Rebecca

by Ferguson, Jo Ann

  Graciously she thanked him. She was warmed to know that already she had two allies in this strange household. Collette had taken the opportunity while she dressed Rebecca’s hair to give her many hints on how to handle the Wythes. Now Brody was set to help her learn what she must to take her place in Foxbridge Cloister.

  When he volunteered to take her to the dining room, she listened as he told her about the various pieces of furniture and how each was meant to be used. He spent most of the time while they walked to the dining room situated beyond the solarium telling her of how ladies called upon one another. Because of the rank she had acquired upon marrying Nicholas, the others would be responsible for calling on her first, but she had to follow the traditions of returning those calls.

  She soon was laughing over his very droll impressions of the errors that the lesser ladies or the gentry had made when they had tried to call at Foxbridge Cloister during his long tenure. He left her at the doorway, and she thanked him once again for his assistance. She added that she would be ready for the tour whenever it was convenient for him.

  Her smile faded as she stepped into the dining room and saw the disapproving expression on Lady Margaret’s face. She did not need to be told that to speak to a servant as an equal was not proper. Anger swelled through her. She had not asked to be brought to this house with its well-established system of protocol. Nor did she intend to stay, so it did not matter whom she offended.

  “Ah, here you are, Rebecca!” came a deep voice from behind her. “I went upstairs to look for you, but Collette said you had come down already.”

  Remembering her promise to act as his loving wife, she turned to greet Nicholas. “Hello, darling,” she said, astounded how easily she spoke the endearment. “I found my way with Brody’s help.” She held up her cheek. When he paused as he was about to kiss her and stared at her in surprise, she asked, “Is something wrong?”

  “Nothing,” he replied in a taut voice. “I’m just astonished to see how lovely you look in that dress tonight.”

  Her eyes went to his confused face. She had become so involved in the conversation with Brody that she had forgotten what she wore. Did he think she had worn this to hurt him by reminding him what he had done to her? She was afraid the answer was yes. If they were to be believable in the game they were playing, they must learn to trust one another even this slightly.

  She gracefully put her hand on his arm. “I know it is wrinkled from the trip, but it is the best dress I own. I did so want to look fine for our homecoming. I wanted you to be as proud of me as I am of you.”

  He saw the sincerity on her face. Rebecca had sensed his unease with seeing her dressed in her wedding gown. He knew she was beginning to care for him far more than she wanted. A flush of warmth started to undo the threads of cynicism around his hardened heart. That she could come to care for him when he had hurt her so horribly was a testament to the sweetness of this woman who could be as unbending as granite and as pliant as a spring blade of grass teased by the wind.

  Forgetting dinner, forgetting his family, remembering only the touch of her body, he put his hands on her cheeks and tilted her mouth under his. When he felt her arms go around his shoulders, he feared their charade was not the one they had planned to play out for the denizens of Foxbridge Cloister. Instead of pretending for others that they were in love with each other, they were making believe for themselves that they still hated one another. The caress of her fingers against the worsted of his coat belied her heated words when they had arrived at the Cloister.

  He lifted his lips from hers to gaze into her passion-softened face. “Sweetheart,” he whispered, “I’m glad you are here for this most special homecoming.” When he bent to kiss her again, a voice invaded the gentle haze of their ecstasy.

  “Nicholas, I don’t know if you recall it after your years away, but we try to eat before midnight.” Displeasure was vivid in Lady Margaret’s voice.

  Laughing, he offered his arm to Rebecca. As he walked with her into the formal room, he asked, “Do you have no romance left in your soul? A man has been a prisoner for many years and comes home to find his lady fair waiting. Sounds like a tale out of Childe Rowland or Blondel, don’t you think?” His teasing faded as he saw the stranger standing next to his sister. His keen eyes noticed that behind the fullness of Eliza’s skirt, their fingers were entwined. If Lady Margaret had no romance in her heart tonight, she was the only one. It appeared his sister had found a beau in his absence.

  Critically, he viewed this man. He was nearly as tall as Nicholas, but his hair was a sandy blond which contrasted sharply with Eliza’s dusky curls. The sharp line of his clothes and the full lace of his sleeves, which were nearly as ornate as Eliza’s, announced that he was a London dandy. Yet his clear brown eyes were filled with an intelligence that Nicholas did not usually associate with that breed of parasite which attached their meager fortunes to someone of greater social standing in an effort to advance themselves.

  “Sir, I don’t believe we have met,” he said graciously. The manners which once had been so natural had been nearly forgotten in his years of rough living. “I’m Nicholas Wythe, and this is my wife Rebecca.”

  The man replied in a pleasant voice, “I am honored to meet you, my lord, my lady.” He bowed his head to his host before picking up Rebecca’s slender fingers and raising them politely to his lips. His smile focused on her as he added, “My name is Curtis Langston. I hope you can forgive me for intruding on your homecoming this evening.”

  Eliza seconded quickly, “I had—I mean, Mother and I had invited him before we knew you would be home tonight, Nicholas.”

