Rebecca

by Ferguson, Jo Ann

  “Who is that?” she gasped.

  Nicholas looked from the painting to Rebecca. Until now, he had not been able to figure out who his wife reminded him of so strongly. With a laugh, he answered, “It would appear to be a portrait of Rebecca Wythe.”

  “But who is she?”

  “Lady Foxbridge, my dear. Her name was Sybill Wythe, and she was my however-many-greats great-grandmother. It is rumored that she had a lover who was a Spaniard washed ashore during the Armada, whose child she foisted off on her gullible husband as his own. That’s the explanation for the dark coloring inherited by each generation since then. Does it surprise you that the present Lord Foxbridge might owe his heritage to bastardy?”

  Dryly, she stated, “Not in the least.”

  His laughter bounced off the high-ceilinged room. Putting his arm around her, he gazed up at his ancestress. “I have always admired Sybill. If the story is true, she must have been unafraid to face public ridicule to have the man she loved.”

  “Perhaps you should have felt some sympathy for her cuckolded husband instead, Nicholas.”

  He twirled her to face him. Once more he looked from her face to the other. They were not identical, for it was more a trick of light than a macabre coincidence which gave them a resemblance. “The fool let a beautiful woman go looking for a man who could satisfy her. I have no pity to waste on such a dolt. If Sybill had been my wife, she would have found no need to haunt the shoreline looking for a lover from the sea.”

  “Is there a moral in this whole tale for me?” she teased. She was finding that more all the time she enjoyed trading words with Nicholas. He was an extremely intelligent, cocksure man who delighted in trying to force her to admit that she cared for him in the way he longed to have her do. “Are you telling me that, like your esteemed Lady Foxbridge of the past, I will seek a man coming to me from the waves?”

  Suddenly, his eyes turned thunderhead black with rage. He released her so abruptly, she rocked on her feet. “Isn’t that what you have been waiting for from the second we set sail, Rebecca? Your hero who would fly on the fastest ship available to take you away from your husband! Don’t worry about going down to the beach. Most conveniently, from the windows of our suite you can see the sea.”

  He turned on his heel and stamped out of the room. Not knowing her way, she had no choice but to follow him. She said nothing. He had misunderstood her. The thought of Keith had not been anywhere in her mind. Nicholas’ reaction warned her that he was becoming more frustrated with his fruitless efforts to end the loyalty she had to her one-time fiance.

  She hurried after him to the main staircase in the foyer. The thick banister was carved of smoke-darkened oak and was wider than her palm. Along the curving staircase, niches were built into the wall to showcase various small pieces of treasured art. The risers were stone worn smooth with the passing of countless feet over the centuries. At the landing which divided the stairs to opposite sections of the second floor, a stained-glass window was outlined brightly with the setting sun.

  Rebecca stopped to admire it. She recognized the intricate design of the Foxbridge family crest. The herald flag was the same green as the livery the staff wore. One quarter-section contained the red rose of the Lancastrians, two others were decorated by fleur-de-lis, and the last by a single feather. The crest was supported by a pair of what could only be wolves. She bent to read the Latin inscription on the banner beneath it.

  “‘Always Prepared, Truth’s Champion’ is how it translates,” said Nicholas as he rejoined her on the landing. “I’m afraid the Wythes have long been didactic by nature. Such a motto is a bit pretentious and more than a bit presumptuous.” He smiled grimly. “I have hated that window all my life, except for the wolves. They are the one thing which seems to fit this family. If you knew the history of the Wythes, you would see the connection. In the past, we were far less urbane out here on the west coast.”

  Quietly, she said, “I don’t think I would be like to be aligned with wolves.”

  “Why not, my love?” He took her hand in his again and led her up the last few steps to the wing where their rooms were situated. “A wolf is brave, wily, fights only to protect what is rightly its property, and chooses a mate that it will spend its whole life with. Explain what is so wrong with that.”

