Rebecca

by Ferguson, Jo Ann

  From the moment she and Nicholas made their bargain aboard the Neptune’s Prize, they had settled into an unsure relationship that was unlike anything else she had ever known. In the presence of others, nothing seemed to have changed. He was as pleasant as ever, for he joked and teased her and found opportunities to touch her as if he truly cared for her. Only in his hooded eyes could she see his black fury. In private, it was a completely different situation. From the time the storm was past until they landed a week later, he never came into their room if she was awake. She began to doubt that he used the cabin at all, for he was always absent when she woke. When he had to come into the room when she was there, he was stiffly polite.

  She had longed to reach out to him and tell him that it was foolish to act like enemies when they had been on their way to becoming such good friends. Then she knew that he did not want her friendship. He would be satisfied with nothing less than her love. That she could not give him. Instead she had waited in misery for landfall. Until he cut her off from him, she had not realized how much she had grown to enjoy his company during the long sea voyage. So many things she wanted to tell him, but he would not let her have a chance.

  On the long trip north from Plymouth, he had been only a bit more pleasant to her. As he had during the days of traveling to New York City, he had retrieved his book from his bags and read it as the hired carriage took them to Foxbridge Cloister on the west shore of England.

  Questions had taunted her as the miles passed. So little she knew of her future home. Even its name suggested luxury and wealth. She longed to know who lived there and what her daily life would be like. She wished to discover the names of their neighbors and determine what her social obligations might be. Knowing it was futile to ask Nicholas, for he spoke to her only when absolutely necessary, she stared at the front of the carriage and tried to calm her fear.

  The facts were made clear by his silence. She had to face what waited for them in this huge house alone. She could not depend on Nicholas to be of any help to her, for he did not hide that he hated her as much as she had despised him when he had taken her away from Keith.

  Or that is what she had thought until he suddenly put his arm around her.

  “Sweetheart, don’t look so frightened!” Nicholas said comfortingly as he saw the despair in her eyes.

  “I can’t help it!” His touch undammed the flood tide of fear in her.

  “You are coming home.”

  She looked out of the carriage at the sweeping expanse of lawn quilted with groups of huge trees in a pattern unlike the wild disorder of Connecticut. “This isn’t home to me.”

  “It will be.” He grinned at her unspoken protest. “Rebecca, there is no need to be afraid. Our nations are no longer enemies. The peace treaty should be signed soon. After all, during the war, we weren’t enemies, were we? Our timing is always wrong. We waited until the end of the fighting to start our own battles.” His light expression vanished on the breath of his heartfelt sigh. “Don’t worry. My family will be delighted that I have wed such a lovely lady.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek that was shadowed by her best bonnet.

  Her eyes widened at his motion, but she said nothing. She was unable to speak past the lump of fear in her throat. If she had had her choice, she would have preferred facing an Iroquois alone in the woods than meeting Nicholas’ family on this palatial estate. When the massive stone house, built in the Elizabethan style of two centuries before, came into view along the curving driveway edged by gardens, her eyes widened even farther.

  Staring at it, she forgot even Nicholas’ sudden warmth. She had never seen such a tall building. That this monstrously gigantic edifice could be a home was even more astonishing. What she had envisioned was paled by the reality. Through the small window of the carriage which had met them at the inn in a nearby village, she could see only a portion of the house, which was three storeys high. Around it were stone walls built with arches to separate different courtyards. Flower beds were filled with petals blossoming in a variety of beautiful colors. With so many things to see, she did not know where to look first.

  As impressed as she was with the house, Rebecca was shocked when Nicholas told her that they had been on the property of Foxbridge Cloister since before they had reached the small village by hired coach. The village and the surrounding fields overseen by the tenant farmers belonged to the Cloister. Looking from his studied smile to the huge house, her hands clenched on the velvet seat of the carriage belonging to Lord Foxbridge. Nicholas had sent a boy for it and to give his family the news that he was on his way home.