  “Don’t act as if it is such an imposition,” he said with a laugh. “It’s always a pleasure to have guests at our table.” He was sincere. Having Langston join them, although he was obviously no stranger to Foxbridge Cloister, would silence his mother’s cruel comments to her new daughter-in-law.

  Curtis continued, “Forgive me for staring, Lady Foxbridge—”

  “Rebecca,” she corrected. She tried to keep her voice calm as she wondered why she could not halt the quivers racing through her when Nicholas was near. Her fickle heart was determined to prove that she cared for him. Speaking to the light-haired man, she hid her feelings from herself. “As Eliza’s friend, it would be far easier for you to call me by my given name.”

  Again he took her fingers, but simply bowed over them. His eyes narrowed as he noticed that her left hand wore no wedding band. That was most unusual. He would have thought that the Lord Foxbridge he had heard so much about would have wanted everyone to know that this vision in light blue was his alone. Remembering his place, he said, “I am honored, Rebecca. As I was saying, I beg your forgiveness for staring, but you remind me of someone. Eliza was saying the same thing. Neither of us can guess who it is.”

  When Nicholas laughed, Rebecca blushed. She was not pleased to call to mind their most controversial female ancestor. Putting his arm around his wife, he said, “Think of the portrait in the drawing room, Eliza.”

  “Sybill?” Her eyes narrowed. “That’s who it is! You look so much like her, Rebecca.”

  “Let’s hope she doesn’t resemble her in other ways,” interjected Lady Margaret tartly. “Shall we sit down before the soup is cold?”

  The hot feeling of her blush became ice cold as Rebecca heard the cruel words. She bit her lip to keep in her retort. Anything she said would make Lady Margaret only hate her more. She had saved her son’s life, but it seemed that was not enough to atone for the crime of marrying Nicholas. When she felt Nicholas’ hand take hers, she numbly let him lead her to a chair and seat her. Then he moved to push in his mother’s chair. The soup bowl in front of her on the mahogany table blurred as tears of frustration filled her eyes. She did not look up.

  She heard the others pick up their spoons to begin to eat, but she paused. Except for the time when they had been on the ship, she had never sat down for a meal without saying grace. Folding her hands in he
r lap, she silently began to say the prayer which had started every supper in her home.

  Unaware of what she was doing, Nicholas asked, “Rebecca, what’s wrong?”

  In the middle of a word, she paused. Meeting his eyes, she flushed and answered, “Nothing, Nicholas. It’s just—just—” The four at the table were regarding her with curiosity. Suddenly, she vowed that they would not make her ashamed of her past life or the parts of it she wanted to bring with her into this one. Clearly, she continued, “I was saying my thanks to the Lord for this fine meal.”

  “Will you share it with us?” he asked gently as he took her folded hands between his.

  “With you?”

  “Please, Rebecca. It’s a habit I’m afraid the Wythes have forgotten. We certainly have enough to be thankful for tonight. We are together at last.”

  With a smile, she lowered her head over her folded hands. From the beginning, she said the Lord’s Prayer that Aunt Dena always had favored. More than once, her aunt had told them she could think of no better way to start a meal than on the tail of those words. “Amen,” she finished fervently.

  “Amen,” echoed her husband.

  She raised her face to see shock on the other three faces. Glancing at Nicholas, she saw he was smiling darkly. He knew the reason for the astounded expressions, although he made no effort to explain to her. Calmly, he began to chat with Curtis about the trip from London. Rebecca hesitated, then began to eat her soup, which was incredibly delicious.

  Abruptly, Eliza gasped, “You are a Calvinist, Rebecca?”

  It took her a moment to realize what her sister-in-law was asking. Then she nodded. “I was baptized in the Congregationalist church, if that is what you mean.”

  Lady Margaret rose and flung her napkin on the table. “Tell Deborah I will take the rest of my meal in my room. I have accepted about as much today as I can. I do not think I want to hear the next thing this woman will be telling us. Good night!”

  Eliza glared at the baffled woman with her spoon halfway between her bowl and her mouth before following her mother out of the dining room without a word. As Rebecca stared at the two men, Curtis rose with a rueful smile.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “Perhaps I can soothe them. I’m sure I will see you again in more pleasant circumstances.”

  Rebecca shoved her own soup bowl away and lowered her face into her hands as her elbows rested on the table-top. When Nicholas put out a hand to comfort her, he saw her shoulders were shaking. Only when she looked at him as he touched her did he see she was not crying. She was laughing. “Rebecca?” he asked uncertainly.

  Rising, she sashayed away from the table. “I guess I do not have to worry about impressing your mother. No matter what I say or do it is the wrong thing, isn’t it?” She dipped in a curtsy to an imaginary Lady Margaret. “Oh, yes,” she said in a mockery of herself, “that is right, dear mother-in-law, I admit it. I’m a patriot, not a member of the Church of England, and perhaps worst of all, I have had to work during my life. See, these hands are not the lily white of a lady born with a household full of servants to answer her call.”

