by Mary Balogh
"Have I not?" he had said, putting his arms around her and pulling her hard agairist him. "What an oversight. I fully intend to do so now, though."
"Good," she had commented, putting her arms up around his neck and raising her chin. "It is about time."
She could even remember the kiss. It was the one that had got out of hand. His shirt had been unbuttoned to the waist, her hands on his chest, and her dress had been pushed from her shoulders, his hands on her naked breasts before they had come to their senses at the same moment. The incident had shaken them both. He had even suggested that they get married without further delay. She often wondered what would have happened with their lives if she had said yes.
Rebecca was agitated by the memory. Would he remember too? If he did, there would be no shadow of doubt in his mind that her actions of the previous afternoon had been deliberate.
Perhaps she should end her betrothal to Philip. It was not that she wished to be free to try to entice Christopher back again. There could be no question of that. Love him she might, but she was not foolish or degraded enough to want to resume a relationship in which she had been treated with such contempt. But could she in all fairness marry Philip when she had finally been forced to admit that she still loved Christopher? And after the afternoon before, she did not know if she would be able to bear being touched by Philip. She had often wondered; she had never had so much as a kiss from him by which she might judge.
Should she tell him? But how would she tell him? What would she do afterward? Could she go on forever living on the charity of Uncle Humphrey?
Her thoughts were mercifully interrupted by the sight of three figures approaching from the direction of the pasture. She smiled at Mr. Bartlett, who had Ellen on one arm and Primrose on the other.
"Ah, Miss Shaw," he called, "I see that my sister's roses only serve to make you look more lovely. I only wish the same might be said of me. But I fear that I merely look like a thorn among roses." He smiled at the two girls.
"We accused Mr. Bartlett of being a hothouse plant," Primrose called, "always in town and always riding everywhere. He had to prove us wrong by leaving his horse in our stable and walking all the way here with us."
"We have talked to him all the way," Ellen added, "to keep his mind from the terrible distance, you see."
"The countryside breeds cruel maidens," Mr. Bartlett said. "1 would wager that these two will sleep dreamlessly tonight without sparing one thought to the blisters on my feet."
They all laughed. Rebecca felt her mood lift somewhat. She had been brooding on her own problems too long and forgetting that there were pleasant companions within easy reach.
It was almost as if Mr. Bartlett read her mind. "The Misses Sinclair have come all this way for the pleasure of taking tea with my sister/' he said. "But I must confess that this hothouse plant has become accustomed to the fresh air and likes it. May I walk with you, Miss Shaw?"
She smiled and moved toward him. His company would be a welcome relief from her own broodings. Ellen and Primrose walked the rest of the way to the house while Rebecca and Mr. Bartlett began to stroll across the extensive lawns that stretched to the west of the house.
"This is an extremely pleasant place to be," he said, holding out an arm for her to take. "The countryside is delightful and the company most congenial. I am only afraid that I shall become so happy here that I shall outstay my welcome."
"I do not believe you need fear that, sir," Rebecca said. "It seems to me that everyone is the happier for your presence here."
"How kind of you to say so!" he said, patting the hand that lay on his arm. "You are a very kind lady, Miss Shaw. I have not been unaware of how much time you devote to those less fortunate than yourself. We all might learn something from your example. Of course, perhaps I am more sensitive to your good works because life has not always been kind to me."
"Oh?" she said.
"My family is not wealthy, as I am sure you are aware," he said. "Maude, alas, was not able to bring much of a dowry to her marriage. Lord Holmes is a generous man, and I do believe it mattered not at all to him that she could offer only her sweet self. But my father feels it, Miss Shaw, and I feel it. Staying here, for example, is pleasant; the hospitality of my brother-in-law is excellent. But it does pain me that I cannot return that hospitality."
Rebecca smiled. "I know how you feel," she said.
"I believe we are alike in many ways, Miss Shaw," he said, "except that you have been more useful in your life than I have been. Both of us grew up, I believe, knowing how to live frugally. I have never expected much by way of the goods of this life. And I never had the opportunity to go to university or to travel. Even so, I might have been happy." He sighed.
