“I hope so,” Rebecca murmured fervently as she finished a buttery biscuit. “You should be having your tea, Mrs. Lambert. Don’t let me keep you.”
“Pooh. We have time enough to do the hall now.” She gave an approving nod to the Blue/Green Saloon and marched from the room.
While Griggs bustled about unconsciously humming one of the Christmas carols Rebecca had been playing on the pianoforte the previous evening, and Mrs. Lambert ordered her underlings about in the quiet expectation that the lord of the manor would surely return for the holidays, Rebecca happily directed them all, feeling in charity with the whole world, even Clayborne. Her worthy sentiment was challenged immediately, as he chanced to arrive in the midst of this activity, with his perpetual scowl prominent.
“Welcome home, Jason. We are having the most wonderful time preparing for Christmas,” she called cheerfully, her arms loaded with boughs. She paused in the act of setting them down, as she noticed that he was not alone.
“I have brought my uncle to spend the holidays with us,” he explained stiffly. “Sir Henry Davert, this is my wife Rebecca.”
The short, rosy-faced, elderly man beamed at her as he approached to take her hand. “A pleasure to meet you, my dear. I was in Egypt last spring and summer and regretted that I could not attend your wedding.”
“In Egypt? Oh, I hope you will tell me all about it,” Rebecca said. “I’m so very pleased Jason has brought you to spend the holidays. I shall have a room prepared immediately.”
“We did not mean to inconvenience you, my dear,” Sir Henry said. “I was to have spent Christmas with a dear old friend of mine, but he died last week, and Jason convinced me only yesterday that I should come to Gray Oaks.” As his expression flitted from cheer to gloom and back to cheer, Rebecca was at a loss to respond to this.
“I assured Uncle Henry that it would be no inconvenience at all,” Clayborne asserted, regarding his wife steadily.
“Of course not. I’m delighted to have company.” Rebecca might have said more, but she noticed the warning look in Clayborne’s eyes and continued, “You must be wishing to refresh yourself from your journey. Mrs. Lambert will show you to a room.”
When Sir Henry’s chubby form had disappeared up the stairs, Clayborne drew his wife into the Blue Saloon and closed the door firmly. “I am sorry I could not give you warning of Uncle Henry’s visit. As he said, it was only decided yesterday.”
“It doesn’t matter, Jason. Truly, I am glad to have him, as he seems a cheerful soul, and I imagine his friend’s death has lowered his spirits somewhat. What was he doing in Egypt?”
“I’m sure he will be more than willing to tell you of that. I want to talk to you.” He appeared to hesitate, pulled a snuff box from his pocket and flicked it open and closed with his left hand. Eventually he continued, “I would prefer that Uncle Henry not be aware of our... estrangement. He has been very kind to me, having been my guardian for several years after my father died. He is fond of me, and I do not wish to distress him.” He raised his eyes from the snuff box to gaze at her for a long moment.
“You are asking me to act the role of a devoted wife?” she asked calmly.
“Exactly.”
“Certainly I will do that for you. I only wish that you desired it in fact. I have given you no cause, believe me, to think what you do of me.” At his impatient gesture, she said only, “Never mind. I must go and speak with Mrs. Lambert.” She left him staring thoughtfully after her.
* * * *
On the whole, considering the situation, it had been a happy holiday for her. Uncle Henry had been a wonderful conversationalist, full of digs in Egypt, pyramids and tombs, all of which had fascinated Rebecca. Clayborne, on a ride into the village of Herstley, had discovered that there was gossip about his strange marriage amongst the local gentry, and he had set out to crush it.
Drawing Rebecca into the library one day, he said abruptly, “You are to give a dinner party for some of our neighbors in two days time. I will give you a list of the names.”
With as much dignity as her twenty years and five-foot-two height could command, Rebecca replied, “I am most willing to entertain our neighbors, Jason. I would remind you, however, that I am not, in spite of your odd notions, used to being ordered about like your housekeeper, though I am sure that you would show more consideration for Mrs. Lambert. There is no need for unseemly haste in preparing for such a party, unless you intend to depart immediately after Christmas. I would suggest a week from today would be sufficient notice to your household and your guests.”
