She did not know. All the same, she could not help feeling anxious.
‘No.’ Joshua answered Charles in a bantering style. ‘I don’t have any enemies. But you have no need to worry about your windows. I’ll be leaving for Manchester before long and you won’t have to worry about any more disturbances with your soup!’
‘Well, really,’ said Hetty crossly. ‘Now, Charles, see what you have done. You have made Joshua feel he is not welcome here. You will always be welcome here, Joshua,’ she said, turning towards him. ‘You know that. You must come to dinner whenever you want.’
‘Of course I know it,’ said Joshua kindly. ‘Charles was just trying to lighten the situation. And that’s the best thing to do with a situation like this; make light of it.’ He raised his glass. ‘Here’s to unbreakable windows!’ he said.
Charles, too, raised his glass.
Hetty turned to Rebecca despairingly. ‘I do declare, Rebecca, men are just like children. They never take anything seriously.’
Rebecca attempted to smile, but she was ill at ease. She was convinced that Joshua did, in fact, take the matter seriously. Did he have any enemies? she wondered. The idea seemed ridiculous. And yet . . . and yet there had been a couple of incidents. Could they really be nothing more than coincidence?
‘And now, if you have finished your fruit, we will retire to the drawing-room and leave the gentlemen to their port,’ said Hetty to Rebecca. She turned to her husband. ‘But don’t be too long. It seems to me you have taken wine enough already.’
And with this unusually caustic remark she led Rebecca out of the room.
The two ladies retired to the drawing-room, where they discussed the latest novels. They had just agreed that Mrs Radcliffe was their favourite writer, and The Italian - the book that Rebecca was engaged in reading - was one of her best books, when Canning brought a message to Hetty to say that one of the parlour maids was hysterical.
‘It’s the stone,’ explained Canning apologetically. ‘It’s frightened her. Cook’s tried to quiet her, and Mrs Yeats, the housekeeper, has had a word with her as well, but after what happened this evening she is convinced the French have finally landed and mean to put an end to us.’
‘Oh, dear,’ sighed Hetty. ‘Ah, well, I suppose it’s not to be wondered at. There has been so much speculation about a French invasion ever since the war began that one can hardly blame the girl for being frightened. It is that wretched stone! It has unsettled everyone. All right, Canning, I will come at once.’
‘Would you like me to come with you?’ asked Rebecca.
‘No, my dear. She will probably calm down more quickly if I go alone.’
She left the room, and Rebecca turned her attention to a book of engravings. She was not alone for long, however. Before many minutes had passed Joshua entered the room.
To her surprise - and her consternation - Charles was not with him. He was alone.
She felt suddenly awkward. She stood up and walked over to the pianoforte. There, under pretence of looking through some music, she could keep away from Joshua. For if she drew too close to him, she did not know what her feelings might be. Her fear of being alone with him had intensified, but now it was not because she was afraid of him attempting to persuade her to marry him. Now her concerns were more basic. She was afraid that he might touch her, and that if he did so, no matter how innocent the contact might be, she would melt.
Joshua checked on seeing that she was alone.
‘Is Hetty not here?’ he asked in surprise.
‘No.’ Rebecca tried not to sound agitated. ‘She has gone to see to one of the parlour maids, who has become hysterical. And Charles? Is he not coming into the drawing-room for coffee?’
‘He is taking a tour of the house. He wants to make sure all the windows and doors are properly locked and bolted. After the disturbance this evening it’s as well to be certain everything is secure.’
‘Very sensible,’ said Rebecca.
There was silence.
Rebecca was aware of Joshua’s eyes on her. She wished he would take a seat. Then she too could take a seat - well away from him, at the other side of the room.
As if reading her mind he sat down on one of the gilded sofas. He threw one arm along its back.
Rebecca felt a little more comfortable. Even so, she did not relinquish her place by the piano. Taking any seat would put her too close to him.
He did not speak, and as she continued to occupy herself with the sheets of music she felt his eyes running over her in a way that made her feel hot and flustered. She needed to break the silence, and to voice the questions that were circling in her brain.
‘Joshua . . . ’
‘Yes?’
His eyes never left hers, and she picked up a sheet of music, holding it in front of her as though it were a shield, and would protect her - although protect her against what, she did not know.
‘About the stone,’ she said, clutching the music even more tightly.
‘What about it?’ he asked.
He stood up and went over to her.
She felt the urge to step backwards. There was a look in his eyes that made her feel strangely afraid.
‘It’s just that . . . ’ Her voice tailed away. She was finding it difficult to concentrate with him standing so near.
He looked at her enquiringly, but with an underlying glance that made her feel more vulnerable than ever.
‘It’s just that several strange things have happened to you recently,’ she said.
‘The stone was nothing.’ His eyes ran over her face and lingered on her lips.
‘Perhaps not.’ She took a breath to steady herself, and then continued. ‘But it isn’t only the stone. There was the horse.’
‘The horse was ridden by a fool.’
‘I know. But still . . . but still.’ Her eyes went to his of their own accord. ‘You will take care, won’t you?’