  By her side, Nicholas watched her with concealed worry. As they had come closer to his family’s home, his disquiet had increased. Belatedly, he became concerned about how Rebecca would adjust to this life of relative ease as Lady Foxbridge. All her life she had toiled to help her family make a home in the forestlands of Connecticut Colony. At the Cloister, she would be expected to direct the labors of a household of servants. She must greet callers and pay morning visits herself on their neighbors who, by this time of the year, had come from London to spend the summer in the comfort and luxury of their ancestral estates.

  For himself, the change would not come readily, either. When he had left for the Colonies, he had never expected to succeed his brother as lord of Foxbridge Cloister. That the fool had managed to get himself killed in a duel while his younger brother was facing death daily across the ocean seemed ironic. Yet what he had to relearn would be simple in comparison to what waited for Rebecca.

  His thoughts were interrupted when the carriage stopped in front of the double doors on which were carved the Foxbridge family crest. The door of the vehicle was opened by the driver, who wore the pale green livery of the estate. “My lord?” he asked, politely, but with a hint of curiosity.

  Nicholas gave his wife his wry grin and stepped out. He waved aside the driver and helped Rebecca himself. For a moment they stood side by side, as he gave her a chance to look at what soon would be familiar to her. He told Sims, the driver, to take the carriage to stable. They would not be needing it further.

  A slow smile spread across Nicholas’ face as he regarded the grey stones of the Cloister. Until now, he had not realized now much he missed this place which had been home during his childhood. His memory’s eye could pick out which third-floor window he and his brother had once used to crawl out into a tree and run away for a night of childish adventure. Nicholas had been the daring one, and Brad had followed his lead in all their expeditions. His older brother had depended on him to look after him. Nicholas’ departure had added to Brad’s slow fall into the decadence that surrounded the young men who made London and the country estates their playgrounds. He shook his head in sorrow at the waste of his brother’s life.

  Once more he looked at the nursery window. The tree had been cut down, but the memories still were hale. In his memories, Brad would not be only a name on a stone in the family graveyard behind the chapel at the end of one wing of the house. In his heart, his brother would be kept safely as the youngster who had joined so enthusiastically in his younger brother’s pranks.

  Rebecca gazed at the stone house with its three wings forming the letter “E” in the style of its time. She had no idea of the bittersweet memories her husband was experiencing. For her this place held nothing but unknowns. Leaded glass was shaped in diamonds in the windows of the two upper storeys. On the ground floor, clear glass and stained glass alternated in the arched windows, which were more than ten feet in height. She wondered how the interior floors would appear when colored with the reflections of the sunlight through those lovely windows.

  “It looks like a church,” she whispered in awe. “Not like my church. Like the ones we saw in New York City and here in England.”

  He smiled, pleased with her candid appreciation of the home he loved. “It was a church. Or a monastery, actually. With the dissolution of the monasteries under King Henry the Eighth, it became my ancestors’ home. When
I show you around later, you can see sections of the original building.” Glancing up as the front door opened, he placed her trembling hand on his arm. “Ready, Lady Foxbridge?”

  “No!” she replied, but grinned. He knew she remained uncomfortable with her acquired title, and he had delighted in using it to tease her during their long voyage from America. That he jested with her as he had not done since the storm warmed the coldest part of her frozen soul. She dared to be honest with him again. “I don’t think I will ever be ready, Nicholas. I want to run back home.” She glanced to the west where her family were separated from her by incalculable miles of salt water.

  He squeezed her fingers. “You will do fine. Just be yourself, and everyone will be as charmed as I was the first time I met you. Did you know that I thought you were the most delightful child I had ever met?” He looked around with pride at the house and the lawns before his eyes returned to rest with the same possessiveness on her. “I never imagined that day that I would survive and be able to bring you here.”

  Her face remolded into an expression of the unease which echoed in her voice. “Nicholas, I don’t know if I can … if I should … continue with this charade. It isn’t right to lie to your family.”

