“I can envision may types of men being frightened by you, my lady,” His Grace said, with a wry smile. “Perhaps it is only that my heart has been hardened by years of war that I am able to sustain such punishment from you, my lady.”
“I do not believe even war could prepare you for my concentrated scorn,” Rebecca said. Mother will not be happy. She quickly added: “Your Grace.”
She knew full well that it was within His Grace’s power to ruin her there and then for speaking so out of turn. Her family would be labelled impudent and presumptuous and Mother would never talk to her again and Father would grow more and more distant. She knew all of this, and yet she could not stop herself. There was an excitement in this moment that could not be found in diurnal life. She awaited His Grace’s response with a building sense of dread.
Finally, His Grace spoke (all the while they were dancing, moving as one, in measured steps around the ballroom). “I do believe you have me stumped, my lady,” His Grace said, his voice suddenly become cold. “I do believe that quite bested me, in fact. And look, the dance has ended.” He dropped her hands and retreated from the floor as though it was a battlefield.
Rebecca watched him go with a sense of dread. Had she just offended His Grace in some way? Had she just put her family in an awful position?
*****
“But what happened?” Mother said. “What did you say to His Grace?”
They were in the carriage, the ball was over, and they were going home. After the dance with His Grace, many other lords had danced with Rebecca, but they had found her cold and distant. No matter what they said, her mind had gone back to His Grace, and the conversation they had had; and the possible outrage she had caused. She had thought that they, for a moment, were outside the normal realm of things; that they existed alone. But now she saw how foolish that was.
“Rebecca,” Mother said seriously. “What happened between you and His Grace that caused him to flee like that?”
“He did not flee, Mother,” Rebecca said stiffly. “The dance was over. What did you expect him to do? He could not simply stand there, once the dance was over, could he?”
“Do not be rude, Rebecca,” Mother said. “He left the floor with considerable alacrity. Would you really have me believe that there was not a reason for his swiftness?”
“I do not presume to know the motives of His Grace, Mother,” Rebecca said, struggling to hide her anger—and her shame. “And neither should you.”
“Come, now,” Father said. “Cannot we be friends? An Emerson does not treat an Emerson with such suspicion.”
“And a Leverton does not treat a daughter so,” Auntie muttered.
“Fine,” Mother said, relenting. “I can see you are all against me.”
*****
Rebecca, no matter how much she tried, could not prevent herself from going over the events of the ball. She kept seeing His Grace in her mind’s eye, the gracefulness of his dance steps, his wry smile and his cold eyes. She could not believe that she had offended a man like that. Indeed, going over the events in her mind cause her great confusion. What, exactly, had she done to offend him? Of course, what she had said was wildly impudent, and one should never talk to His Grace in such terms, but she had sense that there was a robustness to him that other men lacked. Perhaps she was wrong? Perhaps he was like the other men she had met, and feared a lady whose speech was not like a flower, or like the call of a pretty songbird? Perhaps she was wrong and he detested women who did not confirm his thoughts about the world like all men did.
Rebecca spent two long months doing little but going over these events in her mind. There was nothing else to do in the long endless countryside of southern Somerset. Lest she wanted to journey to the nearby village and attend fayres or visit with friends, which of late had become less and less interesting to her, all she could do was walk the grounds and spend time in the library. There were no suitors through August and September, and Mother talked at length about how her time was running out. Rebecca sighed at this speech. She had been reminded of it her whole life.
And then something happened that shattered the monotony. It was like a summer’s breeze in a desert. A letter came, addressed to Father. They were sitting in the drawing-room when he opened it. His eyebrows knitted and he leaned over the letter for a closer inspection. “Hmm,” he said, reading through the letter once more. “Hmm,” he repeated, and read through it again. “This is a surprise!”
“What is it, husband?” Mother said.
“A surprise! A very great surprise!”
“Daddy, what is it?” Rebecca said, curiosity getting the better of her.
“It concerns you, Rebecca.”
“Me?”
“Yes, oh, I suppose you better read it.”
He handed her the letter. Rebecca, having no clue what it might be, read it quickly, hungrily. When she reached the end she had to go back over it, just to confirm what she had read.
Dear Lord Emerson,
I am writing in relation to your daughter, Lady Rebecca Emerson. I was greatly interested in her when we danced at the ball, and I humbly ask your permission to visit with you and spend more time with her. I wish to court her; that is the truth of it. Excuse my openness but war does much to assuage a man of courtly practices.
Again, I humbly ask your permission. It would so greatly please me. And I cannot stop thinking about her.
Yours hopefully,
Brigadier Edison Wells, Duke of Waltren
“What!” Rebecca exclaimed.
Mother snatched the letter from her hand and read it quickly. “Oh, my!” she cried. “This is a very big surprise indeed!”
“Please say yes, Daddy,” Rebecca said.
It would be wonderful to break up the monotony of provincial like with a visit from His Grace! He wished to court her! She was ecstatic even as she was confused. He had deserted her at the ball in a strange fashion, and had ignored their family for two months, and now he wished to court her. It was curious behavior. “What will you say?” Rebecca went on, when Father did not respond.
