Rebecca

by Ferguson, Jo Ann

  “That is where you are very wrong, Rebecca.” His fingers came up to stroke her face with the gentleness of a lover. She was so astounded by what he was implying that she did not try to pull away from him. “Sweetheart, you are the one thing of value that your brother possessed that Bennett wanted. He did not want your cabin or your fine farm, for he did not want to be involved in the day-to-day work to maintain them. Instead he wanted the prettiest lass he had ever seen. You were the way Hart planned to clear the slate of his debts. I don’t know if you were lucky or not that Bennett decided that he wanted you for his wife and not simply as his mistress.”

  Wrenching herself away from the words he was twisting around her, she moved to the dressing table. In a whisper, she said, “I don’t believe you, Nicholas. Keith loves me. You heard what he said. He’s coming to get me.”

  “No, he won’t come. Hold onto your foolish dreams if they give you comfort, but don’t expect Bennett to chase you across the ocean to wrest you back from me. He doesn’t want you that much. There will be other women for him. I wish I could convince you that I’m telling you the truth. I would never lie to you, Rebecca. You saved my life. All I want to do is share that life with you.”

  As he had been speaking, he came to stand behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders, but when he felt her flinch, he drew them away. He knew there was no way he could tear down the wall she was erecting between them without breaking her will. Gently he kissed the top of her head again as he had in the carriage. “Good night, my dear. Sleep well.”

  As she had before, she turned to watch him go to the door. This time, she was not foolish enough to give him an opportunity to stay. Although she was curious as to why he was leaving and where he was going, all she said was, “Should I be ready by a certain time in the morning?”

  “By eight will be early enough, Rebecca.” He paused as he put his hand on the latch. “Don’t be foolish as to try to run away from me. Don’t force me to do something both of us will regret.”

  “Good night.” There was no emotion in her voice. She did not look at him as she turned to pick up her nightgown on the foot of the bed. Only when she heard the door close did she react. A half-sob escaped the depths of her aching heart.

  Rebecca stared at the nightclothes in her hands. Her fingers touched the delicate lace at the deep neckline and full cuffs as her eyes filled with tears. She should be wrapped in her darling’s arms as they shared the love they could give each other. With a sigh she told herself, with more than a touch of irony, that she was lucky to be sleeping alone.

  For a moment, Nicholas’ face filled her mind. He had changed very much in five years also. The stress of his wartime experiences had furrowed the face of the young man he had been when she had exchanged marital vows with him. At the time, his head had been so swathed in makeshift bandages that she had been unable to see the hair which matched his black eyes. Then she had not realized how incredibly handsome and diabolical he could appear.

  She did not understand why he was leaving her alone, although she was very thankful he was not with her. His desire for her was clear in the kisses which persisted despite her reluctance. It was obvious also in the way he touched her whenever he could. His jealousy when she talked to another man was an additional symptom of that frustrated yearning. If she had missed all other clues, she would have seen it in his eyes. Nicholas wanted very badly to make her his wife in more than name, but, for some reason, he was making no effort to force her to sleep with him.

  There was much she did not begin to understand about the man who was her husband. One minute he was as cold as a midwinter sunrise, the next he was asking her to respond to his kiss as if her feelings were of the utmost importance to him. He was a puzzle she did not want to solve. All she wanted was for her sweetheart to rescue her from this madness.

  She could not believe the account Nicholas had given her of why Hart had been so pleased to see Keith courting her. It was simply silly. Admittedly money had been scarce for the past few years, but neighbors helped one another. She could not conceive of the idea that her brother would sell her to settle his debts. With a frown, she undressed behind the screen. No, she did not believe a word of it. Nicholas was only defaming the two men she loved when they could not defend themselves.

  Rebecca pushed the heavy bench against the door. She was a prisoner in this room, but she was determined that Nicholas would be given no chance to change his mind. Only with the bench in front of the door would she be able to sleep tonight.

