“Mary and I went alone, yes, but it appeared that there was a man in our party.”
“Tell me the truth, Rebecca!” he roared.
“Quietly, please, Jason. There is no need to alarm the household. Mary was dressed as a young man, and no one... questioned the masquerade in the least. She did an admirable imitation of you, and I believe is rather talented,” Rebecca mused.
Clayborne raised his eyes heavenward and crushed the letter he held in his hands. “I cannot believe that you would pull such a prank. Mary perhaps, but not you.”
“Really? Why, I do believe I am flattered, my lord,” Rebecca murmured demurely.
For a moment it appeared that Clayborne would shake her, but he overcame the impulse and asked ominously, “And why, pray tell, did you go to Vauxhall? If it were some wild start of Mary’s, surely you could have put an end to it.”
“Please believe me that it was in no way Mary’s idea. She is not in the least to blame for you cannot regard her considerable enjoyment once there to have been accountable for the scheme.”
“Then I am to understand that you initiated the scheme. And I ask you again, ma’am, why did you go to Vauxhall?”
Rebecca hesitated, and decided that lying would not help the case, for surely Clayborne must know the reason, hound her for it as he might. “I went there,” she said, moistening her lips nervously, “to see you and Lady Hillston.”
“And why did you think to see me there with Lady Hillston?”
“Mary heard you were going to Vauxhall last night. Quite by accident, I assure you.”
“But she did not hear that I was going there with Lady Hillston.”
“True.”
“Rebecca,” he said with exasperation, “will you please simply tell me the whole?”
“I had rather not.”
“I realize that, but I will have it, whether it pleases you or not.”
“Very well. You see, when I was feeling unwell at the Stonebridges’ rout the other night I reluctantly overheard two women discussing you and Lady Hillston.” She swallowed convulsively and continued, “Then I asked Mary if she had seen you with anyone in the park, and against her will, mind you, she related what she knew.”
“She overheard my conversation with Lady Hillston?” he asked incredulously.
“One of Mary’s most endearing qualities is her keen hearing, my lord. She has a great deal of experience in eavesdropping. Perhaps you did not know.”
“You might have mentioned it, but I had forgotten,” he rejoined sardonically. “Please continue.”
“Well, that is really about all. When she heard that you were going to Vauxhall we drew the obvious conclusion, and that is why we went.”
“You went to spy on me?” he roared again.
“Hush! I should not call it precisely spying. You see, I did not wish to rely on hearsay, so I was determined to learn the truth for myself. I did,” she admitted scrupulously, “encourage Mary to tell me what she had heard. She would never divulge such a thing on her own, you know, for she hates a tattle. But then she is my sister and did not refuse me.”
“Admirable, no doubt.”
“The fault, Jason, if there is one, is mine. You have no reason to be cross with Mary.”
“We will leave that for the present. Were you successful in your endeavor?”
“You mean, did we overhear you and Lady Hillston?”
“Precisely. Overhear, eavesdrop, spy, what you will.”
“Yes.”
“And what did you hear?”
“Now, Jason, I really think it unnecessary to repeat that. I might just say that we came upon you when she was making plans for a visit to Winthrop Manor and we departed when she joined Major Frome’s party.” She stared sadly down at her hands, not sure why they were moving so restlessly in her lap, as she was willing them to be still. “I’m sorry if you were hurt, Jason. But I must confess that she did not seem worthy of your regard.”
“You are impertinent. Nevertheless, it is true. She has never been worthy of regard.” He studied the cartoon carefully, as she watched anxiously, and finally he grinned. “You are very clever with a pen.”
“Thank you.”
“Tell me, Rebecca,” he turned serious once more, “what had you intended to do if you learned of a continuing liaison?”
“You misunderstand, Jason. My intent was to discover for myself if what I suspected was true—that you married me with your affections engaged elsewhere,” she said sadly.
Clayborne looked startled and then annoyed. “What difference could that possibly make now?” He had no intention of telling her the truth.