Aware of the reasonableness of her argument, Clayborne relented. “Of course you are right. There is talk in the village of our relationship and I merely wish to allay it as soon as possible.”
“I can think of several better methods than a dinner party,” she responded mildly, “but I am sure it will suffice for the present.” She was not aware as she turned away of how his eyes traveled longingly over her body.
Her stubborn impenitence no longer had the power to subdue his desire for her. The warm greeting she had given him on his arrival, and the special trouble she had taken to entertain his Uncle Henry could not be ignored. His anger was tempered with gratitude; his confusion with a reluctant admiration for her precariously maintained dignity. Several times he had stood on the brink of tapping on her door, only to sternly remind himself of the last time he had visited her there. No, she was not like Alexis, but he had made a wretched mistake for the second time, all the same.
His physical attraction could be dealt with more easily at a distance, and he stubbornly departed again, this time for London. The hapless soldiers who had returned from Waterloo without prospects, some sick and handicapped, with nowhere to go, became his special interest. Since the government appeared to take no thought of them, Clayborne did. It provided him with an occupation he sorely needed.
Although he made brief trips to Gray Oaks, they were unattended by any ability on his part to accept his lonely bride for what she was. He heard himself being distant and uncompromising with her, and he hated himself for it, but he could not overcome his disillusionment. A proud man did not accept an unrepentant woman as the mother of his offspring.
Chapter Four
Rebecca reviewed her disastrous marriage in the light of her sister’s visit and hoped that her situation would not appear singular to Meg, for she had no wish to upset her sister, nor to have word of her estrangement reach her parents. She was determined to make use of Clayborne’s rare presence at Gray Oaks to gain an understanding of his disgust of her and alleviate it if it were possible.
When Meg had rested from her journey and changed to a jonquil chemise frock with a cottage front, she arrived to find Rebecca seated in the saloon with a book on Egyptian archeology. She was rather astonished by this, in spite of her knowledge of Rebecca’s propensity toward bookishness, and she commented on it.
“Jason’s Uncle Henry visited us at Christmas and gave me several books on the subject. Quite fascinating, and I will be glad to lend you one of them if you wish,” she teased her sister.
“Oh, no, thank you,” Meg gasped in horror. “I am sure I would not understand a word of it. Mama still shudders when she recalls some of the lectures you forced her to attend during your season.”
“Yes, and it was fortunate that Clayborne offered for me just when she had refused positively to attend another. Really, Meg, you need not look so aghast. They were most informative, I assure you, and I did not attend above half a dozen. Mama should not have put herself in such a fret, for Clayborne was not the least bit reluctant to escort me. I am sure he enjoyed them more than I did.”
Finding this difficult to believe, but not wishing to pursue the subject, Meg took the opportunity to elucidate further on her stay in London. “I realize, of course, that Mama managed to obtain vouchers to Almack’s for you and Trudy, but I had the greatest fear that she would find it impossible to get me admitted. She has not been on such good terms with Lady Cow
per recently, I fear, because Papa accidentally ignored Lord Cowper at White’s. You know Papa, Becka. Half the time he doesn’t remember who people are. But the worry was all for naught; Lady Cowper was all graciousness. Will says she is the most popular of the patronesses. Oh, and it was everything I had dreamed of at Almack’s. I was permitted almost from the start to waltz and—would you believe it?—Will is the most exquisite dancer.”
“Of course I would believe it, love. He is certainly graceful in the saddle.”
Meg was gratified by this encomium for her beloved and rattled on. “I had quite convinced myself that my season could not possibly be as exciting as yours, coming as it did after the thrill of our victory at Waterloo. You must have been in agony during the wait for news, but then the celebrations afterwards! The illuminations! The celebration balls! Well, I did not think London would be nearly so charming this year, but you would not credit all the excitement there was. What with Princess Charlotte marrying Prince Leopold—Will says the Regent kept her a virtual prisoner at Cranbourne Lodge for a year and a half when she refused to marry the Prince of Orange! How dastardly! The Prince is grossly fat. Did you see him?”