  She was spared from answering, for it was only a short distance to a door where Nicholas stopped. Turning the knob, he swung the ironbound door open and motioned for her to enter. With a glance at his emotionless face, she obeyed.

  Standing in the middle of the room, she turned about slowly to see all of it. At one end was a huge fireplace like the one in the solarium. Oak furniture upholstered with velvet cushions was arranged about the room, which was bigger than the Norths’ cabin. One wall had shelves for books. Facing it hung a huge banner woven with the family crest. Along the walls were paintings of the seascapes visible from the house and several elevations of Foxbridge Cloister.

  Touching the lush, green fabric on the chairs, she stared at the carpet below her feet. It covered the floor which was still of bare stone. Although some of the other rooms had wood floors laid over the original stones, this one had been left as it had been for centuries.

  She went to the windows at the opposite end of the room from the fireplace. Opening one wide, she leaned out to see past the thick walls. The fresh taint of the sea to which she had grown so accustomed filled her as she breathed deeply. Not far distant, she could see the ocean fading into the rose of the twilight sky. With a sigh of regret, she closed the leaded panes. She had come to understand the siren’s call of the sea which lured men to the hard life that mistress demanded.

  Her eyes met Nicholas’s amused ones when she discovered him standing behind her. She tried to dismiss the desire in her eyes by saying, “This is like nothing I have ever seen. It is so big!” Honest admiration brightened her voice.

  “Aren’t you interested in the sleeping arrangements, Rebecca?” he taunted. “That has been your major concern whenever we enter our newest accommodations.”

  Blushing, she tried to move away, but he grasped her shoulders and drew her back to him. When he kissed her, she found herself once again trying to fight the feelings that he seemed to be able to invoke so easily now. She hated her own body which was betraying her to this man whose touch was so delightful.

  “Nicholas, please—” she gasped.

  “I would be happy to please you, my dear Lady Foxbridge,” he whispered in her ear. “Whenever you wish, I would be very happy to teach you of the pleasures you are denying us so foolishly.”

  “No! Stop!” Fiercely, she tugged away from him. “How many times am I going to have to tell you that I am not interested in what you are offering me?”

  “Until the time before you tell me yes.” With a smile, he took her hand and led her to a door. He swung it open with a grand gesture. “Here is where you will sleep, my chaste bride.”

  Cautiously, she entered. As she gazed at the second room of the suite, her mouth became a circle. Her eyes regarded the massive tester bed. The headboard was taller than her own head and carved with an intricate scene of the hunt. A heavy coverlet in the light green which was present everywhere covered it. Against one wall waited a dressing table with a large mirror and a gold-trimmed chair. The russet rug beneath her feet was luxurious.

  “This is for me?”

  He laughed. “This is Lady Foxbridge’s room when she does not sleep with her husband. Perhaps this is where Sybill entertained her Spanish lover while her stupid husband slept alone here.” He walked across her room to a second door.

  Curiosity spurred her feet forward. Beyond the door was a room very unlike this feminine chamber. All of the colors were darker, and the bed was made of oak nearly black with age. It was clearly a man’s room. She saw nothing more before he closed it and twisted a key in the door.

  Nicholas put his arm around her shoulders and turned her smoothly to face him. Putting a finger under her chin, he til
ted it so that he could look into her confused eyes. He would have to have been obtuse not to note her softening toward him since her recovery from the sickness. “My dear Rebecca, any time you wish to join me in there, I will be happy to have your company.”

  There was regret in her voice as she said, “I can’t.”

  “I know.” He picked up her hand and pressed the iron key into it. “You have it. I will let you decide when you will use it to open the door again.” Bending, he kissed her forehead. “Rest, Rebecca. We will be having dinner later. I’ll send someone to help you dress.”

  She watched in astonished silence as he left. Holding up the key, she gazed at it. Any time had been what Nicholas had said. Any time she wanted, she could join him. She laughed humorlessly. He had no idea how tempting that idea was becoming. The more time she spent in his company, the more she knew he was not the beast she had first imagined him to be.