“It makes all the difference. You see, it means when you married me you knew that our marriage had very little chance for success. When you add to that the fact that you believe I did not come to you as a virgin, you get the shambles that our marriage has been for almost a year.”
“You are trying to shift the blame to me,” he said stiffly.
“If there is any blame, Jason, it is all yours. I have nothing with which to reproach myself. I’m sorry for you if you were hurt by Lady Hillston, and I’m sorry if you were hurt by me inadvertently, but I know the whole now and I must plan accordingly.”
“Plan what?” he asked angrily.
“What to do for myself. I don’t know for sure, but I will be thinking about it, and I will let you know when I make a decision.”
“There is no necessity for any decision. You are my wife, and you shall act as my wife.”
“No, Jason, I don’t think so. But I will have to decide.”
“Are you threatening to leave me?” he asked incredulously.
“If you wish to put it that way, I suppose I am.”
“You cannot be serious! What would you do? Where would you go?”
“I tell you I have not decided. We will discuss the matter further when I have had time to give it some more thought.”
“We will discuss it now,” he ordered.
“I think not, Jason,” she replied calmly, and then could not help adding with due gravity, “I fear I am overwrought, my lord, and must rest for a while to recoup my strength.”
“Stop your nonsense, Rebecca. You have never been overwrought in your life, and certainly not now, when you might have the grace to be!”
“You are unkind. Tell me, Jason, why did you come to my room in the first place?”
“Why? Oh, yes, I have had a letter from my brother-in-law asking if I will have my nephew George to Gray Oaks for a week while he’s away on business. He’s bringing George to London tomorrow and would rather we had him than the boy’s grandmother, who is rather elderly. Would you be willing to have the lad?”
“It is thoughtful of you to consult me, and I would be happy to have him. I think it is time we returned to Gray Oaks.”
“Obviously it is well past time. The carriage is back. I will have no more such pranks as you and Mary pulled last night. It is really beyond anything,” he continued, working up to a nice pitch. “What if you had been recognized? You would not have been able to show your face in London.”
“I cannot imagine a worse fate,” Rebecca retorted. “In fact, we were recognized, but nothing will be heard from that quarter, I assure you. Mary made an admirable young man, and she knows almost no one in the city as yet. It was most unfortunate that we should have run into a neighbor, but he won’t mention it.” Her lips twitched. “I was perfectly safe in Mary’s escort.”
“Have you no respect for the proprieties, Rebecca?”
“Very little. Of what use are they to me? However, I shall attempt to respect them for your sake while I reside under your roof. I found it necessary this once to contravene them a bit, but I hope I shall have no further reason to do so.”
“We will leave for Gray Oaks in the morning.”
“Should we not wait for little George?”
“We will leave as soon as he arrives then,” he retorted.
“He may be tired, po
or tyke,” she said solicitously.
“Oh, for God’s sake, then we will leave the next day. You are enough to try the patience of a saint, Rebecca.” Clayborne rose from his chair, a frown creasing his brow and his eyes dark with frustration. “And keep your sister out of the stables!”
“Unfair Jason. Your quarrel is with me.”
Clayborne did not reply, but turned on his heels and stalked toward the door. Rebecca called after him, “I should like to keep the cartoon, Jason, if you do not mind.”
“Well, I do mind!” he bellowed, but he retraced his steps, slapped it down on her writing table with a glare at her and stomped out of the room.
Chapter Twelve
After Clayborne’s strategic withdrawal from his wife’s room, he wandered about the house, deeply upset. Eventually he invaded the drawing room where Miss Turnpeck and Meg had just greeted a morning caller.
“So nice to see you again. What brings you to town?” Miss Turnpeck asked the visitor.
“A small commission for my wife. She will have it that a christening gown for the baby must come from London, and that I must be the one to choose it. Much I know about such things,” the caller said with a laugh.
“Oh, Lord Clayborne, here is someone you know,” Miss Turnpeck greeted his arrival cheerfully.
