I wanted her to see it. I wanted her to see how much she meant to me. How much I wanted to get to know her.
And when she smiled, I will tell you the truth, my heart stopped in my chest. I could not breathe for the briefest of moments, and it felt as though my chest would explode. You may think me foolish to say such things over a woman I had not yet been introduced to, but you must know that the Lord works in mysterious ways. I was drawn to Rebecca and she to me, for she couldn't keep her eyes off me. Though strange that she didn't look me directly in the eye, I took it for what it was — her being shy — being a fragile girl who needed to be taught the ways of the world.
I wanted to teach her.
Not like that — though yes, I admit my mind wandered hastily as to what she looked like under her exceptional gown. But I also wanted to teach her about the world. About art. And life. I didn't know much about the world — let me be clear — but I felt as though I knew more than her. I wanted to share it with her. I wanted to share everything with her.
Anthony cleared his throat, breaking me from the trance Rebecca had pulled me into. "Gentlemen, this is Miss Rebecca Eaton. She is my cousin from Ravenston. Her father is Lord Eaton, Baron of Crowley."
I barely heard the words from the ringing in my ears. My heart begged to pump and my lungs ached to breathe, but I couldn't comply. All I could do was stare at her, gazing at her eyes, her smile, her lips, which parted in a greeting.
"My lady." Hartwell bowed, and I felt like boxing his ears. He was being polite, or at least I presumed he was, but truth be told, I had forgotten all about the other two men with me. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"Same to you, my lord." She smiled my smile at him, and I knew I had to intercede.
"My lady. You look lovely this evening." I bowed a wee over dramatically and was rewarded with a giggle for my efforts. Miss Rebecca seemed to fancy me — or at least my sense of humor — as much as I fancied her. Sadly, I lost that many years ago in my need for justice.
"Thank you, my lord." The greeting caused me to halt my joyfulness and cringe, hoping she wouldn't see. Of course, I wasn't a lord.. No, I held no title, but I didn't want her to know that. I believed if I could just get her to notice me, see the real me, fall in love with the real me, then she wouldn't care about titles.
The only issue was the other two men with me. One knew something even I didn't know at the time. Have I told you that part of the story yet? No? Ah, well we will get to it soon enough.
"Miss Rebecca," Anthony greeted in his most formal of voices. The one he usually reserved for the important people in the world — or the most important occasions. "This is Simon Hartwell. His father is the Marquess of Enhurst."
Rebecca smiled politely at Simon. The candles lit her eyes to appear to make them shine, but they did not. She looked at him like someone would look at a friend. Nothing more. He got the wrong idea. He thought she meant more than she did. He had very different ideas on her very innocent expression.
I felt bad for him, quite honestly, at the time. His face turned as red as the belt around Miss Rebecca's tiny body. "It is good to meet you. Wexley here speaks of you often." He answered and bowed again, a little more stiffly than I had. A little more formally. A little less whimsically. She didn't giggle at him. I saw no sign of affection in her countenance and I can see her as clear as day even as I sit here with you.
It surprised me that Anthony had spoken to Simon about Rebecca at all. He had never mentioned her to me, and we were best friends. Oh, he said her name on a couple of occasions, but only in the retelling of some childhood story. You see, Rebecca and Anthony grew up together. They played together as children. They were more like siblings than cousins and he wanted nothing but the best for his "little sister."
If I stop in my retelling, think nothing of it. I will tell this story to you, finally, so you will understand exactly what has to be done and why. If it bothers you, I am not sorry for the content of the story is very dire.
Back to it then…
Anthony introduced Rebecca to Simon, who looked very uncomfortable in the situation. I, on the other hand, tried to not let my fear show on my face. I wasn't afraid of Rebecca, exactly. She was the tiniest thing I had ever seen. I knew she couldn't harm me. But I feared for my tongue and saying something out of place or juvenile or clumsy.
"And this…" He nodded in my direction. "Is Frederick Dodsworth."
