by Carola Dunn
“No, but how could I accept his offer when he was only being chivalrous? That’s what he said, just as you guessed it, ‘Let me protect you.’ If I were at Stafford House, he might try to persuade me to change my mind.”
“If chivalry was his only motive, then you need not fear that he will pursue you. After all, with Andrew and me you will be in no need of protection. But that was only a small part of it. To be sure it was chivalrous in him to arrange for your comfort if you do not choose to marry him, but he proposed because he is desperately in love. He is very unhappy. Do you dislike him so much you cannot bear his attentions?”
“No, oh no! It is not that. I am afraid I should give in if he asked me again.”
“And why should you not?” Teresa sounded satisfied.
Rebecca bowed her head. “I am a coward. I grew up seeing my uncle beat his wife, and I swore I would never put myself in a situation where that could happen.”
Teresa took her hand. “It must have been very terrible, but not all marriages are like that. You have seen others now, mine, and Muriel’s. Do you mean to go through life being afraid?”
“You cannot understand. You rescued Annie from the slave ship, and Muriel from the slaver when he abducted you. How would you know what fear is?”
“Who told you about the abduction? Muriel? What do you think would have happened if I had let her see how terrified I was? Bravery is doing what you can, even when you are frightened, just as you did on the way back from Russia. Besides, you have no reason whatsoever to fear John. He would, and nearly did, give his life for you.”
Rebecca was silent. From the moment when he had pulled her from the river, half dead and wholly at his mercy, John had never treated her with anything but the utmost gentleness. She had seen him refrain from violence under extreme provocation, because she was present. She trusted him.
Perhaps it was pride that had raised the issue, in an effort to postpone the capitulation she saw coming.
“Did he tell you that he loves me?” she asked hesitantly. Teresa’s brow wrinkled in an effort to recall precisely what he had said. “Not in so many words, but in a roundabout way. I could not be more certain of it.”
“Why did he not tell me? And he guessed where I was, why did he not get in touch sooner?”
“He is still not in very plump currant. He is angry at himself for his weakness, because he wants to be strong for you. Uncle Stafford says that John is making plans for a career in Parliament, and my guess is that he wanted to arrange everything before he asked for your hand. Not adequate reasons for delay, I daresay, but remember that he has been very ill. Surely you can forgive him.”
“I do, of course. But I have just refused him. I cannot run after him now!”
Teresa grinned. She stood up, straightened her elegant hat with its blue-dyed, curling ostrich feathers and pulled on her kid gloves.
“Chiquita is asking for you. Will you come and see her? And Annie is eager to show off the baby.”
“Wait, oh please wait.” Rebecca was half way to the door even as she spoke. “I shan’t keep you above a minute. My pelisse...I must put on a bonnet...Oh dear, this dress…”
“I shall not leave without you,” Teresa reassured her, but Rebecca did not take the time to change her gown.
Teresa had come in the duke’s landaulet, which was always put at her disposal when she was in London. Rebecca sat beside her, her hands clasped nervously, as the groom drove the short distance through the busy streets of Mayfair.
Suppose Teresa had mistaken John’s meaning. Suppose he had changed his mind after this morning’s meeting, or, worse still, scorned her for chasing after him. As the carriage turned the corner into Park Lane, Rebecca nearly begged the driver to stop and let her out.
It was too late. They pulled up before the imposing façade of Stafford House, the front door was opening, the vast marble entrance hall engulfed her. Meekly she followed Teresa up the grand sweep of the main stairway, then up a lesser stair. To her relief there was no sign of the duke or duchess.
They stopped in front of a door that was slightly ajar.
“Let me go first,” said Teresa. “The baby is likely sleeping and Chiquita’s greetings are enough to wake the dead. I shall bring her out here to you.”
She disappeared, and for a dreadful moment Rebecca thought that she had indeed been brought here only to see the children. Then Chiquita flew into her arms and it was impossible to feel anything but delight in her welcome.
At last the little girl’s enthusiasm calmed. Rebecca’s bonnet had been knocked askew. Teresa untied the ribbons, took it off, and set it on a nearby table.
“As I thought, the baby is asleep,” she said. “Annie is expecting you. Chiquita, let us see if Papa is home from the Foreign Office and would like to go with us to buy an ice. She gave Rebecca a little push towards the door. “Go on.”
The nursery was silent. Annie looked up as she entered, set aside her sewing and curtsied, beaming.
“It’s a real pleasure to see you again, Miss Beckie,” she said in a low voice.
“It is good to see you, too, Annie.”
Rebecca kissed the maid, who had gone through so much with her, but her gaze wandered about the room. John was sitting in a chair by the hearth, cradling a baby in his arms. He made no move to greet her, and she realized he was sleeping. His face was pale and tired, defenceless in relaxation.
All her doubts fled.
Walking softly, she went to him and kissed his forehead. He blinked up at her drowsily. She was distantly aware of Annie deftly whipping the baby from his clasp and departing.
Rebecca had had enough of lengthy explanations. “I love you,” she said.
John pulled her down onto his lap and his mouth took hers with a passionate hunger that was as satisfying as it was unexpected. His arms held her captive, straining her against himself as if he would never let her go. It was some considerable time later that he looked down at her with a tender, half teasing smile.
“Dearest Beckie, there is one thing I keep forgetting to tell you. I love you, too.”
Copyright © 1990 by Carola Dunn
Originally published by Walker
Electronically published in 2003 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.