Since Clayborne had never laid eyes on the young man before and the caller looked equally bewildered, Meg hastened to introduce them. “Jason, this is our friend Thomas Burns from near Salisbury. Thomas, this is Lord Clayborne. I have sent for Rebecca and Mary for we are all old friends.”
Clayborne made his bow and studied the young man carefully while Meg engaged him in conversation. Burns was shorter than he but very well formed; his clothes fit him to perfection, and he had a charming manner. His eyes were perpetually laughing, and his black hair kept escaping down his brow, to be brushed negligently back into place. He was relaying to the two ladies the local news in which they would be interested, particularly his encounter with Meg’s Will a few days before. Meg hung on his words, and smiled and blushed alternately until Rebecca entered the room.
“Lady Clayborne, a pleasure,” Burns greeted her with a bow, taking her hand and pressing it. “You are looking well.” And indeed she was, as her color was still high from her confrontation with Clayborne.
“And you, Thomas. How are your wife and child?”
“Both very well. Sybil is regaining her strength very quickly and the little fellow is healthy, though he looks a bit red and wrinkled to me.”
“I think they all do, you know. I’m pleased you came to call. What brings you to London?” she asked, and they drifted apart from the others while he again explained his commission. When they could not be overheard Rebecca asked, “And how is Rags?”
He chuckled. “Just the same as ever, always into mischief. Are you sorry you gave him to me? Do you wish to have him back?”
“Oh, no. He was always more interested in you than in me, ungrateful dog,” she admitted. “I thought they were supposed to attach themselves to the one who fed them.”
“Well, in that case it should have been your cook, not you. He is a frisky little fellow and I look forward to the day he and my Ned will be the best of companions,” prophesied the proud father.
“You sound happy, Thomas, and I am so glad for you.”
“Sybil is the dearest of women, Rebecca. Had I known her better before I married her, I should never have been such a gudgeon as to talk of her as I did. I hope you will forgive me.”
“There is no need. I hoped only that you would make her happy,” she replied simply.
“I believe I do,” he confessed self-consciously. “And she is a treasure to me. You must see little Ned, too, for he is going to be a strapping fellow.”
“Perhaps I will visit Farthington Hall in the next few months and then we could all call on you.”
“Are you happy, Rebecca?” he asked kindly.
Rebecca was saved the necessity of answering this question, as Mary erupted into the room and burst immediately into speech. “Oh, Thomas, it’s good to see you. I’ve been learning to drive a pair, and Jason says I shall make an excellent whip. Do you have your pair in town? May I drive them?”
“Hold on, young lady. So you have nagged someone into letting you drive at last,” he said and threw Clayborne a look of commiseration. “I shall not be surprised next to see you perform at Astley’s!”
“Now don’t give the child any ideas,” Clayborne remarked wryly. “She is by far too wild as is, forever getting into mischief.” He fixed Mary with a stern eye and she realized at once that he knew of her Vauxhall adventure. She turned quickly to Rebecca, at whose slight nod she pulled a face.
With a shrug Mary turned back to Burns and soon had him immersed in a conversation on horses, which Clayborne eventually broke up to make the conversation more general. As Burns made his farewells, Mary began to edge toward the door, and just as she was about to slip out unchecked, Clayborne approached her and asked for a word with her in the study. Rebecca laughed at her comical look of dismay and joined the pair to say, “If it is concerning last night, Jason, I should like to be there, too.”
Clayborne acquiesced with a gesture and followed the sisters, who went arm in arm. Before they reached the study, however, Miss Turnpeck had caught them up and she asked Clayborne with a puzzled frown, “I made sure you were acquainted with Mr. Burns, Lord Clayborne. Did we not speak of him one day at Gray Oaks?”
Looking mildly disconcerted, he replied, “I believe we did,” before urging the sisters into the study, where he closed the door firmly against Miss Turnpeck’s curious gaze. Rebecca could well imagine the import of this exchange, but she made no comment. Instead she turned to her sister to explain the present situation.