“We cannot say no,” Mother said. “We couldn’t dream of it. He is a Duke.”
Father sighed. “Your mother is right,” he said. “I will write to him and agree to his proposition. If he wishes to court you, then court you he shall. But there will be no modern, French business! If he courts you for any length of time, marry you he must!”
Rebecca’s heart skipped. It was not so much the prospect of marriage that excited her, but the knowledge that soon she would meet His Grace again. She told herself that she would be on her best behavior: that she would be the quiet, calm girl Father and Mother so desired. She would be an absolute rose for His Grace. But a mischievous part of her mind knew that the temptation to duel words with His Grace once again would be too great.
Father wrote the letter and then sent it by messenger into town, to be sent further on to Wells, and to His Grace himself.
Rebecca lay awake all that night, trying to picture His Grace’s expression when he received the reply. Would he be stony-faced, as he so often was? Or would that wry smile played about his lips? Would he nod, as though it had been the only possible outcome? Or would he become boyish and grin in excitement?
So many possibilities, Rebecca thought, smiling into her pillow. Oh, so many possibilities! I wonder what it will be like! I wonder if I will become His Grace’s wife!
*****
Two weeks later, His Grace arrived in a carriage that dwarfed the Emerson’s. He emerged from the carriage with a cane tucked under his arm, wearing a long-tailed jacket of the finest material, and looking around at the grounds with a critical, detached eye. The Emersons were gathered in front of their estate. Father walked forth. “It is my pleasure to welcome you to our home, Your Grace,” he said.
“It is a pleasure
to be welcomed,” His Grace said easily.
Father bowed.
His Grace approached the women. He greeted Mother and Auntie, who curtseyed deeply, and then he bowed down before Rebecca. Rebecca, who had been halfway into a curtsey, stopped in surprise. Then Mother nudged her and she continued the curtsey. “It is a pleasure to see you again, my lady,” he said.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Rebecca said, her mouth suddenly dry.
Father led them into the drawing-room where the footmen served food and drink. His Grace sat beside Rebecca, their legs almost close enough to touch. Rebecca fancied that she could feel the heat coming from him. His ice-blue eyes regarded her closely, like a wolf regarding its prey. Far from making Rebecca uncomfortable, it thrilled her. He looked at her like she had dreamed of being looked at before. And though men had looked at her with interest, they had always been men whose interest did not interest her that much. His Grace’s interest interested her greatly.
“I am sure you were surprised to receive my letter,” His Grace said boldly, looking around the room.
Mother faltered—Rebecca cut in. “Absolutely astounded,” she said, smiling up at him.
“I must apologize,” he said easily. “I left you alone at the ball. I feel as though I owe you an explanation.”
“No explanation—” Mother started
“You absolutely do,” Rebecca said, unable to stop herself.
Mother blushed but Rebecca held His Grace’s gaze. His eyes seemed to burn into her. “I was intimidated,” he said, more sincerely that she’d hitherto heard him speak. “I was intimidated by a lady whose wit and cynicism of life was equal to my own. You see, I have developed a frightful regard for the world, and the ladies I meet are always so full of roses and sweet things, and then I meet you, Rebecca, who has every reason to be blinded and yet sees perfectly.”
The room fell silent at that, and Mother made some remark about the tea. Father said something or other about France. And though Rebecca and His Grace appeared to listen and engage, the whole time they were sneaking glances at each other, inventing excuses to talk directly to one another. Right there, in front of Father, Auntie, and Mother, His Grace was making love to her surreptitiously and wordlessly, through stolen glances and innocuous words alone.
“It must have been awful, in the war,” Rebecca said carelessly.
“Daughter!” Mother cried, setting her teacup down. “I do not think that is appropriate for a lady!”
“It is quite alright,” His Grace said, not even looking at Mother, but keep his eyes locked on Rebecca. “Do you really wish to know, my lady?”
Rebecca nodded.
“It was awful,” he said. “It was in the war that I learnt the only possible response to the world, that of cynicism and humor. One must see and know that the world is a ghastly place but one must not allow oneself to fall in despair. Instead, one must accept and then laugh. Yes, laugh!” He smiled at Rebecca as she smiled back at him. She had often thought similar things about the state of the world, only she had never had anyone with whom she could discuss it; and her knowledge of the world was necessarily limited. “When I saw my friends die – all of them – and then nothing happened, I realized the one truth I had always neglected, that the world and all its bindings cannot be comprehended by man. Only God knows the full extent of the world, and to presume to know it is arrogant. So what else is there for us to do, but laughter and joie de vivre?”
He stared into Rebecca’s eyes for a long while and then turned back to the room. “I must take my leave,” he said. “I do detest people who overstay their welcome. But I believe I can visit again in two days? How about a tour of the grounds? The woods must be wonderful now that the leaves are starting to brown?”
It was hastily agreed that he would return in two days, and they would walk the grounds. And then he was gone, driving by carriage from the estate and into town. Rebecca watched him go from her bedroom window, her face pressed against the glass. A chill ran through the house as he left, and Rebecca could not help but assign his leaving as the reason. The very house grows colder without His Grace’s presence.