  “Charade? You are my wife.” He gave her a roguish smile before he asked far more coldly, “Are you breaking our agreement, sweetheart? You vowed to continue as my wife until my title is invested upon me.”

  “I know, but, Nicholas—”

  “It will not take more than a few months. Then you can run back to your sainted Keith Bennett with enough money settled on you to satisfy even his greed.”

  “Stop it! I’m trying to treat your family with honor, but you continue to disparage my loved ones! I don’t wish to hear any more.”

  He twisted her roughly to look up at him. “Why? It’s the truth, isn’t it? You are willing to play this game to achieve your own ends. That makes you no different than me. You have your reasons to cooperate. I have mine. Don’t worry, Rebecca. You are prostituting only your name, not your body.” His fiery gaze scorched her as it ran along her. “Fool that I am, I made the wrong bargain.”

  “Nicholas, don’t!” she gasped as he pressed her tightly to his strong form.

  He ignored her as he ignored all her wishes. When he forced her mouth under his, there was no tenderness in his motion. She cried out, but the sound was muffled against his lips. The flash of fear which filled her was familiar, but no less terrifying. His words and his actions reminded her that he was doing what he had a legal right to do, and if he chose to continue, she could not stop him.

  When he drew his mouth away enough so he could speak, he said in a low tone, “Let’s go inside, Rebecca. Remember, if you want Keith, you must do as I wish. Play your role well in public, wife. I want everyone to see how much my Lady Foxbridge loves her husband, even though it is only an act.” His shadowy eyes held hers with the threat that he would force her to play the part in private as well if she betrayed him.

  “I understand, Nicholas,” she whispered. With sudden fury, she jerked away. Crossing her arms on her chest, she glared at him. “I understand you very well.”

  “I thought you would.” He took her arm and led her toward the house. As if there had been no heated words between them, his voice lightened as he pointed out various points of interest. He could not hide his pride in the wonderful house which was his.

  They walked up the half-dozen steps to the door, which opened as they approached. Nicholas greeted the butler briefly, “Good afternoon, Brody. You are looking fit as always.”

  “Thank you, sir.” The tall, straight man appeared to be a contemporary of Nicholas’ father. His greying hair was neatly arranged in an unpowdered queue, and his green livery was spotless. “If I may say so, my lord, it is good to have you home.”

  Nicholas smiled. Taking off his cloak, he handed it to a wide-eyed maid who was staring at him as if he was a ghost ready to haunt the unused wings of the house. He straightened his frock coat and asked, “Where is Mother this afternoon?”

  The butler did not reply immediately as he looked at the coarsely dressed woman standing next to Lord Foxbridge. He wondered who this beauty was who was looking about as if she had never seen a house before. Quickly he remembered his place. “Lady Margaret is in the solarium, my lord.”

  “Thank you.” Nicholas led Rebecca down the hall without explaining her identity to the startled man. His family must know before the truth was gossiped through the servants’ quarters.

  Rebecca glanced from side to side to see the unimaginable wealth which had surrounded her husband during most of his life. The large selection of furniture in each room shone with age and tender care. It was the antithesis of her home, where there were only a few, functional pieces. A suit of armor startled her as it appeared out of the thick dusk of the long hallway. When she heard Nicholas’s chuckle at her gasp of shock, she blushed and laughed shakily.

  She knew it was useless to pretend that she was not overwhelmed by this ostentation. Nicholas would see through any attempts she made to appear sophisticated. He had derived so much humor from her naiveté that she did not try to hide it any longer.

  It was another three steps up to a room at the far end of the hallway. As they entered the chamber, which was walled on one side by a bank of leaded windows stretching from floor to ceiling, Rebecca’s feet sank into the thick richness of a beautifully patterned carpet. She gazed in awe at the heavy oak furniture arranged in front of the huge fireplace, where logs burned brightly. There were more chairs in this single room than in her whole home. Overhead, hanging from the ceiling fifteen feet above their heads, was an iron wheel where candles burned, for the sunlight had a difficult time shining through the windows set in the almost foot-thick stone walls.