  When her head rested on the pillow, she hid her face in its freshly cleaned pillowcase. For all the long, dark hours of the night, she remained like that as she fought the demons of despair that longed to overwhelm and destroy her. She would not give in to them. She would fight Nicholas Wythe’s advances and await Keith’s arrival at Foxbridge Cloister, wherever that was.

  Chapter Three

  The carriage stopped by the pier shadowed by the great ship. The long overland journey was over, though they had a far more lengthy and tedious sojourn ahead of them. Last night the weary travelers had slept in another simple roadside inn. Again Rebecca had been left alone in her room. Although Nicholas had demanded a kiss before he had retired to sleep elsewhere, he had not pressed her in any other way.

  She continued to be confused by his bizarre actions. If he wanted to be her lover, she did not know why he waited. Sometimes she thought he despised her as much as she hated him, but if that had been the case, there was no sense in bringing her with him to England. He could have returned by himself with no one being the wiser. She would have married Keith, and Nicholas could have wed a woman who would not have spurned him.

  “Here we are, Rebecca,” he said, interrupting her thoughts.

  Looking out the window, she was awed by the sight of one of the large sailing ships that were most at home on the sea. The sails were still furled, so the masts were black fingers pointing skyward. Every bit of the rigging was silhouetted sharply against the blue sky. On the deck, she could see men straining with other ropes and doing jobs that were incomprehensible to her. She knew they had arrived with little time to spare before the raising of the anchor.

  Nicholas made arrangements for the loading of their bags before he turned to assist Rebecca from the carriage. “There she is, my dear. The magic vehicle that will take you to Foxbridge Cloister. Neptune’s Prize is her name. She will take us home.”

  “To your home,” she said tartly. She took his fingers as she stepped from the carriage.

  “To our home, my sweet,” he replied. It seemed his wife was determined to become a shrew. Every word he said to her was repudiated or questioned. “Let’s go aboard. Her master, Captain Jennings, is an old friend from prewar days. He did some shipping for the Wythe family. Now he will be our host.”

  She stopped, and he turned to face her. “Please, Nicholas, reconsider before it is too late. Let me stay here in America. Whatever you want in exchange, I will try to get it for you. We do not make much money, but I doubt if someone with a title like Lord Foxbridge has a need for money. Don’t take me with you. Please!”

  His fingers slipped along her pale cheek to the nape of her neck. Entwining them in the thick, brown hair swept up into her conservative hair style, he pulled her head back so he could see her face. The expression of fear was blatant on her features, although she no longer cringed away from him each time he touched her.

  In a tone as black as his snapping eyes, he stated in a tight whisper, “You do not seem to understand that I want you. You are my wife, and I have no desire to trade you for anything or anyone else. I don’t want to hear any more of this begging to be left behind. If I stepped aboard that ship and left you here, what would you do? You could not get three paces along these docks before you would find that you had gained a new friend who would not be as willing as I to let you have a bed to yourself.” Taking her hand and placing it on his arm, he said, “Come along, Rebecca.”

  Mutely, she walked beside him
as they stepped down the stairs leading to the pier. Her hand on his arm trembled with her suppressed emotions. She swayed as she walked along the wooden platform, but it had nothing to do with her sorrow. She had felt a sense of nausea from the moment she had woken this morning. At first, she had thought it was simply a reaction to the horrible disruption of her life, but it seemed to be more than that.

  Nicholas had not noticed her increasing ill feeling because he had grown accustomed to her silence as they rode mile after mile. After a few attempts to have her join in what amounted to a monologue, he had given up and spent the time reading a book he took from his bags on one of their frequent stops to water or change the horses.

  When they climbed the steep gangplank, she lifted her skirts so she would not step on the front of her hem. Her companion took her hand to aid her up the wide board. At the top a man was waiting for them with a smile on his mahogany face. He was introduced to Rebecca as Captain Drew Jennings. Whether the man was in his thirties or fifties was impossible to tell. His hair was bleached by the sun to the white of age and his face lined with the wrinkles of skin which has been exposed to the brilliant rays of light reflected off the sea. He wore a casual assortment of loose shirts and knee breeches, but no stockings or shoes. When her shoes slipped on the wet deck, she understood why.

