“Certainly. It is my favorite spot near the house. We shall walk there after tea if you wish,” Rebecca offered.
“Nothing would give me more pleasure. So thoughtful of you. Meg dear, I am convinced that you will enjoy it immensely. Perhaps your room does not look out on it as mine does? Well, never mind, you shall see it soon. Oh, here is the tea tray. I find I am quite parched!” Miss Turnpeck exclaimed.
Rebecca and Meg exchanged laughing glances, and Rebecca, her giggles of a few minutes before forgotten, assumed the role of lady of the house and poured for them as though she had done it often for the local gentry.
When Clayborne arrived to join them for tea, he politely inquired if the two ladies were now settled in. He was answered by Miss Turnpeck, at length, as he seated himself and accepted a cup of tea and some biscuits from Rebecca, forcing himself to return her hesitant smile.
“Miss Turnpeck has been commenting on the topiary and I plan that we will walk there in a bit, Jason. You might tell her how it was started,” his wife suggested, remembering how this had been related to his Uncle Henry, who had never heard the story.
“There was a Lady Clayborne, perhaps a century and a half ago, who surrounded herself with all manner of exotic pets. Not just dogs and cats, but monkeys and a tiger or so,” he explained in a lazy, exaggerated storytelling manner. “They even once had a giraffe and a camel, I am told, though I am not sure I credit that. It seems that the tiger broke loose one day and destroyed a large part of the animal population at Gray Oaks before he was captured. The then Lord Clayborne thereafter refused to have any other animals about except the hunting dogs and small cats, and his wife went into a decline, pining for her pets. In an effort to cheer his wife he instructed the gardener to train the growth into all kinds of animal shapes—some are quite fantastic—and it has been kept up to this day. You will see the giraffe and the camel she is supposed to have had.”
“And did it cheer his wife?” Meg wanted to know.
“Well, perhaps it halted the decline,” Clayborne admitted, “but I have heard that Lady Clayborne spent the better part of her days in the topiary talking to the animals and was at length considered mad!”
“Poor soul!” Miss Turnpeck cried with a delicate shudder. “I am sure there is nothing so comforting as having a little dog or cat about one. I have always had a cat, myself, even at Farthington Hall. They have been so good as to allow me to have one of my own, in my room. I would never have thought to bring it to the schoolroom, of course, but then the children always had all manner of puppies about until they would grow and be banished to the stables by Sir Rupert. I remember the mongrel you found, Rebecca. Such a scraggly thing he was! And you very nearly got run over for saving him from the wheels of that curricle. It was that young man—you remember him, don’t you?—Thomas Burns. We saw him several times after that, and at your sister Trudy’s wedding. Such a rackety fellow, dashing about Salisbury in that way. Why, he could have crushed you both! It does not bear thinking on,” she moaned, which conclusion the sisters had reached some moments before, and shared a conspiratorial glance.
“But you know,” Miss Turnpeck revived to say, “I do believe I have heard recently that the young man has settled down. Married shortly after Trudy, if I recall correctly, and they have a son now. Such a to-do as he made, blaming you for the whole. But then he was shaken by such a near accident, as he should have been,” she said sternly. “And he did calm down after a bit; quite charmed him you did, naughty girl. Yes, and he came by only the next day, as I remember, to see how the poor dog was getting on, and you, too, of course.”
By now Meg was looking distinctly uncomfortable and making faces at Rebecca, but her sister said only, “Really, Rags was a handsome dog once he was bathed and fed for a while. I missed him when he went away.”
“I never did believe that he ran away,” Miss Turnpeck declared stoutly. “I am sure I saw that young man near Farthington Hall on the day he disappeared.”
“Now why would he have taken Rags?” Rebecca asked as casually as she could as she rose to suggest, “We should have our walk in the topiary now while it is still warm.”
Clayborne observed this interchange with more interest than was apparent. He noticed Meg’s discomfort and his wife’s attempt to end the conversation, and he determined to find out more about this young man if he could.
“Will you join us for our walk, Jason?” Rebecca asked.
