Lord Clayborne's Fancy

by Laura Matthews

  When she took in this sight, Rebecca halted at the doorway of the drawing room, turned swiftly to Captain Hardcastle and said softly, “I think we had best withdraw our invitation to tea for today. There is like to be a family... discussion just now.” Her eyes were cast heavenward and she extended her hand in farewell.

  “Certainly, Lady Clayborne. We should not be imposing further; you will need to rest your ankle.” He tugged at Captain Gray’s sleeve, gave him a speaking look which his friend immediately responded to, and they took themselves off, much to Meg and Clayborne’s surprise, as they had just entered the house.

  “Aunt Adeline is here,” Rebecca informed her husband succinctly, while Meg’s eyes widened in horror, and Miss Turnpeck, declaring that she was thoroughly exhausted, took herself off to her room.

  Clayborne accepted this intelligence with equanimity and preceded his wife into the drawing room, where Mary and her relations were eyeing one another with silent hostility. “Ah, Mrs. Rotham and Miss Rotham, so nice to see you again,” he remarked courteously with a bow. “Won’t you be seated? Rebecca will ring for tea.”

  The ladies responded coolly to his reception, barely greeting Rebecca and Meg at all. But Rebecca seated herself, and they were forced to do likewise. Mrs. Rotham was working herself up to a denunciation of her late guest when Clayborne interceded smoothly. “I collect you could not have received my letter as yet. Mary arrived here safely yesterday afternoon and has kindly agreed to stay with us until Meg and Miss Turnpeck return to Farthington Hall. I am sure she will wish to take this opportunity to express her apologies for causing you any distress by her unexpected departure.”

  He glanced lazily over at Mary, who had no such desire, but met his eyes steadily and murmured, still looking at him, “I am sorry if I caused you upset, Aunt.” She then lowered her eyes and remained silent, while her aunt puffed and steamed.

  “Well, I never! Ungrateful child! How dare you take off in such a wild, undisciplined manner? Causing your cousin and me such palpitations and fears, to say nothing of the inconvenience, discomfort and expense of a journey to London!” Mrs. Rotham had a great deal more to say, but Clayborne interrupted.

  “Indeed, it was very wrong and unthinking of the child, but as you see she has come to no harm, and we are pleased to have her with us.”

  “I have come to take her back with me,” Mrs. Rotham announced frigidly.

  “That is kind of you, ma’am, but it will not be necessary. I have written to her parents to explain that she will be remaining with us and there is no need to put yourself out any further over the matter. Would you not like to be shown to a room to refresh yourselves from your journey? We do not dine for several hours yet and I feel sure you would welcome a rest,” Clayborne concluded with his most charming smile.

  Mrs. Rotham was not entirely pacified, but she had a great desire to see more of Clayborne House. Sally had left off her sniggering and was looking uncomfortable, while Mary continued to peruse the hands lying in her lap. The advent of the tea tray was greeted with relief. Rebecca said, “Meg, will you help me pour out? I am sure Aunt Adeline and Sally would welcome a cup of tea before they go to their rooms.”

  Meg, who found herself speechless in such circumstances, agreed to assist her sister. She smiled hesitantly at her aunt and cousin as she passed them their cups, and they unbent slightly. Encouraged, she offered, “We have had the most lovely day at Hampton Court, going through the palace and the maze. Have you been there?”

  A lukewarm conversation ensued and Mrs. Rotham and Sally eventually departed for the rooms which had been prepared for them. Mary turned to Clayborne and said simply, “Thank you, Jason.”

  “I have to admit that it did not occur to me that they would follow you. Very resourceful, your aunt. Did you leave her a note saying you were coming here?”

  “Well, yes, I had to say something. I could not just leave without a word. But now Sally will miss the party,” Mary proclaimed, with an unsuccessful attempt to look penitent.

  “You imp!” Rebecca exclaimed. “I do believe you are pleased about it.”

  “And so should you be, if you had had to live with that... that girl for a few weeks!”

  “No doubt,” Clayborne agreed dampingly. “I shall send them home in the traveling carriage tomorrow, but I hope you will all endeavor to make their stay... pleasant.”