"Education and travel do not necessarily bring happiness,” Rebecca said reassuringly. "One can learn a great deal just from reading, I firmly believe."
"Ah, you are right," he said. "And what would one do without books, Miss Shaw? My happiness, though, might have come from love."
She looked at him inquiringly.
"She was lovely," he said. "Not perhaps beautiful in the eyes of the world. But to me she was perfection. We wished to marry. The only stumbling block as far as I was concerned was that she was extremely wealthy and like to inherit a very large fortune from her papa. I hated to be able to bring no answering wealth to the marriage. But she assured me that the fact made no difference, and I insisted that before we marry a written agreement be drawn up whereby her wealth would remain wholly hers. Alas, all our planning came to nothing."
"She-died?" Rebecca asked softly.
"Not then," he said with a twisted smile. "She was forced to marry a man whom her father preferred, although he was my equal in both birth and fortune."
"Oh," Rebecca said, "you are talking of Mrs. Sinclair, are you not?"
He bowed his head. "I could have borne it had she been happy or even moderately contented afterward," he said, "or perhaps even if he had taken her away where I would not have seen her frequently and known how he abused her."
So, Rebecca thought, there was no escaping her thoughts. They were back on the topic of Christopher. And she hated him with a new vehemence. By what right had he come back here to torment her again when she had won a hard-fought battle with her own feelings? And by what right had he come to torment Mr. Bartlett, when that poor gentleman must be deeply grieving the loss of the woman he had loved?
"I am sorry, Miss Shaw," Mr. Bartlett said, his voice contrite. "I did not intend to talk about Sinclair or Angela. It is all past history and I have no wish to burden anyone else with my unhappiness. Come, let us talk of more cheerful things. Maude tells me that you are to attend the ball the day after tomorrow?"
"Yes," Rebecca said, "I have accepted the invitation."
"I am so pleased," he said. "May I hope that you will dance the opening set with me, Miss Shaw?"
Rebecca smiled warmly at him, thankful for the change in topic. "I should be delighted, sir," she said.
Chapter 8
"You should be sitting on this side of the carriage, Rebecca, dear," Lord Holmes said. "This lap-robe is quite large enough to cover your knees too. I fear the draft in this conveyance, though I have given repeated instructions for the doors and windows to be refitted."
"I am really quite warm here, Uncle Humphrey," Rebecca replied. "We are fortunate that the weather has turned mild again. I believe even an open carriage would feel quite pleasant this evening."
"Never say so!" the baron said with a shudder. "But, of course, you are funning me, Rebecca. Night air is the very worst bringer of dangerous chills. Maude, my love, put your hands beneath the robe. Your knuckles will be unbecomingly red by the time we reach the Langbournes' house if you do not."
"Yes, my lord," Maude replied, obediently tucking her already warm hands beneath the fur-lined robe that her husband had insisted be laid across their laps during the six-mile journey to their destination.
All the occupants of the carriag
e except Lord Holmes were feeling the discomfort of the stuffy interior of the carriage long before they arrived. Somehow five of them had squeezed into a vehicle meant to hold no more than four. Lord and Lady Holmes sat facing the horses because having his back to them always made his stomach decidedly queasy, the baron said. Across from them sat Rebecca, Harriet, and Mr. Bartlett. Harriet complained loudly that her new turquoise-blue satin gown would be hopelessly crushed before they arrived in the ballroom, but Mr. Bartlett soon restored her good humor by assuring her that the great beauty of her face and the perfection of her coiffure would render all beholders quite oblivious to a few wrinkles in her gown.