  The key she held was another sign of the kindness he had been showing her from the time they had met again. She wondered if any other man would have controlled his desires for the woman he was married to in order not to hurt her. It was almost as if he loved her.

  Angrily, Rebecca shook her head. Nicholas Wythe did not love her. He had told her that the day he ruined her wedding. For some reason, he needed to be married to her. It was for that reason that he had wrecked her life. Instead of being in this huge house with a mother-in-law who despised her and a husband who blatantly displayed his lust, she could have been wrapped happily in Keith’s arms.

  Going to the dressing table, she opened a drawer. As she had expected, the staff had unpacked for her while she had been suffering through the intolerable interview with Lady Margaret. She pulled out a length of ribbon and slipped it through the top of the heavy key. Unbuttoning her bodice, she tied the ribbon to the strap of her camisole and let the iron key drop behind it to rest against her skin. She would not risk Nicholas changing his mind about their arrangements and finding the key.

  She explored her room, which was spacious by the standards she was used to but small for the Cloister. It was clear that most of the previous Ladies Foxbridge had slept with their husband and had used this room as a private haven. One door led to a small closet where her two dresses hung. The last door led to an alcove where her bath and other necessities were stored. It was a lovely room, and it made her unhappier than she had been in her whole life.

  Rebecca stretched out on the thick mattress to stare at the engraved wooden canopy over her head. The fox hunt was in full motion across the planks. The poor vixen was being run to ground by the silently baying hounds followed by the master of the hunt and the other riders. Rebecca closed her eyes. The house would be her home until autumn came to change the hues of the leaves from green to orange and yellow. She wondered how the seasons turned in this unknown part of the world. In Connecticut, she had known how to gauge the passing of time by the signs that told of the onslaught of winter snows and the blessing of summer rain. A wave of homesickness buffeted her as strongly as the storm had beaten against the Prize.

  If the beginning of her visit at Foxbridge Cloister was an omen of what was to come, she wished that Keith would arrive before the end of summer. Lady Margaret despised her because Nicholas had not married the woman named Clarisse. Briefly, she wondered whether her mother-in-law was superstitious and had seen in her son’s wife the strong resemblance to the Lady Foxbridge who seemed to be admired and hated in this house of strong individuals. She could not guess how Eliza felt about her sister-in-law. Only Nicholas was her friend in the house, and she knew he wished to be far more than a friend.

  Rolling over onto her stomach, she pulled the key from under her dress. She looked from it to the door that led to Nicholas’s room. Silently, she replaced it next to her skin. It was not right for her to go to him and tell him how delicious his kisses were. Her craving that his touch set afire with the same intensity as the black blaze in his eyes must be kept a secret. How long could she resist him? How long could her desire to be faithful to Keith override her desire to be loved by Nicholas? She could no longer trust her heart which urged her to throw aside caution and learn more of what she had sampled in his arms.

  Burying her head in her arms, she fought to untangle the disastrous maze that her life had become. She had to steer a course through waters far more treacherous than the storm-swept madness of the ocean.

  A hesitant knock roused Rebecca. She had no idea how long she had slept, but it was ebony black in her room. Recalling Nicholas telling her he would send someone to help her prepare for dinner, she called, “I’m coming.” She bumped into several items before she managed to find the door. When she opened it, she saw a woman.

  “Lady Foxbridge, I’m Collette,” chirped the woman with a curtsy. “I will be helping you with your clothes and personal toilette.”

  “Oh!” she gasped as she stared at Collette, who was plump and several years older than she. Raven-black hair was piled imaginatively on her head, and her uniform was as black with a finely starched apron over the full skirt. Although her voice still carried the tint of her French birth, she spoke English perfectly.

  “May I come in, my lady?”

  Recovering from her shock at the idea of having a lady’s maid, Rebecca replied, “Of course. Please come in, Collette. Be careful. It’s dark, and I don’t know where the candles are.”