He did not speak at once. Then he said, his voice low and husky, ‘Why, Rebecca? Does my safety matter to you?’
The words hung in the air between them.
‘It does matter to you, doesn’t it?’ he asked, his eyes searching her own.
She dropped them. For some reason she could not meet his gaze.
‘Of course it does,’ she said.
‘Why?’ he asked again.
‘Why?’ She swallowed, feeling as though she was in a trap.
‘Yes. Why does it matter to you, Becky?’
‘My . . . my grandfather was very fond of you,’ she said, her eyes on the floor.
‘And you?’ he asked.
‘I . . . I would not like anything to happen to you.’
‘No?’ His voice was huskier than ever.
‘No.’
And why did the conversation seem to be so important, when it was about nothing but commonplaces? she asked herself.
‘After all, we are partners now,’ she said, making an effort to make the conversation seem more normal. But still she did not raise her eyes to his. She was afraid of what she would see there.
‘Partners,’ he said, his voice low. The word seemed full of hidden meaning. As if sensing it, he added, ‘In the mill.’
She could feel his eyes on her, but still could not bring herself to look at him.
‘But is that all we are?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Of course.’
‘Then why are you backing away from me?’ His voice was soft and sultry.
Her eyes went to his own, drawn there by some irresistible force, as if she could read the answer to his question there. Why had she backed away from him? she wondered. She had not realized she had done so. But he was right. She had taken a step back - only to be stopped by the piano. It was pressing into her, hard and uncomfortable. But she did not move forward again. Because if she did it would bring her closer to Joshua.
‘Because . . . ’ She gulped.
‘Yes?’ he asked, his head bending towards hers.
She tried to make so
me sort of reply but her voice caught in her throat and no sound came out.
‘Partners don’t back away from each other,’ he said, reaching out his hand and lifting her chin.
She had no choice but to meet his gaze. It was so direct that she felt she was looking, not into his eyes, but into his soul.
‘Lovers, on the other hand . . . ’ he said softly.
She felt her heart fluttering against her rib cage.
‘We are not lovers,’ she said. She tried to sound bold and confident, but her voice came out in a breathless gasp.
‘But we could be . . . when we marry. Marriage has pleasures as well as pains, Rebecca,’ he breathed, tilting his head towards hers.
‘Marriage!’ she exclaimed. And suddenly she was free of the spell that had gripped her. ‘Marriage?’ she demanded. Her head was held high and her shoulders were flung back. ‘So that is what lies behind your behaviour! The desire to seduce me. So that I will agree to marry you!’
‘You make it sound like a penance!’ he exclaimed angrily, his eyes blazing with copper lights.
‘And so it is! To marry a man I don’t love, simply because he has some misguided notion about protecting my reputation! It is the worst kind of penance!’
His eyes boiled.
‘I have told you before. I will not marry you,’ she declared. Her head was thrown back and her chin was high; at that moment she was every inch Jebadiah’s granddaughter.
‘What will it take to make you see sense?’ he demanded, his eyes burning now instead of boiling. ‘If anyone else finds out we were alone together in my bedroom at The Queen’s Head —’
‘But they will not,’ she returned. ‘And even if they do, I will still not marry you. I could never marry for those reasons.’ Her eyes blazed. ‘The idea is unthinkable.’
‘Think carefully, Rebecca. This is the last time I will offer you the protection of my name. If you do not accept my hand this time, I will not offer it to you again.’
‘Good. Then it will spare me the trouble of refusing it,’ she returned. ‘Nothing on earth would induce me to accept the hand of a man I do not love.’
‘And that is your final word on the matter?’ he demanded.
‘It is.’
‘Then there is no more to be said.’
They stood glaring at each other, like two combatants in a duel instead of two guests at a dinner party.
And then came the sound of footsteps approaching the door on the other side.
They glared at each other for one moment more before sanity reasserted itself and they turned away from each other, both of them trying to regain their composure before Hetty or Charles should enter the room.
Rebecca turned to the pianoforte, where once again she busied herself with the sheets of music. Joshua, striding across to the other side of the room, picked up a decanter and poured himself a drink. So that by the time Hetty entered the room they seemed to be engaging in commonplace activities.
‘Such a fuss!’ said Hetty, completely oblivious of the hostile encounter that had just taken place in that very room. ‘The silly girl was convinced that the French had invaded until I took her to the window and showed her that the streets are empty of soldiers. Ah, well, she has calmed down now.’ She looked round, as if noticing for the first time that Charles was missing. ‘Where is Charles? Don’t tell me he’s still sitting over his port?’
‘Charles has gone on a tour of the house, checking that all the doors and windows are bolted,’ explained Joshua.
‘Oh, what a good idea!’ said Hetty. ‘We don’t want any more disturbances tonight. The sooner the war is over the better things will be for all concerned. It is no wonder there is so much unrest, when so many of the people in the country today cannot remember a time when we were not at war with France.’
Rebecca privately though that Hetty was being unduly optimistic in thinking that the end of the war would mean an end of all other disturbances, but she did not say so.
She was glad when, a few minutes later, Charles entered the room and a normal atmosphere was restored. Fortunately, Charles was in a talkative mood, and she did not have to contribute much to the discussion. After her heated conversation with Joshua she felt it would have been beyond her.