I nodded again. The clock ticked so slowly on the mantle behind me, that I could hear nothing else. People stirred around me, loud conversations from some of the gentlemen who had partaken in the alcohol a bit too early — Christmas tradition and all. But I heard none of it. All I saw was Rebecca turning her attention towards me. I heard the clock beating in my ears. I felt the sweat forming on my brow. I could smell the candles burning. I could taste the iron of the blood that seeped in my mouth as I bit the side of my cheek, waiting. Hoping. All of my senses were heightened. Everything. I couldn't speak because I needed her to say something first.
Would she figure out simply from the introduction that I wasn't a titled man? No one at university knew. No one. Not even Simon Hartwell. I had made up some fantastical story about a dead father who was an Earl. Everyone believed it. And only one person in the world knew the truth. And that man was the man standing not two feet from me, who could, at any moment, let Simon and Rebecca in on the secret. I would still have been welcomed to the party, of course. Money was money no matter how it came to be, but I wouldn't be welcomed as a suitable match for Rebecca.
Like I said, I needed her to fall as hard for me as I had her before she found out my true lineage… or rather the version of events my mother told me. Little did I know that the truth I knew and the truth Anthony knew were two totally different things.
Just as I felt faint and feared my knees would buckle from under me, Rebecca smiled at me. Her red lips seductively pulled me in and I relaxed a bit. I could see nothing but her face, her beautiful porcelain face, smooth skin, lovely lips, eyes so full of life and wonder. When she looked at me, I don't… no woman had ever looked at me that way, like I was important, like I was special and — I don't know.
Her expression warmed my heart much more than the fire had warmed my hands when I walked into the hallway. I knew in that moment if I could just keep her with me, see that smile every day for the rest of time, I could live this life and I could live it fully.
You scoff because you say I didn't know her. I counter with the question of how many of the gentry know their betrothed before marriage? A friendly smile. A warmth toward me. What more could I want in a wife?
"Mr. Dodsworth." She curtsied toward me and my mouth went dry when, from the top of her dress, I could see the wonderfully seductive line formed by her breasts. I'm not a scoundrel, though I know others disagree on that point and I had not meant to look. But… they were there. And I wanted nothing more than to run my hand down it, over her dress, over her body.
You think ill of me for telling you this? Why? It is the truth. Not many men will tell the truth about when they fall in love with a woman. No, it wasn't lust. Yes, I admired her and yes I wanted to know her — to marry her if I could — but it was not because of lust. It was because with her beauty came compassion. One couldn't possess that tranquil of demeanor and be a monster.
As Rebecca rose, her eyes fluttered up under her lashes and caught mine in their seductive gaze. It was very hard not to bite my lip, for I knew it would be rude. I'd get to know her, dance with her, be cordial with her, but by the end of the night I had no doubt. We would at the very least — the very least — begin a courtship. At the very hope, become betrothed.
When her kind and compassionate eyes met mine, I knew two things about life. One, I knew I was in love with Rebecca Eaton: heart, body, and soul. And two: I knew I would never let anyone take her away from me.
I sat next to Rebecca during our meal. It wasn't difficult to slide my way into the seat. Anthony was across the room in
troducing Simon to Lord Culpepper; the man looked like an old walrus even way back then. He hasn't aged much, truth be told. He always looked like that. I imagine he came screaming from his mother's belly with a wrinkled brow and upturned nose.
When I sat next to Rebecca, our hands touched for the briefest of seconds. Hers had fallen to her side and mine moved back to reposition the chair forward. It was totally unintentional. I didn't mean to touch her. It didn't mean I hadn't wanted to from the moment I saw her, but, at that time, it hadn't been my intention.
But… you would not believe the feeling that rolled through my body at her touch. A current I can't explain started at my finger tips and flowed through me. It warmed my chest, erupted inside my heart.