  Laughing lightly, the maid entered the room with easy assurance. She went to the fireplace and opened a box which was visible in the light from the sitting room. Efficiently, she lit a candle from the box and set it in a holder on the dressing table. She did the same with several more and placed them elsewhere around the room.

  “You needn’t light so many,” Rebecca urged, appalled by the waste of the lovely wax candles.

  “It’s no problem, Lady Foxbridge. There are many more in the storage room.” With a broadening smile, she explained, “Lord Foxbridge has told us that you are to have every luxury.”

  Collette did not add that the staff had been briefed already by the returning lord. He had explained bluntly that his wife would find life in the Cloister a very new and odd experience. Quickly, he had given them an overview of how his lady had lived until he had brought her to England with him. He had ordered them to cooperate with Rebecca in every possible way to help her learn what she needed to be the premiere lady of the Cloister. Many of the servants had caught a glimpse of the new lady while Lord Foxbridge had been bringing her upstairs to rest after their astonishing arrival. They agreed that Lord Foxbridge had chosen well. Only a beautiful, spirited lady would be the appropriate mate for Nicholas Wythe.

  Collette chattered to cover her thoughts, carefully gauging what Lady Foxbridge knew of the Cloister. When she opened the closet, she tried not to show her dismay. Only two dresses hung there. Another had been sent to be cleaned, so with the one Lady Foxbridge was wearing, it meant her wardrobe consisted of only four frocks. In Lady Eliza’s armoire there were at least two dozen gowns for morning calls alone. Keeping her voice calm, she asked, “My lady, which do you wish to wear for dinner?”

  “I don’t know!” Rebecca said, frankly. Her garrulous maid overwhelmed her as she tried to escape the clinging strands of sleep. “I have never had to change for dinner unless I was soiled from planting.”

  The maid laughed. “My lady, let me warn you not to make comments like that in the presence of other ladies. They won’t understand why Lady Foxbridge would be working in the fields of her family farm.”

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of! It’s honest labor, and I helped my brother keep our farm from folding while he was in the army.”

  “I know that, my lady. There’s nothing shameful about manual labor. I know that. You know that, but many of the people with whom you will be associating socially would be aghast at the thought of dirtying their hands at something as menial as work.”

  Rebecca understood that Collette meant to help her. “I will remember that,” she said with a smile of
gratitude. “Thank you.”

  “You are welcome. Now, which dress do you want?”

  “Which do you suggest?”

  Unerringly, Collette chose the blue silk dress. The other with its homespun material and plain design would never do. “It must be this one, my lady.”

  Rebecca reached out to caress the soft material which had been the realization of all her hopes. The dress Collette had selected was the one she had worn so briefly as Keith’s bride. She was going to tell the maid to put it away, but hesitated. That wedding had been ruined. The next one she had would be far different. “All right, Collette. If you could give me any suggestions on how to get through this meal with my in-laws, I would appreciate it. You have helped me already.”

  The maid laughed her bright laugh once more. She knew she was going to like working for this Lady Foxbridge. Without the snobby airs of many of the aristocracy, she was treating her maid like a person. “Well, my lady, the first thing you should do is …”

  It was an hour later when Rebecca descended the stairs. At the base of the stairs was the man she recognized as the butler who had admitted them. Remembering his name from the list Collette had given her, she said pleasantly, “Good evening, Brody.”

  He bowed respectfully. Although he was not young, he moved with the ease of a man half his age. “Good evening to you, Lady Foxbridge. I trust you are settling in comfortably at Foxbridge Cloister.”

  Her smile was impish. “Brody, I can find my way from my rooms to the stairs. Beyond that, I know nothing. I would appreciate if you could point me in the direction of the dining room.”

  “I would be glad to give you a tour tomorrow at your leisure and introduce you to the staff.” He smiled, appearing very different from the stiff martinet of seconds ago.