was tearing him apart.

  He glanced around the gloomy parlour. The dark green curtains, the maroon upholstery and faded carpet increased his depression. When he entered the room, full of hope, the sun had been shining on Rebecca’s hair. How splendidly she had defied her uncle! Perhaps she was right, she did not need his feeble protection.

  Her letter, lying on the table in front of him, caught his eye. Her firm, rounded handwriting was so plain that he took in the meaning of the few lines without intending to pry.

  At least he could spare her the unpleasantness of going among strangers. His immediate impulse was to tear the paper to shreds, but again he restrained himself. As soon as he reached home he would ask Teresa to come here and assure Rebecca of a place in her household.

  The sooner that was done, the better. He pushed himself to his feet and left the room.

  The footman was waiting in the hall. After one look at John’s face he held his tongue and opened the front door with alacrity. Remembering the man’s readiness to aid Rebecca, John tossed him a sovereign.

  “Watch over her.”

  “Right, m’lord.”

  His carriage was waiting. A few minutes later he was back at Stafford House, enquiring of the butler as to Teresa’s whereabouts.

  “I believe Lady Graylin is in the nursery, my lord.” Boggs’s usually expressionless face was concerned. “Shall I send James to ask her ladyship to step down? Allow me to lend your lordship a hand up the stair.”

  John shook his head and plodded upward. He must look as fagged out as he felt. When at last he reached the nursery, Teresa’s anxious exclamation confirmed it.

  “John, you are exhausted! Come and sit down at once.” Sinking into the wing chair by the fire, he summoned up a smile for Esperanza, sitting at the table with her favourite chalks.

  “I’ll be ever so quiet, Uncle John, so’s you can sleep,” she promised. “Gayo’s not here so there won’t be any noise. ‘Less the baby cries.”

  “Where’s Gayo?”

  “He’s gone back to my dressing room. It would only worry Muriel to think that her children might be exposed to his occasional lapses from propriety.”

  “He said a naughty word this morning,” Esperanza announced with considerable satisfaction.

  “Hush now.” Teresa kissed her daughter and took the chair opposite John. “Do you want to talk?”

  “I want to ask a favour.” His arms felt heavy and useless, empty. He raised his voice. “Annie, will you let me hold my godson?”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  She was ironing again; the sweet smell of starch filled the room. She put down the iron with care and went to the cradle in the corner. The baby was awake. He cooed and gurgled at his godfather, waving his little arms. A measure of peace entered John’s bruised heart.

  “What can I do?” Teresa asked quietly.

  “Will you go to Rebecca, right away, and tell her you want her? Tell her you need her.”

  “You were going to do that.”

  “I didn’t have a chance.” He lowered his voice and glanced at Esperanza, but she was once more absorbed in her drawing. “Oh, I made a real mull of it! Her uncle was there when I arrived and I forgot all my pretty speeches.”

  “Her uncle? I have never he
ard her speak of him.”

  “She had rather forget him. He came to fetch her from Tom’s, before you arrived there, and after I sent him away with a flea in his ear she told me something of her life in his house. I expect I ought not to tell you, but I want you to understand her.” Repeating what Rebecca had said, and what he himself had seen, of Mr. Exbridge, John found his impotent fury reviving.

  The baby, half asleep, stirred and whimpered in his arms. He strove to remain calm.

  “That explains a great deal,” said Teresa thoughtfully when he finished the story. “I don’t quite understand, though, why the man is so eager to have her restored to his custody.”

  “He lost control of her income when she left. A paltry sum, yet her keep probably cost him no more than half of it. If she had stayed there no doubt he expected to cow her into handing over the principal when it is passed on to her. However, do you not think his real motive might be resentment at losing control over her, rather than the money?”

  “Possibly. He cannot be accustomed to defiance. Yes, I daresay you are right. What a dreadful creature! Rebecca must trust you a great deal to have confided such a shocking tale to you.”