  Grateful for her husband’s handling of the situation, Rebecca replied with due gravity, “You may be sure, Jason, that we shall. I’ll speak to the cook now.”

  “It might be wise,” he suggested, “if you sent notes round to Captain Gray and Captain Hardcastle to see if they would join us for dinner and the evening. It’s short notice, of course, but if they could come it would prove a useful distraction.” He helped himself to a pinch of snuff and eyed her ruefully.

  “Yes, I see what you mean, and we had no other plans for this evening. Poor Jason. It has become overwhelming, hasn’t it?” Rebecca rose, forgetting her ankle, and winced slightly.

  “On the other hand,” Clayborne offered smoothly, “you may not be up to entertaining this evening. We have had a busy day and your ankle is still causing you some difficulty, I see.”

  “Pooh! I would not allow such a minor inconvenience to hamper me,” she replied stoutly. “Meg will help me, won’t you, dear?”

  “Certainly, Becka,” Meg responded promptly, rising to go to her sister. “The captains did not speak of any engagements this evening, so we may be in luck. Shall I see to some card tables being set out?”

  “Do you suppose Aunt Adeline indulges in whist?” Rebecca mused.

  Her sister giggled. “If not we can always get out the lottery tickets.”

  Mary, who had been sitting silent through this exchange, finally spoke. “Oh, she plays cards all right. And Sally cheats.”

  “Such admirable relations you have,” Clayborne murmured as he replaced his snuff box.

  Rebecca determined to ignore this comment. Instead she enlisted her youngest sister’s help with the arrangements, and the ladies left Clayborne to ponder how he would entertain six ladies alone if the captains were unable to attend. He was not beset with this problem, however, as both accepted within the hour.

  When the whole party had assembled for dinner, Rebecca felt reasonably satisfied with the gathering: Clayborne was being charming, the captains were in high spirits, Meg was attempting to draw out her cousin, and Mary, never one to sulk for long—and anxious to show Clayborne that she could behave—chatted with everyone indiscriminately. Mrs. Rotham and her daughter were flattered with the attention they received, impressed by Clayborne House and looked forward to their return journey in Clayborne’s carriage with a mixture of awe and snobbery. Though Miss Turnpeck had persisted in proclaiming her fatigue, she had allowed that she might join them later in the evening, after she had enjoyed a tray in her room and rested a trifle longer.

  Although the seating of necessity left Rebecca somewhat out of the general conversation, she watched the others with amusement.

  Sally fluttered her eyelashes at Captain Hardcastle and purred, “Oh, my dear sir, you were at Waterloo? You must be so very brave!”

  The brave captain gallantly protested. “Not a bit, Miss Rotham. It is Captain Gray who performed great feats of courage.”

  But Captain Gray was ambitiously endeavoring to charm Mrs. Rotham, and did not respond to this attempt to divert him.

  “I have had the pleasure of being in Bath only thrice, ma’am, and not for many years. But the last time I was there I happened to arrive on a fast day, for the old king’s health, I believe. After riding for hours, and calmly expecting to have a decent meal in Bath, for I had forgotten the fast day entirely, I arrived to find I could not get so much as a turnip.”

  “We are very strict in our observance, Captain Gray, and it does my heart good to hear that you found God-fearing innkeepers, so ready to disoblige a patron in spite of the profit they might have had.”

  Altho
ugh it had not been Captain Gray’s intent to warm the cockles of her heart with his discomfort, he decided that he now had her measure and proceeded to recall every Sunday service he had ever attended which might have some interest to her.

  Clayborne lifted a quizzical brow but followed Captain Gray’s lead, and Rebecca caught snatches of his voice discussing the vicar’s theories on Sunday school classes. Now and again he glanced at her, an unfathomable look in his eyes, and when she rose to lead the ladies from the room he gave her an encouraging smile. Strengthened, she was able to sit with her aunt and cousin talking of their activities in London, since so many of them had been worthy owing to Miss Turnpeck’s presence.

  Meg was induced to play the pianoforte when the men rejoined them, while her sisters sang and Sally was heard to say, “I am myself rather accomplished on the pianoforte, Captain Hardcastle, but I would never put myself forward in a group where my talents would outshine those of others. No, no, I shall not play this evening.”