“No, thank you. I have business matters to attend to. Please excuse me.” With a formal nod to his wife, and a smile for Miss Turnpeck and Meg, he walked thoughtfully to his study.
Miss Turnpeck managed to entertain her companions by recounting stories of the various cats she had owned as they wended their way through the topiary, exclaiming at the ingenious figures portrayed there. The topic of Thomas Burns was not revived.
But he was the subject of Clayborne’s thoughts as he sat at his desk drumming his fingers on the chair arm. Clayborne was aware that Rebecca was not familiar with many men; it was her innocence that had first appealed to him when he met her. There had been Captain Gray, of course, but Rebecca had treated him much as a brother, amused but not intrigued by him. Her reaction, he felt sure, would have been far otherwise if she had loved him and had gone so far as to have an affair with him. From his own experience with Alexis, Clayborne was very familiar with the effects of such an infatuation.
The information he had gleaned at tea about Thomas Burns goaded his hurt and anger. Since there had been few young men in Rebecca’s life, he felt a great desire to learn more of this one, and surely providence had provided a wealthy source of information in Miss Turnpeck. Fearful of what he might learn, Clayborne was yet determined to pursue the matter.
Chapter Five
Meg’s visit settled into a pleasant routine. When the ladies breakfasted, Clayborne had already finished and left the house on estate business or fishing expeditions. Then Meg and Rebecca would take a stroll in the gardens or walk into the village to execute small commissions. Miss Turnpeck usually remained in the garden doing her needlework, and the sisters enjoyed the chance to be alone. After luncheon, from which Lord Clayborne also was usually absent, the ladles rested for a while and then Meg practiced on the pianoforte while Rebecca sketched and Miss Turnpeck read one of her innumerable guidebooks.
Clayborne joined them for the evening meal, which was fairly early since they kept country hours, and then they would adjourn to the Blue Saloon where the sisters sang duets, or they all played cards and conversed. Rebecca, considering all this relaxing but hardly exciting, suggested a picnic for the following day and was seconded cheerfully by Meg.
“Could you accompany us, Jason?” Rebecca asked. “You must know several spots in the neighborhood.”
“Oh, yes, please, Jason. We used to have the most delightful picnics when we were young, didn’t we, Miss Turnpeck?” Meg asked.
When Clayborne hesitated, Rebecca felt annoyance rise within her. Had she not entertained his Uncle Henry? Had she not refurbished several rooms for him? Had she not overseen the house for months while he took himself elsewhere?
Seeing the angry flush on his wife’s cheeks, Clayborne hastened to agree, well aware that at Christmas his wife had played a role for him and he owed her no less, if certainly no more, than to do the same for her. “I know a delightful spot on the road toward Arundel. Will you arrange for the picnic hamper, Rebecca?”
“I’ll speak with M. Dussart first thing in the morning,” Rebecca promised with a grateful smile.
“There is nothing quite so enjoyable as an alfresco entertainment, is there?” Miss Turnpeck asked cheerfully. “We often explored the neighborhood of Farthington Hall on our picnics. So many interesting historical sites to see! And on the road to Arundel, you say? Now there, I understand, is quite a magnificent structure. Not that we would be able to see it! Oh, no, I realize that we are far too distant for such a treat. Surely one of the most famous castles in the country, though, and I hav
e read somewhere that they are contemplating extensive renovations. Or was that Warwick Castle? Well, it hardly signifies, does it? I myself have often thought that these large, old buildings must be exceedingly drafty, and just think what an army of servants one would need to care for such a place! And the fireplaces! I haven’t the least doubt that nine out of ten of them smoke most execrably. And it is not pleasant—do you think?—to sit in a room where the fireplace smokes. One’s clothes are tainted with the odor, and I am sure that the soot would discolor even the darkest of fabrics. You must not think, Lord Clayborne, that the fireplaces at Farthington Hall smoke. No, no, I have no experience of such a thing happening there, to be sure. The Hall is a comparatively modern building.”
As Miss Turnpeck paused for breath. Rebecca and Meg hastily pleaded tiredness and escaped to their rooms.