  “I hoped so. I believed so. Yet she was greatly shocked by that wretched duel, and worse so when I knocked Exbridge down, though it was in her defence. For her sake I am learning to control my violent impulses, which are not frequent, I assure you! And I have never struck a woman since—” he smiled bleakly, “—oh, I was six or so. I kicked a parlour maid and got the birching of my life.”

  “You love Beckie greatly, do you not? Muriel and I knew you were attracted to her before we all left for Russia. Before you did, I suspect.”

  “I did not realize how I felt until she was arrested. Even Kolya suspected before I did. What a slowtop I was! Then after we rescued her from the fortress, she was under my protection and I could not honourably pay my addresses. You cannot imagine how difficult it was to stand aloof. Later, of course, I was in a sense under her protection. At least, I was in no fit state to offer. And now I am free at last and I made a cake of myself. I did not even manage to tell her that I had arranged a comfortable future for her if she chose not to marry me. She refused me anyway. Do you think she is in love with Kolya? They were on the easiest terms, and he had more to do with saving her than I did.”

  “Fustian! She was gratified by his flattering attentions, to be sure, but no more than any pretty young lady with her first admirer.”

  “He thought of marriage. His father warned him off.”

  “Did he, indeed! Still, it can have been no lasting passion or he would have defied Prince Volkov. You will not hesitate if you encounter opposition, will you?”

  “Of course not,” John said impatiently, “but that is beside the point since she will not have me.”

  “Did she give you any reason?”

  “No.” The strength of animation died out of him. “She ran from me.”

  “Excellent,” said Teresa, to her cousin’s surprise and irritation. She stood up, the energetic grace of her movements unaltered in the years since he had first met her. “I had best be off to assure her of a place in our home. And you, my dear, had best stay right where you are and rest. You are burned to the socket. Annie, a footstool for his lordship, if you please. Chiquita, you have been behaving angelically. I shall be back shortly. Be good until I return and I shall take you to Gunter’s for an ice.”

  “Lawks,” said Esperanza with an experimental air, “I druther have Aunt Beckie than an ice any day.”

  Teresa laughed and swept out of the nursery, her vitality somehow leaving John more exhausted than ever.

  “You know,” he said to Annie as she set in front of him a footstool decorated with worn needlepoint roses, “I always thought I wanted to marry someone just like your mistress.”

  She shook her head indulgently. “Now Miss Teresa would never have done for you, my lord. Someone quite different’ll suit you a whole lot better, mark my words.”

  Sighing, he raised his booted feet to the stool, settled the baby firmly in the crook of his arm, and rested his head against the back of the chair. His eyelids drooped. If only he were not so tired...

  Chapter 21

  Though nothing but embers remained in the fireplace, the bedchamber was still quite warm, for Lady Parr did not stint on coals. It was misery that chilled Rebecca as she huddled in the chair by the window. The sun had moved round to shine into the far end of the small back garden, its rays pitilessly illuminating the single leafless tree, the empty flower beds, the yellowing patch of lawn.

  Rebecca saw herself withering away into a sere, loveless old maid, always taking care of other people’s children, never her own. Was she mad to have refused John? Was not her own love enough to build a marriage?

  If he came to regret that he had wed her, he would never reproach her. Yet she could never be content, knowing he longed to be free. She weighed the chance of unhappiness with him against the certainty of long, lonely years without him, and could not decide whether she had made the right choice.

  Despite her heartache, a gleam of triumph sneaked into her thoughts now and then. She had defied her uncle and won. Admittedly she had had help, but it was help she had requested. She had made preparations before receiving him, instead of waiting submissively. Even if John had not come in, she would have prevailed.

  There had been murder in John’s eyes. For a moment she had been sure that her uncle was once more to be laid senseless at her feet. He had restrained himself, for her sake, she knew. He was fond of her. Was it enough? Should she have accepted him?

  How thin and pale he was still! Under pressure from Cousin Adelaide, Rebecca had put on a little weight since arriving in London, but she could still feel her own ribs through her thick woollen dress. They were a pair of scarecrows, well matched. She smiled mirthlessly.

