Because if she could not, it would make her stay at Gray Oaks a misery, and she could not leave until the wedding was over and Elvira settled. Though it would suit him to unburden his heart, it would not be fair to her. She must be in a position to say no, and leave.
Rebecca raised her eyes to meet his. Why did he not kiss her? She could see that he wanted to, that he was rigidly controlling the impulse. He had been so very gentle with her since her return, never a reproachful glance, not a sharp word. No longer drawn into himself, he had been more like the Jason she remembered from their engagement. Still, when unaware of her observation, she had noticed his sad countenance. How she wished she could erase his troubles, and, oh, how she needed his love! Rebecca had very nearly worked up the nerve to stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek when he turned away to retrieve her reticule from the pebbles. With a sigh she took his arm for the climb up the bank to the curricle. “Some day soon I must show you my cartoons.”
“I have hoped you would. Shall you show me the ones of myself?” he taunted her.
“How do you know there are any of you?” she asked, but added, “You shall see them all.”
They drove back at a leisurely pace, discussing the guests who were expected soon. Mrs. Exton was likely to prove a troublesome member of the party, but Constance’s brother Charles and his wife were well-disposed to the match and were very pleasant people into the bargain. There were various other relations on both sides attending, but neither Clayborne nor Rebecca knew them and most would not stay above a night or two.
“Just remember, Rebecca, that Mrs. Lambert will be only too willing to see to everything necessary for the house guests. Don’t tire yourself. Constance will be disappointed if you don’t enjoy the wedding, you know,” Clayborne said as he handed her down from the curricle.
“You’re right, of course. I’m glad you took me out this afternoon, for I enjoyed myself and feel more rested. Thank you, Jason.”
“It was my pleasure. We shall do it again soon if you like.”
“After the wedding, if you please,” she laughed. “I shall not work my fingers to the bone, but there are still matters to be seen to and the wedding is less than a week away now.”
When Rebecca returned to the small parlor she was greeted enthusiastically by Mary and Elvira, desiring to know if they could use some materials they had found in the attic, and borrow her sewing basket. “What are the two of you up to?” Rebecca asked quizzingly.
“It’s a secret,” Mary explained. “A surprise we will have ready in a few days. Really, it’s for George and I promise you it will keep us all out of mischief for some days.”
“I find that singularly difficult to believe,” her sister retorted, “but you may have the material and the sewing basket. You will not do anything too dreadful, I trust.”
“It’s just for sport,” Elvira said, “and I think you will be quite pleased with it.”
“Run along then, and if I can help just let me know.” Rebecca waved them off.
Whatever the project was, it did seem to keep them occupied, for they were gone for the better part of the next few days, either in the stables or in the girls’ rooms. The guests had begun arriving and arrangements were completed for the wedding, but Elvira, Mary and George were rarely to be found.
Mrs. Exton grudgingly admitted that Mott was unexceptionable, but declared she did not envy her daughter the care of a four-year-old such as George. Charles Exton reminded her that he had often been told of his own extreme youth by his mother and thought he could not have been much less of a handful.
“Much worse, you were,” she declaimed proudly and assured Constance, with no heed to the contradiction, that little George was an angel compared with her brother at that age.
As matron of honor, Rebecca took part in the beautiful wedding with mixed emotions. The ceremony was impressively solemn, though the vague Mr. Rivers did lose his place twice, and Mott was remarkably nervous. Clayborne as groomsman and George as ring-bearer supported the groom to the best of their differing abilities, but the couple were as relieved as they were joyous to be pronounced man and wile.
Rebecca’s heart went out to them, but she was unhappily reminded of her own wedding a year ago and the expectations she had had. Just so had she and Jason stood before a cleric and heard the time-honored phrases read, thinking that they were beginning a new and rewarding phase of their lives. Surrounded by approving family and well-wishing friends, the venture had seemed propitious.
