by Mary Balogh
And she was able to avoid Christopher. She had seen him frequently, had even danced past him on a number of occasions. But somehow she had contrived to avoid looking at him or meeting his eyes in all of that time. She was, of course, aware of him every moment of the evening. She knew exactly with whom he had danced. She knew that he danced both the opening set and the supper dance with Harriet. And she was aware of the fact that neither of them was at the supper for a full twenty minutes after everyone else was sitting down. The evening was warm; several couples had left the ballroom through the French doors in order to stroll in the garden.
Mr. Carver asked her to dance after supper, and Rebecca smiled mischievously at him. It was a waltz, the second of three that the Langbournes had planned for the more daring and fashionable of their guests.
"You are very trusting, sir," she said. "Are you willing to risk having your toes trodden on when I have had merely one lesson in the waltz?"
"Well, ma'am," he said, "if you tread on m'foot, I might tread on yours. And I can vouch for th'fact that you would get th'worst of it."
Rebecca could feel laughter bubbling up inside her as he rumbled with mirth. "Very well," she said. "I shall endeavor to keep my feet to myself, sir."
"You really are a naturally good dancer," he commented after a minute. "Sometimes waltzing can be suspiciously like lugging around a sack of meal."
"Oh," Rebecca said, "now you have made me really nervous, sir."
Mr. Carver was unable to keep up the repartee. The tempo of the waltz was very lively, and soon he was almost audibly counting steps. He stopped when they were opposite the French doors.
"Very sorry, Miss Shaw," he said. "Bit off a little more than I can chew this time. Dancing ain't quite my thing unless the tempo is slow and sedate. Would you care for a turn in the garden, ma'am?"
Rebecca smiled. "I should be delighted, sir," she said. "The smell of the flowers in here was quite lovely at first, but now, I must confess, it has become oppressive."
They strolled in silence at first across the lawn, Rebecca's hand resting on the massive and very solid arm of her companion. The night was lit softly by lanterns set in the trees that bordered the grass.
"Have you made any progress on expanding your school to include girls?" Mr. Carver asked.
"I have not broached the subject for a while," Rebecca said. "I shall wait until the results of the present school are quite obvious and then renew the campaign."
"Diplomatic," Mr. Carver said. "Should have come with Sinclair to see you teach, Miss Shaw. Can never drum up as much interest as he in such things. Should be ashamed of myself.''
"Not at all," Rebecca said. "I should prefer you to stay away altogether than pretend to a charitable interest that you do not really feel. I cannot stand pretension like that." Her tone was more vehement than she had intended.
"Eh?" Mr. Carver said. "Y'ain't referring to Sinclair, are you?"
"Yes, actually I am," Rebecca said. "He came to the school merely to look good, I am convinced. What does he really care?"
"Eh?" Mr. Carver said again. "Y'don't know?" He looked away from her. "No," he said, "seem to remember he mentioned something of the sort. Sorry, Miss Shaw, excuse me. Talking to m'self. Often do it, y'know. Sign of advancing senility." His arm beneath hers shook with the mirth that she was becoming accustomed to.
"Are you trying to tell me that Mr. Sinclair really is interested in the school?" Rebecca asked incredulously.
"Oh, assuredly so," Mr. Carver said. "Never knew anyone like Sinclair for always having some charitable concern eating at him. Puts me to shame. Never think of it m'self unless someone reminds me. Unfortunately for me, m'mother or Sinclair are constantly reminding me."
Rebecca was silent. She was feeling somewhat stunned. Could Mr. Carver be exaggerating? Christopher concerned about the welfare of others? He had in the past, of course, but she had long ago discovered that the real Christopher Sinclair was a selfish, mercenary man, who rode roughshod over the feelings of others. Yet Mr. Carver seemed to be an honest and a trustworthy man. Well, perhaps there was a grain of truth in what he said. She would be glad now to know that there was some trace of conscience or kindness in the man she had loved and still loved.