  Two women sat on a green velvet, upholstered settee. They rose in unison as Rebecca and Nicholas came into the room. For a moment, they simply looked at each other. After the many years of separation, there were too many things needing to be said and no way to say them all at once.

  Suddenly the younger woman, who had the same dark hair and brown eyes as Nicholas, ran and threw her arms around him, nearly rocking him off his feet. “Nicholas! Thank God you are finally home and safe. It’s been months since we heard your unit was being released. I did not think you would ever be coming home again!”

  He laughed with a spontaneity which astonished Rebecca. So infrequently had she heard that honest sound. “Eliza! I see you are as irrepressible as ever.” Smiling, he surveyed her with an arm’s length between them. Like Rebecca, his sister had grown up during his years of captivity. When he had left Foxbridge Cloister, she had been a child, but she had become a pretty woman with the distinctively dark Wythe coloring which reputedly came from the Spanish lover of one Lady Foxbridge of centuries past. Teasing, he said, “If you greet your callers like this, little sister, you will never have a husband, for all your suitors will have broken backs.”

  “I have no worries about that.” Again she flung her arms around him. “Oh, I have so much to tell you.”

  “Later, Eliza,” came the stern sound of the other woman’s voice.

  Nicholas looked past his sister to the older woman. He bent to kiss her wrinkled cheek. Then he embraced her. “Hello, Mother.”

  “Welcome home, son.” Lady Margaret was dressed in somber colors of mourning for her elder son, although he had died almost two years before. Her white hair was swept up under a beribboned chamber cap. When she turned to look at Rebecca, the unmistakable sound of heavy satin accompanied her.

  Rebecca felt the older woman’s eyes sweep over her in curiosity. Her blue wool dress decorated with homemade lace seemed most out of place in the company of these women dressed in the height of fashion. The ribbons tying together the bodice of her overdress were nothing like their fancy gowns accented by sashes and flounces. She could not be unaware of the displeasure on the elder woman’s face as she stared at her. For the first time, she doubted
Nicholas’ words that she would be well received at Foxbridge Cloister. This woman who was her mother-in-law already acted as if she did not approve of her.

  The one he had called Eliza was not as reticent. She looked at the stranger who was accompanying her beloved brother. In the first moments of welcoming him home, she had paid no attention to her. Surprise filled her face. She had never seen anyone dressed like this or anyone who wore her hair in braids twisted around the crown of her head. Her tact was overcome by her astonishment. “Who are you?”

  Nicholas took Rebecca’s hand and brought her next to him again. His fingers tightened painfully around hers as he felt her hesitation before she moved to stand beside him. When he looked down into her uneasy eyes, he did not need to warn her aloud that the play was about to begin, and she had best act her part to perfection.

  Without a preamble, he said, “Rebecca, allow me to introduce my mother Lady Margaret Wythe and my sister Lady Eliza Wythe. Mother, Eliza, my wife Rebecca Wythe, Lady Foxbridge.” The very formality of his introductions told Rebecca that he, too, had sensed his mother’s immediate displeasure.

  “Wife?” squeaked Eliza. Rebecca guessed she was about her own age, although she seemed much more immature than a woman who had survived a war fought close to her home and had had all her dreams of love destroyed by the man holding her hand. “Oh, what is Clarisse going to say, Nicholas? She has been waiting so anxiously for you. She expected you would marry her when you came back from America. After all, you had an understanding.”

  Nicholas shook his head as his smile vanished. Clarisse Beckwith was the last one he wanted to hear about. She was a problem he would have to deal with. Every letter he had received from Foxbridge Cloister during his sojourn in America had included some bit of news about her. His mother had hoped he would marry her, but Lady Margaret did not know Clarisse as well as he did. She could not understand why he had been adamantly opposed to wedding the woman who had been the bedpartner of most of the male gentry in the area.