  When they had all sat down to cards, with Mrs. Rotham protesting that, “I take a hand now and then to be sociable,” Clayborne noted that Sally did indeed cheat, and he grinned at Mary, who acknowledged this with a wide, conspiratorial wink. Needing just another nibble before bed, Miss Turnpeck joined them as the tea tray was brought in.

  Mrs. Rotham was proclaiming, “I never have been much interested in London. Bath is so much more genteel and quiet.”

  Mary could not resist a grimace, but Clayborne replied easily, “In addition to which there are the waters and the baths. We can lay no claim to such health-inducing properties in London.”

  Delighted that her aunt seemed to have no desire to spend more time in London, and would no doubt happily climb into Clayborne’s carriage in the morning, Rebecca encouraged her aunt to talk of Bath and her home.

  “I should very much like to visit Bath one day,” Miss Turnpeck contributed. “I have read so much about the crescents and the Pump Room. Mr. Wood created a most magnificent scheme, I understand. And the Abbey; I should dearly love to see the Abbey!”

  “Indeed,” Mrs. Rotham said coldly, eyeing Miss Turnpeck askance, as though the governess had wandered into the wrong room. Miss Turnpeck was thereby silenced so effectively that even Captain Hardcastle took pity on her and attempted to engage her in hearty conversation.

  Ignoring this slight to herself, Mrs. Rotham announced grandly, “We must make an early start in the morning. Come, Sally, we should be getting to our rest.”

  “Oh, Mama, it is early yet. I wish to stay with the others.” Her eyes traveled provocatively to Captain Hardcastle.

  “Nonsense, child. Make your curtsey.”

  Sally sulked but her mother would brook no argument, so she simpered prettily for the captains and allowed herself to be led reluctantly from the room. There was a moment of silence when the door closed behind them, and then an audible sigh of relief.

  Rebecca turned to Captain Gray. “I cannot tell you how grateful we are that you could join us this evening.”

  He responded with his boyish grin. “Always pleased to be of service, Lady Clayborne. We should be off, if you have to speed your departing guests in the morning. I say, your ankle’s all right now, is it?”

  “Very well. I have no trouble walking on it, and the swelling is almost gone.”

  As he rose, Captain Hardcastle gave her his hand and made her promise a dance at the Stonebridge rout. Captain Gray, not to be outdone, made both Meg and Rebecca promise a dance, and the two young men departed to see a bit more of the night before they eventually sought their beds at first light.

  The others started to drift toward their rooms, but Rebecca had a wordless signal from her husband to remain behind. “I can understand now why Mary escaped them,” he confided with a grimace. “Will you have a glass of wine with me?”

  Surprised, Rebecca nodded and seated herself on an oval-backed, serpentine-seated chair. Clayborne poured two glasses from the decanter brought in with the tea tray, and crossed the room to hand one to her. Not entirely at ease but attempting to appear so, he seated himself on a matching chair beside her while Rebecca sipped her wine and waited for him to speak. She noted that his brown eyes were soft and luminous in the glow of the candles. My God, he is going to try to seduce me, she thought, panicked.

  “I think the evening went very well,” he finally commented. “But I am thankful that your aunt has no desire to stay on here. It will be several days before the carriage is back in town to return us to Gray Oaks. You will not mind staying on, will you?” he asked softly.

  “Of course not, Jason,” she replied, a slight feeling of breathlessness overtaking her.

  He smiled, a warm, tender smile, and took her free hand. Why is he doing this? she thought, even as his touch made her understand. “You look charming tonight, my dear,” he murmured as he turned the hand palm upward and kissed it lingeringly.

  Rebecca restrained a frightened impulse to withdraw her hand and found herself unable to meet his eyes.

  “Thank you, Jason.”

  He set his wine glass down, retained her hand, and with the other tentatively touched her cheek. To her annoyance, she felt herself blushing. He lightly brushed her brow, her eyelids, her lips, with his fingertips and she was no longer able to keep her eyes from his face. There was a tap at the door.

  His right hand dropped from her face but he retained his hold on her hand. “Come in.”

  The butler, eyes firmly locked on the tea tray, asked, “Shall I clear, milord?”