  “Nicholas, I was beginning to wonder if you had decided to stay in America a bit longer,” joked the man in a deep voice that would resonate over the howling wind of a tempest.

  “No, no, I have seen all of this blasted wilderness that I ever wish to see. I’ll be glad to see the walls of Foxbridge Cloister and the quiet gardens.”

  She was grateful that she was looking elsewhere when Nicholas spoke the words that told her that she was leaving her home forever. He had no plans to bring her back, even for a visit. She swallowed roughly as she thought of never speaking with Hart and Aunt Dena again. The idea of not being with Keith was too impossible to imagine. How she wished she could awaken from this nightmare!

  Captain Jennings was saying, “That’s right. I should call you ‘Lord Foxbridge,’ shouldn’t I? I was astonished to hear about Brad getting himself killed in a duel, but it’s hardly a surprise considering the lifestyle and friends he had acquired in London.”

  “No, not a surprise, but still a shock. I’m sure Mother is still in mourning. She always had pinned her hopes on him being a fine lord.” He laughed without humor. “I guess she knew that I would be too busy seeking adventure elsewhere to want to settle down to the life of a country squire. After this war and being a prisoner for more than four endless years, I am ready for that life with my family and my wife.”

  The mention of Rebecca brought the two men’s attention back to her. Although they had been involved in their conversation and had forgotten her for a moment, none of the other men on the deck had. They had been staring openly at her. The coarse dress of homespun and heavy lace could not disguise her beauty, which outshone that of any woman who had comforted them in exchange for gold during their short shore leaves.

  “My dear Lady Foxbridge,” said the captain graciously, “I can see why Nicholas risked missing our sailing in order to marry you and bring you with him to Foxbridge Cloister.”

  Coldly she replied, “Captain, we were married nearly five years ago. Nicholas just returned to find me.”

  “Five years ago?” the startled man gasped. He wondered what his friend had been thinking. Lady Foxbridge could not be twenty years old.

  Nicholas answered smoothly as he put his arm around his wife and pulled her close, “Yes, five years. It was quite a surprise for Rebecca to discover me alive. She had thought I had died in the battle when we were captured. So this is all a sudden change for her.” He glanced down at her pale face. “Drew, how about showing us our cabin before you get involved in heading out to sea?”

  “This way.” He looked back over his shoulder in bafflement. Something was not right between Nicholas and his lady. She did not act like a woman who had discovered her adored husband had eluded death to reclaim her heart. It was wiser to say nothing. One of the reasons he lived upon the sea was to avoid involvement in domestic squabbles.

  The room he led them to was cramped even in comparison with the conditions Rebecca had been accustomed to. A single, wide bunk was attached to the wall. Underneath it were drawers for storage. Although there were only, in addition, a table and a single chair in the quarters, it was crowded when all three of them stepped inside.

  Her eyes widened as she saw Nicholas’s bags on the table next to her own. Unlike the nights on the way to New York City, at sea they would be sharing this small room. She knew better than to say anything. Captain Jennings was still talking to Nicholas. To say something in front of him would prove an embarrassment to her husband. She was sure Nicholas would not accept such easily.

  Forcing her feet to move, she sat on the bed. She tried to breathe shallowly to convince her stomach to stop churning. The steady rise and fall of the ship created a dizzy feeling in her head which made her middle feel as if it was steadily climbing toward her mouth.

  Nicholas turned and said, “Darling, Drew has asked us to join him up on the bridge for a while. Would you like to see the Prize set sail, or do you want to rest after our long trip?”

  “Go ahead without me,” she said softly. She was aware that he had become tired of her lack of cooperation. She did not feel like fighting with him any longer. “I’ll stay here for a while.”