Rebecca thrust aside her despairing thoughts and smiled at the couple as they walked hand in hand down the aisle. No such cloud would darken their horizons, she felt sure.
The wedding breakfast at Gray Oaks was opulent in the extreme and alive with the color and smell of the late summer flowers Rebecca had caused to adorn every conceivable niche of the house. Every door stood open for the summer breezes to play through the rooms, ruffling the bride’s golden hair and ivory lace wedding gown, and cooling the groom’s flushed cheeks.
Rebecca went with Constance to help dress her in her traveling clothes. “How can I thank you for everything, Rebecca?” Constance asked, her eyes shining with happiness. “It was the most beautiful wedding ever.”
Pleased with the success of the day, Rebecca only smiled and said, “I’ve loved every minute of it. Now you are to have a delightful trip and do not be concerned for George. We’ll be happy to keep him as long as we may. Mary and Elvira are up to something with him, but I have not as yet discovered what it may be. You shall hear all about it on your return, no doubt!”
After enduring her mother’s tears and hasty reminders, and hugging Mary and Elvira and George, Constance placed a kiss on Clayborne’s cheek and assured him that he could not have been more generous. Mott helped her into the traveling carriage, everyone waved vigorously, and the carriage departed.
There was a letdown after all this activity, but soon the house guests began to arrange for their own leave-takings. Carriages were called for and the bustle began again. Charles Exton and his wife were accompanying his mother to Brighton, and despite her expressed desire to remain for another day to recover from the shock of it all, she found herself leaving Gray Oaks only a few hours after her daughter.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Mary and Elvira were impatient to change from their wedding finery into their riding clothes and did not wait for the last departures. They had debated springing their surprise on the assembled wedding party but had agreed that Rebecca just might not approve of that, good-natured as she was. Intent on astonishing Clayborne and Rebecca with their clever idea just before dinner, when everyone had had a chance to recover from the festivities, they hurried off to make the final preparations.
George was not long in following them to the stables, where the three of them began putting the final touches on their project. Fascinated by the stories of medieval life and jousting, he had asked Mary to fashion a blunt-ended lance for him to carry on old Bessie. Mary had enlisted Elvira’s assistance and they had gotten carried away in a spate of authenticity. Not only two lances but two masks as helmets, and two shields, were fashioned. They had practiced with these in secret and were delighted with the results, but George had seen a picture of a horse in trappings of white with red standing lions on them and he was not content until Mary promised to duplicate this costume for Bessie.
Poor Bessie was very patient with all the fittings which this took, and even allowed a sort of mask with enormous eye holes to be placed over her head. Numerous little bells were attached to her harness and she seemed pleased to jingle as she trotted along.
Mary absolutely refused to make more than one of these costumes, but she allowed as how Elvira’s mount should have bells also. Now all was in readiness for their debut for Clayborne and Rebecca, but they decided to have a practice joust in the far meadow so that they might stage the match perfectly.
“Sort of a dress rehearsal,” Elvira giggled.
Mary had decided to coordinate this
event rather than participate in it, so she gave the direction for the two protagonists to face each other and come forward. George’s lance was a bit heavy for him to manage, but he valiantly aimed it at Elvira’s shield. The ensuing chaos ended in whoops of laughter and the decision to stage the event immediately for their proper audience, as George did not wish to tire himself out.
* * * *
Rebecca sadly wandered about the house after the last guests had departed. She would miss Constance sorely, even with Mary and Elvira, to say nothing of George, still about the house. She had celebrated the first anniversary of her own wedding just two weeks previously, and, though Clayborne had given her a charming locket and a delightful Rowlandson print he had found at Mistress Murphy’s cartoon shop in St. James’ Street, and promised a surprise which would not be ready for a few weeks, she had felt so depressed that her thanks had seemed even to herself to lack enthusiasm.
Clayborne, however, had sought to ignore this and had been genuinely pleased with the drawings Rebecca had given him of Gray Oaks. There had been one of him near the house, one of Mary, Elvira and George out riding and one of Constance and Mott in the topiary.