Harriet had been in an exuberant mood all day, as Rebecca had found to her cost. Again she was not teaching school and had stayed at home all morning. Harriet had visited her in her room, intent on talking about the previous day when she had journeyed to Wraxby, the closest town of any size, in company with Mr. Sinclair, Mr. Carver, and Ellen. The idea for the outing had been entirely Harriet's. She had mentioned in the hearing of Mr. Sinclair that she really needed new blue slippers and a fan for the ball, but the village could supply neither. Mr. Sinclair had taken up his cue with flattering haste and suggested that they must go into the town.
And he had been most attentive, Harriet told her cousin, both during the journey and in the town. He had not seemed to mind that they had had to visit three separate establishments in search of just the right fan and that even then she had not been able to make a choice between two. He had suggested that she buy one and he the other as a gift, but she had not been so dead to propriety as to accept that offer when they were not even betrothed.
Of course, Harriet added, that situation was like to change very soon. She fully expected that Mr. Sinclair was about to declare himself-perhaps even at the ball. Certainly he would do so soon.
That Mr. Carver was a perfectly horrid man. She really did not know how Mr. Sinclair tolerated him. And it must be perfectly dreadful for the Sinclairs to be obliged to be civil to him for so long. She could not understand why he had not taken himself back to London or wherever he came from long before now. She had been understandably weary after her busy afternoon of shopping and had wanted nothing more than to sit down and have an ice before starting for home. Ellen had been whining forever about a length of ribbon she wanted to take back for Primrose as a surprise, and Mr. Carver had insisted that they complete the errand.
That would not have been so dreadful, perhaps, if he had offered to accompany Ellen while she and Mr. Sinclair had gone for the ices. But he had insisted that all four of them go-merely to purchase one length of ribbon, and he had dared-dared! — to reprimand her when she had protested.
"He had the effrontery to look at me with that odious smile that he pretends is so amiable," Harriet said indignantly, "and tell me that I must not behave like a spoiled brat. Can you imagine, Rebecca? I was so angry I could not speak. I think Mr. Sinclair showed admirable restraint in not calling him out on the spot. It really would not have done in the middle of a street in Wraxby, you know."
Rebecca had the good sense to make no comment but to let Harriet's monologue flow over her head. She had really not enjoyed hearing about the attentions Christopher was showing her cousin. She could have wished that he had been the one to give Harriet the well-deserved setdown.
The Langbourne mansion was an imposing building, though Lord Holmes had never been induced to admit as much. The driveway led straight from the gates to the main doors and was lined with tall elm trees. On this occasion, as always during the annual ball, the trees were hung with lanterns, and the front of the house was ablaze with lights.
"What a magnificent sight!" Mr. Bartlett was unwise enough to remark.
"Well enough," Lord Holmes said, not even deigning to glance out of the window. "Nouveau riche, my dear Stanley. The style of the house is totally derivative. Nothing original whatsoever. Yes, it is well enough, I would grant you, but it lacks character."
"Oh, precisely," Mr. Bartlett agreed. "I was, of course, comparing the house to most that have arisen during the last twenty years or so. I did not imply any comparison with established country homes like Limeglade, naturally. The idea is quite laughable."
The baron inclined his head graciously.
The stairway leading from the tiled hall of the manor to the ballroom above was crowded with a surprising number of people. The Langbourne ball was considered to be one of the major social attractions of the year and drew guests from miles around. The five members of Lord Holmes's party joined the group on the stairs that was waiting to pass the receiving line. The Sinclairs were up ahead of them, Rebecca could see, and she lowered her eyes to avoid any accidental eye contact with Christopher. Even as she did so, though, she realized how foolish she was being. Could she avoid looking at him all evening?
She was relieved to be claimed for the first dance by Mr. Bartlett. She felt unaccountably nervous at the splendor of the occasion; it was several years since she had attended anything so lavish. The ballroom was decorated with what must have been hundreds of flowers. The room was heavy with their perfume. And the chandeliers, filled with candles and reflected in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors that stretched one length of the ballroom, were dazzling to the eyes. Philip was not yet there. He had told her that he would probably be late as this was the evening when he liked to compose his Sunday sermon.