  There was a knock at the door and the parlour maid stuck her head into the room. “Lady Graylin’s come, miss. She’s asking for you. In the drawing room.”

  Teresa! Rebecca’s immediate impulse was to say she was not at home. How on earth was she to explain that she had forsaken Esperanza because a door had been closed too soon?

  Suddenly she felt both foolish and guilty. She had been so taken up with her own emotions she had selfishly abandoned her duties because she was slighted, quite possibly by accident. At the very least she owed Teresa her most fervent apologies. She squared her shoulders. If she could face her uncle, she could face even this embarrassing situation.

  “Pray tell Lady Graylin I shall be with her in a moment.”

  Quickly she tidied her hair, once more severely braided. The dress she was wearing—she had scarcely noticed what she put on this morning—was a plain grey worsted morning gown, with high neck and long sleeves, that had served two winters at her uncle’s before she even came to London. It would have to do.

  She hurried down to the drawing room. Teresa was standing near the hearth, examining with visible distaste a statue of the Egyptian jackal-god Anubis that graced the mantle.

  “I always did dislike that thing excessively,” she remarked in a conversational tone, turning as she heard the door open. “My dear Rebecca, how happy I am to see you again.”

  Rebecca curtsied, trying to stop her mouth quivering. It was impossible to force words past the lump in her throat. As she rose, she was enveloped in Teresa’s verbena-scented embrace and found herself crying on an azure velvet-clad shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” she sobbed.

  Teresa patted her back and led her to an elegant if uncomfortable sofa with arms in the shape of crocodiles’ grinning mouths.

  “I cannot imagine where Lady Parr found these things, I vow! I had forgotten this particular monstrosity. Sit down now and tell me everything.”

  Rebecca blew her nose. Interrupted by hiccups she tried to express her penitence. “It was shockingly wrong in me to have left Esperanza without a word. For weeks John had been my chiefest care. To tell th
e truth I had almost forgotten she was in my charge.”

  “Why did you leave? Why not go with the others into my uncle’s house?” Teresa sounded more curious than reproachful.

  “The door closed. Somehow it was impossible to go up to it and knock and ask to be admitted. It was silly of me to take affront. I daresay it was only a careless servant.”

  “I am certain of it. Yet how should you have been able to think straight after what you endured in St Petersburg and on the voyage home? Andrew and I feel very much to blame for your sufferings.”

  “Oh no, indeed I never thought...”

  “But we are. Andrew has decided to quit the spy business and try for a respectable post in a more predictable country. On that basis, we hope you will come back to us.”

  “You are not only asking because you feel responsible for what happened?”

  “Fustian! We need you. I am in the family way again, and Chiquita misses you very much. When I offered to take her to Gunter’s she said, ‘Lawks, I druther have Aunt Beckie than an ice any day.’”

  Rebecca could not help smiling. “She is a darling. I could come to you when you leave Stafford House.”

  “Did John offend you in some way when he was here this morning?” Teresa asked in her usual forthright manner.

  “John?” She was startled. “How do you know he was here?”

  “He told me. In fact, he asked me to come and assure you that you have a home with us.”

  “Then you only asked me back for his sake.”

  “No, I asked you back for my sake and Chiquita’s. Which is not to say that I would not do so for John. I am very fond of him.”

  “And he of you. He admires you prodigiously. You are the sort of woman he should marry, lively, adventurous, beautiful, well-born.”

  “What a catalogue of virtues!” Teresa turned serious. ‘Yes, perhaps he does admire me, but I would not suit him as a wife. Andrew has the self-assurance to be able to cope with my starts. I used to think that John was equally confident. It was you who showed me to the contrary. He needs someone who will support, not challenge him, someone who believes in him, someone to whom he can feel protective, yet who is strong enough for him to turn to in his need, as he did to you when he was ill.” She paused. “You did not answer my question: has he offended you?”