“The set is incomplete, my dear,” he teased. “There should have been one of you in the small parlor with a list in your hand.”
“I did try to draw myself,” she replied seriously, “but I could not feel that it was successful.”
“I should like to see it, all the same,” he urged, and she had gone to her room to fetch it for him. It had given him a start to see the drawing she brought, which depicted her sitting in her room gazing wistfully out the window. “May I keep it?” he had asked, not looking at her.
“Yes, if you like. But I shall try to draw a better one for you.” He had made no comment but tucked the fourth drawing into the folder with the others and excused himself.
Now that Constance had left it occurred to Rebecca that she might draw some scenes from the wedding as a present to her and Gregory. She took her drawing paper to the small parlor and quickly sketched three or four scenes, some serious from the church and some amusing from the wedding breakfast, with Mrs. Exton predominant in tears in one and George doing a somersault in another. She was just putting them carefully away when Clayborne entered.
“Oh, Jason, come and see the sketches I’ve done of the wedding,” she offered. “In fact, you shall see all of my sketches now if you like, as I’ve been meaning to show them to you.”
Rebecca handed him all the sketches except those of himself, reserving them for last. Clayborne was fascinated, and frequently commented on the ability his wife had for catching a character with a few carefully chosen lines. When he came to the one of Lady Hillston, he smiled wryly and remarked, “Oh, yes, I remember this one.”
“Mary was quite taken with it. She told me, you know, that she had intended to spirit it off to a print shop, but then she felt better after Lady Hillston’s horse bolted with her, so she didn’t.” When Clayborne looked aghast at this she laughed and explained, “It was Lady Hillston’s comment about your playing nursemaid to Mary that annoyed her.”
“Of course. Thank God she didn’t. Though, on the other hand, I should have loved to have seen Alexis’s face when she saw it!”
He continued to go through the sketches, murmuring, “That is wonderful of Uncle Henry” or “Ah, yes, the dinner party,” as he went along. When he was finished he set them aside and looked at her quizzingly. “I do not think that is quite all.”
“No, for I have kept back the sketches of you. You must understand, Jason, that sometimes I draw in anger, that it makes me feel better to set pen to paper. You may see them if you will keep that in mind.”
“I promise,” he said calmly, but he did not feel very calm when he saw some of the drawings. There were those that were drawn with incredible tenderness, to be sure, but more where he was pictured as a very disagreeable man. He forced himself to look at them and see himself through her eyes, and he was shocked because he knew that she had not unduly exaggerated. “My poor dear. I hope these were drawn a while back,” he said, indicating the harsher ones.
“Yes, some months ago. You have been very kind to me of late.”
Clayborne drew his hand over his eyes and handed the cartoons back to his wife. He wanted to speak to her now, but he did not know quite what to say, and he did not want her to think that it was just the cartoons that had prompted him. “Would you like to go for a drive?” he asked abruptly.
Rebecca smiled at him, afraid he was embarrassed by the emotion betrayed in the cartoons. “I would rather ride with you, for I have promised Constance to exercise her mare while she’s gone.”
“I’ll have the horses saddled.”
They rode down a lane not far from the house, Constance’s mare rather skittish from lack of exercise, for the wedding had occupied not only the household, but the stable staff as well, with the extra horses and carriages of the guests. They were rounding a bend in the path when it happened.
George had halted his pony to retrieve his lance and swung back up so that the party could proceed. In high spirits now, as they approached the house, they urged their mounts gaily forward. The jingling of bells and the startling sight of the pony in bright trappings and hooded head, as well as little George masked and armed with shield and lance thrust forward, was too much for Constance’s mare. The terrified horse shied wildly, rearing abruptly and throwing Rebecca, who had not been concentrating on her riding, but on the need to reassure Clayborne. She fell to the ground, her head striking a rock, and lay still. Clayborne was at her side in an instant, while the jousting party sat stunned on their mounts. Mary’s face went white, and she stiffly dismounted to kneel beside her sister. “Oh, dear God, no,” she whispered. “We meant no harm, Rebecca.”