“I am sorry, Mary, that I have had to tell Jason the whole,” Rebecca apologized, ignoring her husband’s presence.
“The whole?” Mary asked incredulously.
“Yes, for he would have it. He happened to catch me drawing a cartoon of Lady Hillston and pressed me until the entire story was out.”
“A cartoon? Oh, I must see it, for your cartoons are famous, Becka,” Mary exclaimed enthusiastically.
“If you will pardon the interruption, ladies,” Clayborne suggested impatiently, “I would be most appreciative if you both would sit down and attend to me. That’s better. Now, Mary, I have spoken with Rebecca concerning last night’s disgraceful episode and…”
At this point Mary burst into whoops, considerably startling her sister and irritating Clayborne to an intolerable point. “I fail to see anything amusing about it,” he stormed.
“You wouldn’t,” she gasped out, and Rebecca, too, started to laugh.
“Neither of you have two serious thoughts to rub together!” he exclaimed in exasperation. “There is an unbecoming levity in both of you which I fail to appreciate.”
“Too true,” Rebecca retorted. “Were you a little less self-consequential and top-lofty you might find some pleasure in life.”
“That is quite enough, Rebecca,” he said coldly, his icy brown eyes striking her like a physical blow. “You are dismissed.”
Mary gaped at this interchange between them, and shivered slightly as her sister rose, curtsied, and left the room, her face pale and set. Clayborne sat clenching a pen until it cracked, unaware of Mary’s still presence for some minutes. When finally he turned to her she saw that his face too was drained and drawn, and that his eyes were neither angry nor cold any longer, but troubled and sad.
“I... I... am sorry if I was impertinent, Jason,” Mary whispered. “You have been kind to me, much more so than I deserve.”
“You remind me of my sister,” he replied abstractedly, toying with the broken pen.
Mary would have liked to pursue this line, but did not think that Clayborne was in the mood for distractions. “I know we were wrong to go to Vauxhall and that I should not have dressed as a man,” she hurried on. “I did not wish to upset y
ou, but it was important to Rebecca,” she explained artlessly. “And I admit that I urged her to allow me to accompany her, for it seemed a grand adventure. As indeed it was. I shall not blame you if you send me home to Farthington Hall,” she offered handsomely.
Clayborne managed the ghost of a smile and said, “We leave for Gray Oaks the day after tomorrow. My nephew will accompany us. You shall return to Farthington Hall when Meg does. For your own sake, Mary,” he said tiredly, rubbing his brow with a weary motion, “try to find your pleasure at activities which will not ruin your reputation or endanger your safety. You may go now.”
Stifling an impulse to comfort him as he sat dejectedly in the large ornate chair, Mary thanked him, and she, too, curtsied. After she had agreed to inform the servants that be would not be in for dinner, she left him alone and immediately sought out Rebecca, who was in her room staring vacantly out the window.
“He is very upset, Becka, but he did not come the ugly with me.” And then with one of her unexpected youthful insights she asked, “It is not just Lady Hillston, is it?”
“No, Mary. It is not just Lady Hillston. We have a problem of our own which I cannot explain to you, but which seems to be unsolvable,” Rebecca said sadly.
“He is such a good man, Becka. I am sure he would not mean to hurt you.”
“No, he doesn’t, but he is very proud. It is all a misunderstanding but it seems to have no remedy. Let us forget it. Did he speak to you about being in the stables?”
“No, not a word. He knows I go there?”
“Yes, he told me to keep you away from them, but I think it was only because he was angry with me. You shall have to decide for yourself whether you dare go there tomorrow, for the next day we return to Gray Oaks.”
“He told me. I didn’t know he had a nephew,” Mary said curiously, and they drifted into a discussion of Clayborne’s dead sister and the child who would visit them. “I shall help teach him to ride,” Mary offered.
“That’s kind of you, Mary. I’m sure Jason will appreciate your help.”
Timidly Mary asked, “Could I see the cartoon of Lady Hillston, Becka?”
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