Christopher was leading Harriet out for the first set, Rebecca saw even as she laid a hand on Mr. Bartlett's arm. And she looked at him for the first time. He was wearing black, the new fashion that Mr. Bartlett had described to an incredulous Uncle Humphrey a few weeks before-and he looked quite magnificent. The contrast between the black and the startling, almost luminous white of his linen and stockings was quite breathtaking. He succeeded in putting all the other men in their bright colors quite in the shade.
"I see that Sinclair is exercising his usual bad judgment," Mr. Bartlett said. "Such a controversial fashion is totally inappropriate for a country ballroom, do you not agree? But then I understand that being noticed is of great importance to the man. He thrives on attention."
"Then I would suggest that we pay him none," Rebecca suggested, smiling dazzlingly at Mr. Bartlett. Somehow she was going to enjoy this evening. And even if she could not enjoy it, stie would appear to do so. She had not seen Christopher Sinclair since their disastrous encounter in the country lane, and she had no intention of showing him that she had been in any way affected by that experience.
It was not difficult for Rebecca to live up to that resolve for the first part of the evening. She was looking well, though she did not fully realize the fact. A new rose-pink gown flattered her coloring and added a glow to her cheeks. She had not been seen in any large company for a long time. She was, therefore, much in demand as a partner. She danced with men she had not seen perhaps for a few years. And she danced with Julian and with Philip when he finally arrived.
Philip was a good dancer. He despised the activity, but he always felt it important to socialize with all classes of his parishioners. And as always with Philip, if he was going to do something, he would make the effort to do it well.
"Did you finish your sermon, Philip?" Rebecca asked him. She looked at his tall, slender figure, dressed in green, at his good-looking face and his shining blond hair and tried to feel an attraction to him.
"Yes, I did," he said. He smiled suddenly, a rare enough sight to capture Rebecca's attention. "I have a surprise for you tomorrow, Rebecca. You will be pleased."
"Oh?" she said. "Tell me, Philip. Suspense makes me ill."
"You will find out at school tomorrow," he said, his manner almost teasing for a moment.
"Philip!" she said, exasperated.
"I am pleased to see Lord Holmes still in the ballroom," he said, looking around the room. "I thought he would have disappeared to the card room long ago. He really does not have enough exercise, you know."
"It is surprising," Rebecca agreed. "He has ev
en danced twice, once with Lady Langbourne and one-of course- with Maude."
Philip frowned, his eyes coming to rest on the last-named lady. "Lady Holmes looks like a girl at her come-out," he said, "and not at all like a matron."
"And very glad I am of it," Rebecca said warmly. "She is very young, Philip. Younger than I am, you know."
He looked at her. "Yes," he said, "I suppose you are right. I had not thought of it that way. However, Rebecca, she is a married lady, and I cannot approve the frivolity of her gown."
Rebecca too looked at Maude. She had thought the white silk underdress covered with delicate white chantilly lace a particularly glorious creation. And it suited its wearer, emphasizing the lovely auburn of her hair and the daintiness of her figure.
"And the neckline is quite indecently low," Philip continued. "If you were ever to wear something so immodest, Rebecca, I should tear it to shreds and throw it away."
Rebecca had to bite her lip and turn away. It was a small point and not worth arguing over. But for some reason, she felt more irritated with Philip than she had ever been before. Why must he always single out Maude for criticism? Lady Holmes's behaviour was always above reproach, as far as Rebecca could see, especially when one realized that she was not a happy person. And who could be happy married to someone like Uncle Humphrey? It was easy enough to tolerate him, even to be amused by him, as an uncle. But as a husband? Maude conducted herself with admirable dignity.
Fortunately for Rebecca, she was saved from further irritation by a new partner, who had signed her card earlier and had now come to claim his set. And she was kept busy until after the supper break. She was able to stay away from Philip and the decision about him that she knew she was going to have to make very soon. She still was not quite sure whether she should break off their betrothal or whether she should try to continue with her plans to marry him. But this was neither the time nor the place to worry over such a thorny problem.