Clayborne’s face was ashen but he said gently to Mary, “She’s alive. We must send for the doctor immediately. Will you see to that while I carry her home? Are you all right?”
Mary blinked back the tears that had started to fall and choked as she said, “I can get the doctor. Rebecca has pointed out his house to me.”
“Good girl. Elvira, take George to the stable and send someone for the horses. Can you manage?”
“Yes, Lord Clayborne. George, give me the lance and shield and we will go faster.” George did as he was bid, but he was crying soundlessly.
“The doctor will help your aunt, you shall see,” she comforted him, not knowing whether to believe it or not.
Mary had already ridden away, and Clayborne’s and Constance’s horses had wandered off, so the two children started on their way, the sound of jingling bells mocking their passage.
Clayborne lifted his unconscious wife in his arms and walked off down the lane, the sickness in him growing until he feared that he could not contain it. For a while he did not realize that he was speaking, that his thoughts were being voiced automatically. “Please don’t die, Rebecca. I can let you go anywhere, but I cannot bear a life where you are not somewhere, laughing and riding and drawing. Only live and I will not press you to stay with me. I have not deserved you. I wanted only to make you happy when we married, and I ruined everything because I didn’t trust you.”
There were grooms coming now, sent by Elvira, and he merely motioned them down the path to the horses. Soon he carried Rebecca into the house and up to her bedroom, with an anxious Mrs. Lambert dogging his footsteps. Harpert hovered over her mistress, feeling about her head when Clayborne explained what had happened. She found a cut and swelling at the back and asked for hot water and towels. “Have you sent for the doctor?” she asked tersely.
“Yes, Mary has ridden for him,” Clayborne said, seating himself beside the bed and taking his wife’s hand in his. He watched as the maid carefully washed around the cut.
“It don’t look so bad, but head injuries is the very devil,” Harpert grunted. She proceeded to tuck the covers in around her fully clothed mistress and sat down on the other side of the bed. “I can keep
a watch on her, your lordship.”
“I wish to stay,” he replied.
When Mrs. Lambert bustled off to look out for the doctor, Clayborne and Harpert sat unspeaking in the bedroom. It was all of a half hour later when Dr. Baker arrived. He had already been apprised of the nature of the accident by Mary, and went directly to the bed and probed the wound, checked Rebecca’s pulse and eyes, and felt for any broken bones.
“Concussed, most likely. Pulse is weak, but then it would be. Might be hours before she’s sensible, but she could come around any time. Hard to tell with a blow to the head. Can cause serious damage, of course. Must wish for the best. I’ll come by in the morning. If there seems a change for the worse, send for me, though there would be little I could do, I fear. Keep her warm and quiet.” And he was gone.
Harpert grunted again and offered to sit with her mistress, but Clayborne preferred to be alone with her, sending Harpert to reassure the young people. The maid, unoffended, said she would send him up some dinner on a tray, and when the food came he managed to eat a little of it before setting the tray aside.
As dusk set in he was still sitting there quietly stroking Rebecca’s hair and holding her hand. Harpert looked in to see if anything was needed and to tell him Mary wanted to know when her sister was conscious. Clayborne agreed and urged her to rest, for she might be needed later. The maid nodded and left.
When the moon had risen and Clayborne had lit a candle there was a faint stirring on the bed. Rebecca’s eyes opened slowly and there was a vacant look about them which caused Clayborne a moment of panic, before they focused on him and she smiled faintly.
“I should have been paying more attention. Careless of me. What were they up to?”
“I think,” he said wryly, “that they had planned to give us a jousting exhibition.”
“And I have spoiled their fun. Mary will be very annoyed.”
“Mary has been most concerned about you, as we all have.”
Lord Clayborne's Fancy Page 24