  He bent to kiss the top of her head. “Rest, Rebecca. I will be back later.” She was sure his kindness was only show for his friend.

  The door did not close quickly enough to mask the captain’s words. A flush heated her skin as she heard him say, “Nicholas, my friend, you had better let your young bride have some sleep. She looks positively peaked. I can understand your desire for such a woman, but don’t forget you have your whole lives together.” His chuckle sent a wave of shame over her. Whatever her husband replied was muffled as they walked away.

  She hid her face in the pillows, which reeked of the mildew that inhabited everything on the ship. The only thing interesting these men was the marital relationship she did not share with Nicholas. She no longer had any identity of her own. Rebecca North had ceased to exist. She was Lady Foxbridge, wife of Lord Foxbridge. Mrs. Nicholas Wythe. Simply an extension of her husband and seemingly of value solely for the entertainment she could give her husband and the children she would bear to inherit his estate.

  In misery, Rebecca huddled on the bed. Her arms wrapped lightly around her anguished abdomen. All thoughts but of her own abject feelings fled from her mind. Time passed with eternal slowness. She was afraid to move, for she knew that she would be sick as soon as she did.

  When the ship left the harbor for the open sea, she had no idea. The movement adding to her discomfort only became augmented as the Prize raised her white sails and sought deeper water and a port thousands of miles to the east. Occasionally bits of conversation and the sound of footsteps came through the open window or along the beams over her head. She could pay them no mind.

  She had heard tales of seasickness from her aunt, who had crossed the ocean as a child. In her wretchedness, she understood how it could kill its victims by wrenching their insides into knots. All she wanted was an end to this sickness and to this horrible life that had broken her heart into so many pieces she did not know if she ever would be able to mend it.

  Nicholas was smiling as he walked along the passageway. He loved being at sea. At one time, when he was a youngster of about eleven, he seriously had considered running away to sign aboard a ship as a cabin boy. His father had gotten wind of the project and vetoed it. Living in Foxbridge Cloister overlooking the western coast of England had whetted his appetite for the salt smell of the sea winds and the pulsating sound of the waves bashing themselves against the wooden bow of a ship.

  His hair was damp with sea spray and his clothes stained with the brine that covered everything and everyone o
n the ship. He did not care that his fine suit was ruined. When he returned home, he intended to rid himself of everything that he had obtained in America, except for sweet Rebecca. He wondered what was wrong with her. She was quieter than usual. Perhaps her hatred for him was growing, although he did not think that was possible. He had no idea of how to change her opinion of him. The truth she ignored, and his kindness she treated as a new form of sadism.

  When he opened the door to the tiny quarters they would have to share, for they were the only passenger accommodations on the ship, all thoughts of changing Rebecca left his mind. His eyes went directly to the bunk where she moaned in obvious agony as she clutched her midsection. In two long steps, he had crossed the room. “Sweetheart, what is wrong?”

  At the sound of his voice, her anguished eyes turned to him. “I’m so sick, Nicholas. Help me, please.” In her desperation, her antipathy had dissolved. He was the only one she had to depend on.

  “Let me take off your jacket, so you will be more comfortable.” He slipped his arm under her shoulders to help her sit.

  While she was pulling her coat off, her trembling fingers paused. She moaned as her face turned the same green-grey as the sea. He took one glance at her face and reached for a bucket holding water. Tossing the water out of the window, he placed the wooden pail on the floor. He held her head while she was ill. When her retching ceased, he rolled her gently so she rested on the pillows once more. He placed a dampened cloth on her forehead, and she groaned.

  “Feeling any better, Rebecca?”

  “No,” she whispered. “Take me home. Tell them to turn around and take me back to shore. I shall die if this continues.”

  He chuckled lightly. “Seasick?”

  “What else could it be?” she snapped with sudden heat. His humor irritated her so much that she would have slapped his face if her hands had had the strength.