Yes, I realize I sound like a fool to you. It wasn't love, you say. You cannot love someone so quickly. I say to you, you should know better for you did.
That isn't cruel for me to say. It is the truth. Love happens to us all when we least expect it. Sometimes it is wrong, as with you. And sometimes it is so very right, as it was with Rebecca and I. She felt it too for her eyes lifted to mine, filled with wonder. "Pardon me." She said, her voice strained in an exceedingly lovely way.
Do you know what surprised me most of all? She made no attempt to move her hand. She kept it there, against mine, her gaze on me… her lips slightly parted until she bit the bottom one so tenderly I would have given her my soul right then and there.
In fact, I might have.
"No, my lady. Don't apologize. I…" I had no idea how to end that sentence. Was I sorry to touch her? No. Did I want to pull away? Never. Did I believe she felt the same? Yes.
A love story has to begin somewhere. Even Romeo and Juliet had one brief encounter that defined the rest of their lives. This was our moment. Before, yes, I believed I loved her — but I cannot be certain all these years later if those were actually my emotions upon laying eyes on her, or just my heart's — yes, I have one of those as well — way of reacting to seeing Rebecca in my mind. But I can tell you this, I know more clearly than the sound of my name that when I touched her hand, I fell madly, deeply in love with her.
It wasn't just her touch. It was her reaction to it. She didn't pull away. She didn't act offended that I touched her in public; accident or not some women would have stalked away. She acted like she wanted me there, next to her, touching her even if it was ever so slightly. I like to think that was when she fell in love with me as well.
You can say what you want. You can remind me, as I'm sure you want to, that she didn't end up with me. That isn't the point. That wasn't my fault and neither was it hers. I loved her and she loved me, and no one will ever convince me otherwise.
Rebecca swallowed hard and inhaled a deep breath, the effect of which I tried not to watch. I wasn't someone who went around gazing at a woman's cleavage, but I have to tell you, it was difficult not to at the moment. I wouldn't have done that to her though. I wanted her to know that I wasn't just attracted to her, though it was what initially drew me to her admittedly, but that I was in love with her for her — for her sweet spirit — for her calmness — for her…
Across the room, someone cleared his throat and our moment was gone. I knew who it was before I even had to look. Rebecca did as well because instantly she dropped her hand from mine and turned her body so it was no longer facing me. Pink tinged her cheeks and I knew she had to be embarrassed that someone saw what had transpired between us.
I wasn't embarrassed. I was very grateful for the moment, and I wanted to kill the man who'd broken into it.
Anthony Wexley. My friend.
He patted Simon on the back and they both took their seats across from Rebecca and me: Anthony in front of me and Simon in front of Rebecca. He smiled at her very nervously and I watched out of the corner of my eye as she smiled back politely. It wasn't the kind of smile she gave me. There was no feeling behind it. No love. No admiration. It was simply a cordial smile. Nothing more. But it didn't seem to matter to Simon. He smiled back like his entire world was for the better now.
The light feeling that had filled my heart no long existed. The jealousy I had felt earlier came back. Simon was trying to take possession of something that belonged to me, Rebecca's heart. Rebecca's soul.
I know how it sounds. I do, but know that I'm not crazy nor was I then. I knew… I knew that she had given me her heart at the same unspoken moment I gave her mine. And there was Simon Hartwell, trying to steal it away with his embarrassingly shy grin. He didn't deserve her.
Our roasted turkey and side items were placed on the table. The blessing was given, and the meal began. Chatter filled the room of twenty or more guests, but I cared not to listen to their drivel. I only wanted to hear of Rebecca. My two other companions felt the same, obviously, for they asked her question after question.
She answered them politely.
"Everdale is beautiful this time of year. We had our first snow a few weeks ago."
"My mother is well, thank you for asking. She speaks of you often and is proud of the man you have become."