They reached the end of the lawn in silence and would have turned back toward the house again. However, both became aware suddenly that they were not alone. Someone wearing light-colored clothes was among the trees, and both realized with some embarrassment that there were actually two people there in very close embrace. Mr. Carver turned away with rather more haste than he would otherwise have employed and walked Rebecca quickly across the grass until they were out of earshot.
"Never could stand that sort of thing," he said indignantly. "Young fools should wait until they can be sure no one will come upon them and be mortified with embarrassment. No sense of restraint. M'apologies, Miss Shaw."
"It was in no way your fault, sir," Rebecca said lightly. "Let us forget about it. The incident is not worth remembering."
The music had ended by the time they returned to the ballroom. Rebecca excused herself and pushed through the crowd that surrounded the floor. She did not know where to go. If she went to the ladies' withdrawing room, she would encounter the maids who were there at all times to help unfortunates mend sagging hems or detached bows. She ran hastily down the staircase and found a shadowed alcove where she could find privacy for perhaps a few minutes. She had to have privacy. She had to have a few minutes in which to collect herself before having to face any more dancing partners.
She was very thankful that Mr. Carver had not seen. He could not have seen or he would surely have been even more embarrassed than he had been. He had thought the two people strangers. But she had seen. She had recognized them, both of them. It seemed incredible. She was almost inclined now to think that her eyes must have been deceiving her, but she knew they had not. The gleaming gown of the lady and the light hair of the man had belonged quite indisputably to Maude and Philip. And they had been in very deep embrace, their bodies touching at all points, completely lost to their surroundings in the kiss they had been sharing.
Ten whole minutes passed before Rebecca came out of her place of hiding and climbed the stairs to the ballroom again. She had blanked her mind. It was merely one more problem that she must consider when she had leisure in which to do so. Her face was composed, her walk unhurried.
The first person she saw when she reentered the ballroom was Maude, who was standing close to the door, apparently in the process of refusing to dance with an earnest young man, who was bowing elegantly before her. She was, Rebecca saw in one hasty glance, as white as the gown she wore and in very obvious distress. Her hands twisted the fan that she held as if she were intent on breaking it. There was no sign of Philip.
The trouble with coming to a social event with other people, Rebecca thought ruefully, was that one had to await their pleasure at the end of the evening. She would have liked nothing more than to return home so that she could crawl into bed and escape into merciful sleep. Her life and emotions were becoming hopelessly tangled. She very much feared that she was about to lose all her faith in humanity. Could no one be depended upon to act true to character? Philip! He had never so much as kissed her. And Maude? Rebecca could have sworn that she was the soul of dignity and honor and sweetness.
Rebecca looked around her. Harriet, she was relieved to see, was not with Christopher, though she could no longer be sure even of her own motives. Was she watching that relationship out of a concern for the welfare of Harriet, or out of a concern that Christopher might be ensnared by her and lead a life of misery with such a selfish partner? However it was, all seemed safe for the moment. Harriet was being led onto the floor by a smiling Mr. Bartlett. She too was smiling and blushing. He must have just paid her a compliment. She hoped that poor Mr. Bartlett would not develop a tendre for Harriet. He deserved better than that.
"Will you dance, Becky?"
She spun around to
look into the blue eyes very close to her.
"It is a waltz," Christopher said, "and I observed earlier that you perform the dance with great competence."
Even as she placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her onto the floor, Rebecca's mind began to come out of its stupor. Was she mad? This was the very last thing she wanted to be doing at the moment. And how could he have the effrontery to have asked her? A waltz, too-the third and last of the evening. She would have thought that he would be as anxious to avoid her as she was to avoid him. Or did he want the satisfaction of conquering her heart again? Rebecca turned to face him, her expression grim, and placed one hand on his shoulder and the other in his.
He said nothing for a while but held her loosely and guided her expertly and gracefully through the movements of the dance. Rebecca kept her eyes on the silver buttons of his waistcoat.