When Rebecca was in bed and reading the latest canto of Byron’s Childe Harold by the light of her candle, there was a light tap on the interconnecting door between her room and Clayborne’s. Considerably startled, she called, “Come in.
He wore a full-length dressing gown of red brocade with a long rolling collar which showed a black satin lining. Rebecca’s eyes widened in wonder at its magnificence as he hesitantly approached her bed.
“I do not mean to disturb you, Rebecca. I came merely to apologize for my reluctance to join your party tomorrow. I am aware that you were most kind to Uncle Henry and have every right to expect me to assist in entertaining your sister. In future I shall,” he promised, and turned to leave.
“Stay a moment, Jason. Please sit down,” she urged. “I wish to speak with you for a moment.”
With a gesture of acquiescence, he pulled a chair near her bed. Although he was not scowling, his face was a mask she could not read. “As with your uncle, I would prefer that my sister and Miss Turnpeck regard ours as a normal marriage. However, you have not been at Gray Oaks above thrice since Christmas and I do not believe play-acting will solve anything.”
Rebecca did not allow herself to be distressed by the grim look developing on her husband’s face. “Jason, I have read everything in your library that I could lay my hands on to try to understand what happened on our wedding night that so disillusioned you. There is nothing that will explain it to me, and I have no one I can ask but you. You will have to tell me.”
“I have no desire to discuss the matter with you, ma’am.”
“No? Then I shall be left in ignorance and avoided by you for the rest of my life, sir?”
He made a gesture of dismissal and rose to leave.
“Before you go, Jason, I wish you to understand one thing. I have no intention of allowing this farce to continue. I love Gray Oaks, but I am only twenty years old and I do not intend to be incarcerated here for the rest of my life in atonement for a crime I did not commit. No, stay.”
She spoke firmly as he made a move to go. “Either you make the effort to clear up this matter for me or I will return to Farthington Hall when Meg leaves. I do not care about the scandal it will cause for me, or even for you. I will not remain where I am treated as a leper.”
It was possible, he thought, that even having been with a man she would not know how he could tell. So he told her, in a cool, emotionless voice. “When a woman is a virgin there is a thin barrier which must be penetrated for a man to enter her. The tearing of her maidenhead causes a slight amount of bleeding, and once torn it does not regenerate.”
She stared up at him, her blue eyes enormous in their wonder and concern. “I see. Thank you for explaining. But…”
“You had no maidenhead.”
“But, Jason, that could not be. You must be mistaken!”
“It was your mistake, ma’am, to think that I would not be able to tell of your previous indiscretion.” His face was set in the harsh lines with which she had become so familiar.
The injustice of his accusation, coming as it did upon his unnerving bluntness in describing virginity, shook her resolve to remain calm. “I had never been with a man before you! You must believe me!”
“I see no reason why I should, ma’am. Now, if you will excuse me.” He was turning to leave when he noticed one large tear roll down her cheek, to be dashed away immediately. With an effort he forced himself to repress the stirring of compassion he experienced. He handed her a handkerchief and, feeling very self-righteous, was stomping back to his room when he heard her give a watery chuckle and say, “Well, at least now I know you aren’t daft. I was worried about your fixation with the bed, you know.” He slammed the door after himself.
* * * *
The next day dawned hot and humid, giving Rebecca a slight headache and making her wish they were not going on the picnic. Her spirits were low after the discussion with her husband the previous evening and she felt that she had much to contemplate now, a matter which could hardly be aided by a picnic.
Abandoning her bed reluctantly, she went in search of the cook to make arrangements for the food hamper and spent some time there, wishing the meal, at least, to be sumptuous, a sentiment with which the cook was in perfect agreement. When Clayborne was away from Gray Oaks, which recently was the majority of the time, Rebecca was in the habit of ordering far simpler meals, and the cook, with all his Gallic fervor, could indulge in an orgy of roasting, baking, grilling and such only when the master was in residence. Together they planned a menu which would have satisfied the appetites of a far larger party, but which pleased them both, and they parted in perfect charity.