To this I fought the urge to roll my eyes, a horrible thing to do. I had been proud of Anthony up until that night as well. How could a friendship deteriorate so quickly? Over a woman, obviously, but there was something else. Something that had been brewing between us since the last school break when he went on holiday in London and I went back to visit my mother. When he came back to school, it was like I was a stranger to him, and I could not understand it. I didn't dwell on it much because I knew he had much on his mind, still… I know now what caused him to treat me differently, and I hate him for it. But at the time, I didn't know. I only knew my friend was no longer the brother I once knew as evidence from the dinner that evening. He chatted Simon up, "His father owns over half of Enhurst. It is a beautiful country with lots of streams and mountains. Simon will be an excellent baron. Yes, and his home… you should see it…"
On and on this went until I could no longer take it. It was as if this was all set up to force Rebecca into falling for Simon which I knew could never happen because she had given her heart to me.
I wanted to pulled Anthony aside and talk to him about it because, frankly, I wasn't liking it at all. I would make something of myself and, really, when it came to love I was — at the time — a naive soul. People were to marry for love, not for wealth or titles. I could give her wealth and a happy life. I would love her until the day she died. What would Simon give her? Mountains? Streams? A title?
Rebecca didn't seem like the girl who cared of such things, but I spent the rest of our meal half angry at Anthony for his obvious bias toward Simon Hartwell and the other half praying and living in fear that he would disclose my secret.
But we all know that titles do matter. Money matters. They are the only two things in the entire world that matter. Can you imagine living in a world where people only married for love as they do in the drivels of literature? What a world it would be. I wanted to live in that world. I lived in that world for one brief night, and it was the happiest and most exciting time in my life.
To my surprise, Anthony did not even let on about my secret. Rebecca never asked about my family or my home. She didn't seem to care about any of that. She did, however, ask if I had any hobbies and what I studied in school. She seemed genuinely interested in my answers and always looked me directly in my eyes as I gave them. When we spoke to each other, everyone else in the room disappeared, even the two traitors across the table from us. It was just Rebecca and I, learning more about each other, falling more deeply in love.
I learned that her favorite color was red and she wore it whenever she could, much to her mother's disapproval. She believed it to be the color of prostitutes — Rebecca laughed as she imparted this tale to me — but since it brought out the paleness to her skin, she wore it anyway. Her mother she would disobey, but not her father, which I learned later.
Also, she loved riding horses and had a favorite back in Everdale. I told her I should lo
ve to visit Everdale since I had never done so. She smiled and welcomed me. I felt Anthony's eyes on me, but I refused to look at him. This was our time: Rebecca's and mine. And I would do whatever it was I had to do to know her better.
She laughed at all of my silly jokes and shook her head when I said something most ladies would find strange. A few ringlets fell around her face, framing her beautifully delicate features and she reached to place it behind her ear. I watched in a daze.
I know I sound foolish to you as I tell you my story, but know I would have done anything for her, become anything for her. And the longer we talked, the more I believed she felt the same way.
When the music began in the ballroom, Anthony stood and looked as if he was going to ask Rebecca to dance. Without thinking, I stood, held out my hand, and asked before he could get the words out. Rebecca's brows knitted together ever so slightly as she looked between her cousin, her cousin's new best friend Simon, and me.
Duty would expect her to dance with Anthony, he being family and all. But do you know what she did? She chose me.
She stood politely and nodded to my competitors on the other side of the table. "Thank you for your kind offer, cousin, but I believe I should like to accompany Mr. Dodsworth. Please find me in a few minutes."
If looks could murder, well, I would be a marked man. Anthony nodded, but said nothing. His jaw appeared rigid and I feared for his teeth if he kept clinching them so hard.
"Shall we?" I asked Rebecca as I held out my hand, which trembled a little bit. It wasn't so much fear that caused it to tremble, but anticipation and excitement. Our brief touch earlier had been an accident — well an accident on our part. I firmly believe God knew better. However, dancing with her, I would have a reason to touch her and I trembled in anticipation of it.
Forbidden Page 17