"I knew," he said finally, "that the longer I left it without saying anything to you, the more embarrassed we would be to meet. I had to talk to you this evening, Becky."
"I cannot think that there is anything for either of us to say." She spoke so quietly that he had to bend his head toward her to hear the words. "Our acquaintance came to an end many years ago. We are strangers now."
"Yes," he said after a short silence. His voice was strained. "You are right. You have made a good life for yourself, Becky. You do a great deal of good; you matter to a large number of people. And you have chosen a good man for a husband. Philip Everett must be one of the few men worthy of your love. These facts make my behavior of a few afternoons ago the more reprehensible. I can say in my own defense only that I did not intend to do what I did. My behavior was unforgivable. I ask your forgiveness, Becky. You have a generous heart, I know."
She darted him an astonished look. What game was he playing now? She could not understand and dared not try. Her faith in her own judgment had been severely shaken over the last few hours.
"I think we should forget the whole matter," she said to his silver buttons again. "I would prefer to forget it, Christopher."
"Yes," he said, "if you wish."
They danced silently for a few minutes, Rebecca almost dizzy with her confused thoughts and with his nearness. She was afraid that her hand was trembling in his, but she could neither know for sure nor do anything to prevent its happening.
"What do you know of Stanley Bartlett?" he asked unexpectedly at last.
"Mr. Bartlett?" she asked, looking directly into his eyes in her surprise. "He is Maude's brother. He knew you in London, I believe."
"Oh?" he said. "He admitted as much, did he?"
"Is there any reason that he should not?" she asked. She could feel indignation rising in her. Was he anxious to know how much of the truth about himself Mr. Bartlett had told?"
He looked searchingly into her eyes. "I wish you would have a care for your cousin, Becky," he said hesitantly.
"What?" she said. "You mean Harriet? Are you trying to tell me that she may be in some danger from Mr. Bartlett?" She almost laughed in her incredulity.
"I would not wish to be so melodramatic," he said. He took a deep breath and continued with seeming hesitation. "But your cousin is a wealthy heiress, Becky, even if Lady Holmes should produce an heir, and Bartlett is not a wealthy man."
"You are accusing him of being a fortune hunter!" Rebecca said, stopping in the middle of the dance floor and staring at him with wide-eyed indignation. "How perfectly despicable you are! It is true that he has no money-he is the first to admit the fact. But he has qualities that are vastly superior to all the wealth in the world. He has kindness and integrity and concern for the welfare of others."
"Becky," he said sharply, "are you sure you wish to create a public scene? Shall we dance? You may continue your tirade into my ear."
Rebecca felt as if she would explode with anger, but the wisdom of his words was not to be denied. She forced herself to smile as they began to dance again and composed her face.
"I will not allow you of all people to throw suspicion upon Mr. Bartlett," she said with controlled fury. "He has told me about you, sir. I know that you have already ruined his life and that of the woman he loved. Can you not be content with what you have done and cease tormenting him now?"
"Do you refer to Angela?" he asked quietly.
"You must know that I do," she said. "And you must know that I despise you, sir. You may believe that everyone whose pockets are to let is scheming to acquire someone else's money. But not every man is like you. I would consider Harriet fortunate to receive an offer from Mr. Bartlett and I would applaud her good sense if she accepted him."
"I see," Christopher said, his voice almost unnaturally calm. "There seems nothing more for me to say then, does there? Pardon me, Becky, for trying to offer advice where it is not wanted. The music is ending-to our mutual relief, I am sure."
And the ball was ending too, Rebecca discovered. She had never been so glad of anything in her life. She could not have imagined an evening more full of emotional upheaval.
Chapter 9
Rebecca saw very soon the next day what Philip's surprise was. The boys came into the schoolhouse more quietly than usual, but with stifled giggles. She did not look up from the book she was scanning until they were all inside and seated on the benches. Then she raised her head and looked straight into the bespectacled eyes of an uncomfortable-looking Cyril. The boys burst into open laughter at her expression, and Cyril squirmed in discomfort.