Meg was in high good humor and looked charming in a pale blue muslin dress, trimmed with tiers of broad darker blue bands around the hem. She joined Rebecca in the breakfast parlor, exclaiming, “It is a perfect day for a picnic! Shall we take an open carriage? I think you can see the countryside so much better that way and you would not mind, would you, Miss Turnpeck?”
“Not a bit, my dear. I shall wrap myself about with plenty of warm shawls, and I shall bring along some extra ones for the two of you. I feel sure it will be the most delightful expedition,” she enthused, quite rosy with the thought of it.
Rebecca mused that she would give a great deal to know exactly how many shawls dear Miss Turnpeck could call her own, but stifled her curiosity and chatted with her companions about the picnic, only excusing herself to discuss the matter of a carriage with Clayborne. She found him in his study, going over some papers with an abstracted air. Since she had never before sought him out for any reason during their marriage, he appeared a bit surprised when she entered to his summons.
“I wonder if you would arrange for an open carriage for the picnic, Jason, as Meg has desired it and Miss Turnpeck is agreeable.”
“Certainly, if you all wish it. Do you feel well? You look a trifle downpin,” he remarked, his intent brown eyes surveying her pallor.
“It’s just the headache. I’m sure it will go away when we’re out in the air. I’ve arranged for the picnic hamper and we should all be ready in an hour, if that will be convenient.”
“As you wish, but we could put the picnic off until another day if you’re not feeling well.”
“No, I shall be fine. Everyone is looking forward to it.”
When the carriage was rolling along the country lanes, Rebecca did feel better, laughing with Meg and listening to Miss Turnpeck’s monologues on the countryside. Clayborne chose a spot where a brook bubbled by, with a view over the fields and forests. Meg and Rebecca wandered off arm in arm to discard their half boots and stockings and wade in the brook. The sound of their laughter and the sight of skipping stones brought an affectionate, indulgent smile to Miss Turnpeck’s countenance.
“I remember the picnics we used to have at Farthington Hall when all four girls were there. So much giggling and getting into mischief as they did. I thought they would never grow up, but look at them now,” she sighed, and though Clayborne did look at them, his expression was unreadable.
Miss Turnpeck had set to helping the coachman lay out the food, and Clayborne, considering t
his an excellent opportunity, pursued his desire for more information.
“Yesterday when you were speaking of the stray dog Rebecca befriended,” he began, “I think you mentioned a fellow with whom I have a slight acquaintance—Thomas Burns.” He was trying to invent some physical description or pinpoint the area the fellow lived in, but it was unnecessary, as Miss Turnpeck seldom needed much encouragement to free her rambling tongue.
“Oh, do you know Mr. Burns? It turned out that he lived not so far from us, on the other side of Salisbury. Have you been to his family home? Wilsted Manor, I believe it is called.” She did not allow Clayborne a chance to reply to this, so he merely smiled to encourage her. “Dressed like a dandy, he was, the day we met him. He wore those high shirt points so he could hardly turn his head. It’s a wonder he didn’t run over the both of them. We had been in Salisbury, you know, shopping for yardage for the girls’ gowns for Trudy’s wedding. Such a lovely wedding it was, with Trudy absolutely radiant and her young man so pale I was sure he would faint. They were married from the village church and I feel certain there were never so many people there before. And the wedding feast afterwards...” she exclaimed, ready to divulge all the details of it.
Clayborne did not wish her to be sidetracked yet, so he said quite untruthfully, “Most splendid it must have been. My wife has often spoken of it. And I believe Thomas,” he unblinkingly used the young man’s Christian name as if he were his oldest friend, “was there, too.”
“Yes, and I was that surprised to see him. I didn’t know that he was acquainted with Mr. Chalmers, Trudy’s husband, you know, but they appear to have been close friends over the years. And I am surprised, as Mr. Chalmers is the most upright young man and I cannot for the life of me imagine his racketing about the countryside with Mr. Burns. Oh, excuse me, Lord Clayborne, if I am speaking of one of your close friends, too,” she mumbled in embarrassment.
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