  “Yes, but leave the wine, and that will be all for the night.”

  The intrusion was brief. There was a dimming of the light in the room as the candles at the other end were extinguished. The rustle of the tea tray was quickly succeeded by the quiet closing of the door. Rebecca had not taken her eyes from her husband’s face, nor he from hers. Her cheeks were enchantingly flushed.

  Clayborne’s hair had fallen across his forehead and his eyes were gentle. “Would you like more wine?”

  “Yes, please, Jason.”

  He seemed reluctant to release her hand, but rose and brought the decanter over to refill her glass and his, setting it down on the semicircular side table. Rebecca hesitantly lifted the glass and took a small sip as he reseated himself and pulled his chair closer to her own. She had placed her hand on the chair arm, and he repossessed it, his thumb gently stroked the back of it, his fingers warm on her palm.

  Ignoring his wine, Clayborne reached out to trace the shape of Rebecca’s face, her upturned nose, the column of her long neck. In a trance she watched him remove the wine glass from her limp hand and set it down on the side table. He drew her to her feet and enfolded her in his arms, allowing her head to rest against his shoulder for a while before he lifted her chin so that her face was raised to his and slowly he lowered his head to kiss her forehead, her nose, her lips.

  At first Rebecca tried to think about what was happening, what the consequences would be. But after a moment her mind refused to function at all and she merely responded to the longing kisses she was receiving; gentle, passionate, lingering by turn, until she felt dizzy and clung to him helplessly.

  Clayborne picked her up in his arms and strode with her to the door. He managed to open it without relinquishing his hold on her, while Rebecca nestled her head against his chest and refused to think. “Will your maid be waiting up for you?” he asked as they approached her suite.

  “I told her not to, but I’m afraid she will.”

  “My man won’t be. May I take you to my room?”

  Rebecca could not see his face in the dark, and he could not see her nod, but he could feel it. There was a dim light from the fire in the room when they entered. She had never seen the room before, as her mother had shunned it on their tour of the house during the engagement. Clayborne sat down with her on his lap in a Hepplewhite winged chair and began to stroke her silky black hair. Releasing it from its combs, he allowed it to flow down her back, following it with his
fingers. He began to unfasten her gown under the hair.

  Rebecca clung to him, her arms about his waist. “Jason?”

  “Yes, little one?”

  “I’m... afraid.”

  The hands paused at her back and he studied her face in the flickering glow. “There is nothing to be afraid of,” he said huskily. “I will not hurt you.”

  “Oh, Jason, I know that.” Tears formed in her eyes and she blinked them away rapidly. “If you… if we... You are going to be so angry with yourself in the morning.” When he did not speak, but merely regarded her intently, she removed her hands from about his waist and folded them in her lap. “You know you are.”

  “I don’t care,” he finally told her stubbornly, his hands again working at the fastenings.

  With a sigh Rebecca replaced her arms around his waist and leaned her head against his chest. After a moment her gown was dexterously removed, and then her chemise. There was a sharp intake of breath from her husband and then his firm, warm hands were caressing her—her shoulders, her waist, her hips, her breasts. She lay quietly, shyly in his arms, a strange warmth starting to invade her body. His lips brushed her hair while he murmured soft, incoherent words. Then he lifted her and carried her to the bed.

  Standing there above her, entranced, he began to loosen his cravat, his eyes roaming over her body. Why shouldn’t he have her? She was his wife. And ever since he had held her, carried her, earlier in the day, the desire for her had grown until it overwhelmed him. She looked so vulnerable, the big eyes still over-moist, but softened with an awakening desire, trusting him. We could lead a normal, married life, he told himself firmly. But her voice haunted him— “You will be so angry with yourself in the morning.” And he would be, he knew it. Angry that he had given in to his desire, that he had not kept her at the distance he intended.

  Clayborne was now stripped to the waist, and he seated himself on the bed to remove his shoes. He reached over to run a finger along his wife’s lips, and Rebecca recognized the moment of decision on his face as he leaned over to pick up the dressing gown his man had laid out for him. His voice came gently. “You are right, little one. Forgive me.” Then he bundled her small frame into his long dressing gown and walked with her to the connecting door. “Rebecca?”