She turned at the sound of footsteps. Mother walked into the bedroom and sat upon the chair. “He seems very taken with you, Rebecca,” she said. “He reminds me of your father when we were courting.”
“You really think he likes me?” Rebecca said.
“Oh, yes,” Mother said. “But you must be careful, my sweet daughter.”
“Careful, how?”
“You must not let this…” She reached forward and tapped Rebecca’s chest, her heart. “Overpower this…” She tapped Rebecca’s head. “A woman’s lot in the world is to be admired, revered, or detested. Make one misstep, and you shall be ruined for life. Do not allow your enthusiasm for his attention get the better of you. Do you understand what I am saying?”
Rebecca thought for a moment, and then nodded. “Yes, Mother, I understand,” she said. “I will keep my wits about me.”
Mother nodded. “You always do.”
Mother left Rebecca alone. Rebecca opened a French novel – a particularly scandalous one – and started reading from where she had left off. It was a story concerning a naïve young girl and dashing war hero. The young girl was taken in by the war hero’s talk of marriage and love—but then she was ruined. Mother was wrong to fear that the same thing would happen to Rebecca. She would never allow a man to ruin her.
No, she thought, as the sunlight waned. I would ruin him first if that’s what it took. Your Grace, I believe you have met your match.
*****
His Grace arrived two days later, as he had promised, and the Emersons led him on a tour of their grounds, which were comprised of thirty acres of fields and woodland. Father and His Grace discussed hunting for a time, and then His Grace fell back and walked level with Rebecca, who had been walking alone at the rear of the group. “The wind is fierce today,” His Grace said.
“It is,” Rebecca agreed, because she could not think what else to say. Mother and Father were a few meters ahead. Auntie had elected to stay at home because her constitution was not made for walking, she claimed. Although Mother and Father were just ahead, she still felt as though it were just His Grace and she: as though they were alone in the endless field of green and paling yellow.
“I believe the wind is as fierce as my desire to be with you,” His Grace said.
“Is that so?” Rebecca said.
“Yes, and what’s more, I believe the wind in conspiring with me. It is positively pushing me toward you.” He acted in a childish way then, a way she would not have expected His Grace to act. Propping his arms at his side, he pretend to lose balance and tip toward Rebecca. A free laugh escaped Rebecca before she covered her mouth. “You see,” His Grace said.
“What a villain the wind is!” Rebecca exclaimed.
His Grace nodded vigorously. “Do not blame me, my lady, for wanting you so! It is this blasted wind!”
Rebecca was about to reply when she noticed that Mother and Father were watching them with bemused expressions on their faces. “Shall we walk in the woods?” Mother said, in an attempt to bring the walk back to social decorum. Mother was in a strange position, for His Grace was the social superior, and if he decided he wanted to behave a little naughtily, there wasn’t much she could do about it. She stood with her back completely erect, a picture of a proper lady, something Rebecca would never be. “Or we can return home for some luncheon?”
“Let us walk in the woods,” His Grace said.
They walked away from the field and came to the small wood Rebecca had played in as a girl. A rabbit darted across from a nearby tree and squirrels bounded over the place. “What a splendid place,” His Grace said, and Mother beamed with pride. “It is lovely to find such a splendid place in England. My lord.” He faced Father. “My lady.
May I escort Lady Rebecca a little further into the woods? I would, of course, stay in sight of you both.”
Mother looked to Father; Father returned the gaze, chewing his lip. Rebecca desperately wanted them to say yes, and was very happy when Father asked her: “Rebecca, would you like that?”
“Yes, Daddy,” she said, trying not to appear too eager. “I think it would be splendid.”
Father nodded. “If it is okay with your mother, it is okay with me.”
Mother nodded swiftly. She rarely disagreed with Father in front of guests.
His Grace led Rebecca a few hundred yards further into the woods and stopped at a bend, so they were still in sight of Mother and Father, who stood close together and cast looks in their direction every few moments. “That was awfully rude of me,” His Grace said, standing close enough to touch, but trying nothing untoward. “I used my position to force them into a corner. They felt uncomfortable saying no. I am a brute.”
“A useful brute, Your Grace,” Rebecca said, smiling at him.
“A useful brute? Ha!” His Grace clapped his hands together. “My lady, what is it about you? Do you truly see the world as I do? Do you truly understand that, at heart, the world is an icy place?”
Rebecca nodded. “It is an icy place, Your Grace, but I do not believe that one must make a habit of acknowledging it. If one acknowledges the desperation of the world too often one risks alienating one’s family and friends. The last thing Mother wants to here when making lemon cakes is how pointless the whole thing is!”
His Grace nodded. “You care for your family?”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
“You can use my Christian name, my lady.”
“I may?” Rebecca was surprised.
“When it is just the two of us, and nobody can hear, I do not seem the harm of it. But I do not imagine your Mother would like it.”
Romance: Detective Romance: A Vicious Affair (Victorian Regency Intrigue 19th England Romance) (Historical Mystery Detective Romance) Page 9