“Only in his carriage. He kept out of sight a great deal because of his unpopularity,” Rebecca said.
“Yes, well, I should hope he would be unpopular for the way he treated her!”
Rebecca forebore to mention the multitude of other sins which rendered the Regent unpopular, and continued to attend to her sister’s monologue.
“And then there was the fiasco at Almack’s when they tried to bring Lord Byron back to decent society. Mama positively insisted that we leave on the instant. Will says that Byron is England's greatest living poet, but of course he does not condone his personal behavior.”
Meg flushed at her very imperfect understanding of the situation. “So the next thing was that Byron left the country. And then, what should happen but Lady Caroline Lamb’s Glenarvon was published. Will would not let me read it—that is, he did not positively say that I might not, but he told me it was not the sort of book from which I should benefit. But I heard all the on dits about it; nothing else was talked of, I promise you. They say Lady Caroline drew her characters from the very haut ton—not hesitating to malign her own husband and Lady Holland, who has always been kind to her. Will says it was a most disgraceful action and he is dreadfully sorry for William Lamb. Anyway, it was a very exciting season after all.”
“I should think so,” Rebecca murmured, amused at her sister’s innocent enthusiasm about the peccadilloes of such prominent members of society.
“There were many evenings when we attended two or three balls in succession, with each hostess attempting to outdo the last. Will says he enjoys the breakfasts best, and I am inclined to agree with him, so long as they do not follow one of the late evenings. Will became acquainted with Lord Parley at Cambridge and had entrée everywhere. And I made a very dear friend of Althea Stonebridge—you will adore her, Becka. Will says she is just the sort of unexceptionable friend he would expect me to make. Lord and Lady Stonebridge were lovely to me, often including me in their parties for the theatre. Mama was delighted for the chance to rest, and Will was always invited, too, as my escort.”
Meg noticed that her sister was growing a trifle restive with all these details of her season and she was abruptly reminded of her social graces. “Now tell me what you’ve been doing, Becka love. You have not said a word and I should hate to be like Turnip.”
“A fate worse than death,” Rebecca agreed with a laugh. “Let’s see. When I came to Gray Oaks I found Clayborne had bought me a superb little mare. You must see her, Meg, for she is the most beautiful stepper. But then you do not like horses so well, do you? Anyway, I ride most every day and for me it is heaven. I read a lot, sometimes in the topiary, which I shall show you later. The first few months I spent a great deal of time refurbishing three of the rooms. You shall tell me what you think of them. Clayborne was away on estate business for a while, so I had a free hand. Don’t you think the draperies are handsome? I found the material in Chichester. I will have to take you there. It may be nothing compared to London for shops, but it is the most charming town.”
“I’m sure Turnip must agree with you, for though we fairly flew through it this morning, she did not finish speaking of it until we reached your gate,” Meg grumbled.
“She no doubt studied her guidebook for a week before you left, and entrusted it all to memory. Herstley in the closest village and since it will be in no guidebook I shall take you walking there. She will not care to accompany us, I hope. There are an inordinate number of elderly folk in the neighborhood, and in truth I don’t believe I’ve met a soul under forty except for the tenants and their children.”
“But how else have you whiled your time?” Meg asked curiously. “No cozy teas or morning calls?”
“Well... naturally there were some duty calls at first, and we gave the funniest dinner party at Christmas.”
Meg was slightly shocked. “A funny dinner party? For the neighbors?”
“Yes, for Clayborne wanted the local gentry to meet me and his Uncle Henry. He has known all of them since childhood, of course, and put them all at ease. But the vicar, Mr. Rivers who is extremely old and learned, practically fell asleep before the ladies withdrew. And the local squire, Sir John Denby, proceeded to instruct us all on his latest agricultural innovations in a voice so loud that my wine glass trembled. His wife, on the other hand, spoke in a barely audible whisper and her conversation consisted entirely of domestic matters, which she discussed in fatiguing detail, though of course I was not able to hear much of it. No, wait,” Rebecca lifted an admonishing hand as her sister began to giggle.