"What?" she said. "Cyril, how perfectly splendid! But how did this come about?"
Cyril merely grinned sheepishly.
"The reverend took him into Wraxby yestiddy, miss," one of the other boys volunteered.
"The Reverend Everett?" Rebecca asked in surprise. "He bought the spectacles for you, Cyril?"
"Yes, miss," the boy nodded.
But how could he have done it? What sacrifice had he had to make to be able to buy eyeglasses for one of his pupils? But was not that just like Philip? One day he was talking about dismissing the boy from the school; and the next, he was making quite sure that the boy had as much of a chance to learn as the others.
"And do they make a difference, Cyril?" she asked. "Can you see more clearly with them?"
"Oh, miss," he said, his eyes wide behind the glass lenses. "I didn't know there was so much to see. When I went home, me mum laughed because all I did was look at the blanket on me bed. I could see all the threads woven together, miss, all in and out in a perfect pattern."
The boys all roared with laughter at the excitement in Cyril's voice. Rebecca had to clap her hands for silence.
"That is wonderful, Cyril," she asked. "And now we will be able to find out if you can also read."
No miracle had occurred, of course. Cyril had not suddenly become a fluent reader. Nevertheless, Rebecca was encouraged by the fact that he could puzzle over each word and sometimes work out in his mind what one was. It seemed obvious at least that now he could see clearly what letters were in each word. She felt confident that with a little time and practice he would soon catch up to the rest of the pupils.
Philip did not put in an appearance at all during the morning. Rebecca did not know whether she wanted to see him or not. She was eager to question him about Cyril and to find out how and why he had helped the boy. On the other hand, her mind was still in turmoil from the night before. They had been very late arriving home, and knowing that she had to teach the following day, she had forced her mind blank so that she might sleep. And this morning, knowing that she had a day of teaching ahead, she had kept her mind blank. She would think later, she had decided, when she had the time and the privacy.
She knew only that the evening before had been like some kind of nightmare in which everything that could have gone wrong had done so. And somewhere in the jumble of problems that she was going to have to face soon were those concerning Philip-not only her feelings for him, but also his for her. Had she really seen him kissing Maude? The idea seemed quite preposterous
in the cold light of day. But she would not think of it now.
Philip came to the schoolroom during the afternoon, only a short while before the boys were to be dismissed. He was holding himself more than usually upright, Rebecca noticed at a glance. And his face was even sterner than it usually was and very definitely pale. He merely nodded to her, greeted the boys, who had all risen to their feet at his entry, and walked to the back of the room, where he stood, hands clasped behind his back, staring out of the window until the day's lessons were over.
Rebecca joined him there when the last of the pupils had left. "Philip," she said, "I very much liked your surprise."
He looked blankly at her for a moment. "Ah," he said, "Cyril. And have the eyeglasses made all the difference, Rebecca?"
She smiled. "Not in one day," she said. "But they will, Philip. His eyesight must be extremely poor. All day he kept us amused by his excitement at discovering some new detail that he has been unaware of until now."
"Yes, I know," Philip said. "I had that all the way home from Wraxby yesterday."
"Philip," she said timidly. "How could you do it? I do know that Cyril's father could not afford to buy him the eyeglasses if he saved for five years. Did you pay for them yourself?"
Philip looked uncomfortable. "There was some money left from the school that I had been saving for emergencies," he said. "I considered this emergency enough."
She smiled. "I am so glad," she said. "Sometimes one tends to think of the school in the abstract and forget that it is here to serve individual boys. I am glad you considered Cyril important enough to be called an emergency."
"I am not at all sure that it was the right thing to do," Philip said, "but it is worth a try, anyway."
"When you report this to your patron," she said, "will he disapprove, do you think, Philip? Will he think that you have spent his money on a triviality?"
"I am sure he will not," Philip said, and he moved abruptly away from the window and a short distance from Rebecca. He stood with his back to her.