Blast the woman! thought Joshua angrily as, back in his own home, he undressed for bed.
Why did she have to be so stubborn? Why couldn’t she have accepted his hand? Why couldn’t she have let him offer her the protection of his name? Why couldn’t she have allowed him to guard her against the wagging tongues of the gossips? Why couldn’t she have seen the sense in what he was suggesting?
It was all very well for her to say that Lacy wouldn’t talk. That, he believed, was true. But if Lacy had seen them together, then other people could have seen them, too. And the only way to take the wind out of the gossips’ sails was for them to wed.
If you think I am going to marry for the ridiculous reasons you propose . . . she had said to him.
Ridiculous? To marry for the sake of her reputation?
It was a down-to-earth reason to wed.
And yet even as a part of him railed at her for refusing him, a part of him admired her. She had not been prepared to compromise her principles, not even for the sake of her reputation.
What strength she had! What determination!
"If only she had been a man!" Jeb’s words came back to him.
At the time he had not known what Jeb meant. He knew now. But he could not agree. Because he was grateful, with every fibre of his being, that she was a woman.
A smouldering light glowed in his eyes as he remembered the feelings that had coursed through him earlier in the evening. When she had declared that she would not marry him - when, eyes sparkling and cheeks flushed, she had thrown back her head, her every word, her every gesture speaking defiance - then he had felt a surge of admiration flood through him at the sight of her. He had been filled with the wild desire to sweep her off her feet and carry her to the sofa where he had longed to make passionate love to her . . . .
Oh, yes, he thought, as the image danced before his eyes, he was extremely glad she was a woman. Every inch a woman.
If only she was not such a stubborn one.
He went over to the washstand and threw water over his face and chest.
But one thing was now certain. He must see as little as possible of her. He was powerfully attracted to her, and now that she had refused his hand he must never let himself be carried away again. There could be no repeat of the incident at Lady Cranston’s ball. His dealings with Rebecca must be circumspect. He would not compromise Jebadiah’s granddaughter in any way.
But it was going to be almost impossible to restrain himself.
Chapter Six
Rebecca felt out of sorts. She should have been pleased that she had irrevocably refused Joshua’s hand but instead, unaccountably, she felt low in spirits. A week had passed since she had refused him and she had not seen him since. Which was a good thing, she told herself. Because it meant that he had accepted her refusal and did not mean to offer her his hand again.
But for some reason she could not comprehend her spirits were still low.
She picked up her book and wandered over to the window, looking out at the snow. She, Hetty and Charles had spent the last few days enjoying the delights of the winter weather. They had taken a sled into the park and had tobogganed down the slopes - ‘I am too old for this,’ Hetty had declared, but she had enjoyed it as much as any of them. They had watched a collection of urchins building a snowman, and they had indulged in a game of snowballs. But today it was snowing too heavily to make them want to venture outside.
She was just about to settle down with her book when she saw a familiar figure arriving at the house.
It was Miss Biddulph!
Delighted that her companion had recovered sufficiently to complete the journey to London, Rebecca went out into the hall to welcome her.
She could see at once that Bi
ddy was still weak, and rang for tea whilst settling Biddy by the fire.
‘You look tired,’ she said sympathetically as she sat down beside Biddy. ‘I hope you haven’t overtaxed your strength by completing the journey.’
‘I am rather tired,’ Biddy admitted. ‘But I felt well enough to travel, and besides, I did not want to remain another night in an inn.’
‘I can understand that,’ said Rebecca, thinking of the last night she herself had spent at an inn - although she doubted that Biddy had had a similar experience!
Tea was brought and Rebecca and Hetty, who bustled in as soon as she heard that Miss Biddulph had arrived, set about seeing to Miss Biddulph’s comfort; for although Miss Biddulph was acting as Rebecca’s companion on this trip, she had been Rebecca’s governess in earlier days, and a strong friendship existed between the three of them.
Charles, too, was pleased to discover that Biddy had arrived. Once she had rested he questioned her closely on the condition of the roads, which were now open again after a lessening in the severity of the weather.
‘If the mail has got through, then a private coach should be able to get through as well,’ said Charles. ‘We won’t have Joshua with us here in London for much longer, I fear.’
His words proved to be prophetic. That afternoon Joshua called to make his farewells.
‘You’re leaving us tomorrow, then?’ asked Charles, when Joshua had told them of his plans.
‘Yes.’
Although she had been expecting it, Rebecca, for some reason, felt her heart sink.
Joshua went on. ‘Now the roads are passable there is nothing else to keep me here.’
He glanced at Rebecca as he said it and then looked away again.
The thought crossed Rebecca’s mind that, had she accepted his hand, there would have been something to keep him in London: preparations for their wedding.
But of course, she had not.
‘It won’t be an easy journey, even now,’ said Charles, pursing his lips. ‘The roads are still very bad in places. Miss Biddulph has been telling us all about it.’
‘Even so, I mean to leave first thing in the morning. My work here is done, and I’m eager to take over the running of the mill.’
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