“That’s only the beginning. There were also the village gossips, the Misses Blackwell, who were able, in a very short period of time, to leave in shreds the reputation of anyone unlucky enough not to have been invited that night.” Meg was now laughing unrestrainedly, and Rebecca, pretending to regard her sternly, said, “Now, Meg, I am sure this tale is most informative if you will but keep an open mind. For Miss Sarah fixed me with her beady eyes and kept nodding knowingly at me, but she was obviously impatient to get away so that she could discuss me with her sister. Miss Lucilla, on the other hand, would never quite meet your eye, even when she was speaking directly to you. Meg, you must attend, for you have not the full cast of characters yet,” Rebecca urged, though Meg was now wiping her eyes on a tiny wisp of handkerchief, and clutching at her side, alternately.
“We also had with us Dr. Baker, the physician, descended from a very old and distinguished family. He is rather lean and serious-looking, and only entered the conversation if he wished to disagree, in the most scientific and eso—esoteric, I think it is, vocabulary that you can imagine. I could not understand every third word.”
“They sound,” Meg gasped between giggles, “like a most stimulating company.”
“And indeed they were. For when we had adjourned to the Blue Saloon and I had played for them and the Misses Blackwell had sung the most amazing songs—religious, you understand—Sir John began in his booming voice to describe the use to which he was putting his south pasture. His wife, at the same time, mind you, was whispering about an unlit fire in the library grate the evening before, while Dr. Baker was disputing the wisdom of Sir John’s choice of pasturage. Miss Sarah was staring right at the doctor and shaking her head in disagreement, while Miss Lucilla was looking somewhere over his left shoulder with a very vague expression on her face. Now, Meg, I am sorry to have been so long in the setting of this scene, but I have reached the dénouement!” Rebecca proclaimed dramatically.
“I really do not think I can bear it, Becka,” Meg gasped again.
“Of course you can, for it was highly instructive. You see, during all this shouting and mumbling the vicar had been sleeping quite peacefully. I am sure,” she admitted apologetically, “that it was my playing on the pianoforte which accomplished that. Neverthel
ess, when suddenly he awoke, he began reciting the twenty-third psalm, to the astonishment of everyone present. Most educational, I thought,” Rebecca proclaimed, as she finally let herself join in her sister’s whoops.
“Becka, there never was one like you to make the most of a sadly boring time. I can picture the whole, and I would have taken to my bed with the headache,” she confessed.
“Well, perhaps it was not so bad, really. Uncle Henry has the most exquisite sense of humor and we had many a laugh over it afterwards. And I have drawn a character of each of them of which I am inordinately proud. I shall show them to you one day.”
“Do you still do that? I remember the day Turnip found your drawing of her, and how we had to bear her Christian long suffering for weeks afterwards. And I have always kept the one you did of me, for though it is not perhaps flattering,” she reproached her sister, still giggling, “it serves to damp any pretensions I might feel on occasion.”
“I am sure it is a most unladylike hobby, but I thoroughly enjoy it. When in London I was inspired by Rowlandson’s cartoons. I pride myself that I have developed a style of my own,” Rebecca admitted.
Their discussion was interrupted at this point by the arrival of Miss Turnpeck, who could be heard outside the saloon door assuring someone that she had had not the least difficulty in finding her way about the house and that she was sure the two young ladies were having the nicest coze, perhaps even having ordered tea by this time of the afternoon. Rebecca guiltily rang then, as the old governess entered. Although the travelers had had luncheon trays in their rooms, she remembered Turnip’s penchant for nibbling biscuits all through the day, which appeared to do her not the least bit of damage, as she was thin almost to gauntness.
“Such a delightful home you have, Rebecca,” Miss Turnpeck twitted. “And the housekeeper—Mrs. Lambert is it?—so thoughtful of a guest. It was she herself, and not a maid at all, who took charge of settling me into my room. She tells me that her brother is the head gardener. I could see the most remarkable topiary from my window, and she says you read there frequently. May we have a walk in it some time?”
Lord Clayborne's Fancy Page 4