  “Enough, Rebecca!” Nicholas stood and grasped her shoulders. Twisting her to him, he held her when she struggled to get away.

  “Let me go!”

  “I know she is acting abominably, but that isn’t your fault. Don’t be ashamed for what you are.”

  Her eyes sparked with blue lightning. Coldly, she stated, “I am not ashamed of myself or any of the Norths. Nothing anyone says will ever make me ashamed of my family. If you are, that is your problem. I just won’t sit here and listen to her belittle my family night after night!”

  He enfolded her in his arms tenderly. He did not kiss or caress her. Simply, he held her until he could feel the stiffness of her outrage fade into the soft sounds of sobs as she cried out all her unhappiness and homesickness for the world she had left behind in Connecticut. “I apologize for the way my family is treating you.” He tilted her tear-covered face up to meet his sympathetic eyes. “Dear Rebecca, I’m not ashamed of you or of your family whom I have met so briefly. You are right to be hurt by my mother’s attitude. Come, sweetheart, and sit down. I’m sure Esther has prepared a fine meal. Sit with me, and we will forget the smallness of others while we enjoy each other’s company.”

  In a soft voice, she said, “I can be nothing but what I am, Nicholas.”

  “I know, and I would have you no other way than the way you are. Shall we?”

  With a watery smile, she nodded. He took her hand and seated her again at the large table that somehow seemed more cozy than when the others had been present.

  Nicholas was his most charming as he entertained her with stories of his mishaps after joining the army and being transformed from a leisure-loving member of the gentry to a hardened soldier commanding twelve men who knew more about combat than he could have learned in a lifetime. He did not tell her that it was those men who had sacrificed their lives when his foolish commander had sent them directly into an ambush. They had given their lives to protect their captain who had nearly died despite their efforts. His stories were only of the amusing parts of soldiering.

  As she ate, Rebecca relaxed. It was like a dream to be sitting in this beautiful room lit by candles in a crystal chandelier and drinking wine from goblets made of the same material. When dessert was served, she picked up the cup placed by her plate and took a sip. “Tea!” she exclaimed. “Oh, I haven’t tasted this in years!”

  He chuckled. “I hope it does not offend your patriotic sensibilities, sweetheart.”

  Before she answered, she took another sip of the steaming beverage. She shook her head. “No, it doesn’t, for I used to love tea before the blockade made it impossible to get it. Sometimes we had something called tea made from roots, but it didn’t taste like this.” She smiled broadly as she saw his amusement. “After all, as you have reminded me more than once, Nicholas, the war is over.”

  Taking her slender hand, he helped her to her feet. He picked up her cup and handed it to her. “Let’s finish this upstairs. We can relax in the sitting room of our suite while I discuss some things with you that must be gone over even before the morning. If you haven’t guessed, there will be an onslaught by the curious once our neighbors learn I am home and have brought a bride with me. There are certain things which will be expected from Lady Foxbridge.”

  She sighed. “Very well. I guess it’s time for me to go back to school. It will be strange being a student again after being a teacher so long.”

  “Teacher?” he asked as they walked along the hall.

  “Yes, I was the teacher in the village school at the church once Hart returned from the army and was able to take over the duties on the farm.” When she saw the shock on his face, she asked, “What’s wrong with that? Teaching is a most honorable profession.”

  “No one will argue with that, my dear. It is just that I realized I know so little about you.” He paused on the steps so that she stood one riser above him. Their eyes were nearly level. “I don’t know your favorite color, what you love to eat, or if you like to dance and sing.”

  “Blue, apples in the fall and strawberries in the spring, and I love anything to do with music,” she replied with a smile. “Anything else that you need to know before my tea grows cold, Nicholas?”

  He bent forward and kissed her uptilted lips. “I will take my time learning of you. Come on, Professor Wythe, and take your lessons now.” He put his around her waist and led her merrily to the rooms they would share for the short time they planned to live together as husband and wife.

  Chapter Seven

  Rebecca was coming down the front steps the next morning when she saw Nicholas walking toward her from what she guessed were the stables. He waved and motioned for her to join him before turning at the sound of hoofbeats approaching along the driveway.

  The horse was racing at top speed. It came to a stop just in front of Nicholas. The rider slid off quickly and threw her arms
around the man. Even from across the lawn where she stood, Rebecca could see the intensity of the kiss the red-haired woman gave Nicholas. Swallowing the surprising surge of jealousy, she strode toward the two. She wanted to meet this woman who was kissing her husband with such familiarity. She suspected she knew exactly who the woman was.

  Nicholas was gently breaking the grip the woman had around his neck. He pushed her away without any regret. “Hello, Clarisse.”

  She purred a greeting as her green eyes roved over him with obvious appreciation. Clarisse Beckwith was a beautiful woman, and she knew it. Her auburn hair was thick and curled perfectly around the alabaster purity of her skin. The riding habit she wore accented the lush curves of her body which had known Nicholas’ touch too long ago.

  With him home at Foxbridge Cloister, she would be able to forget the rage and shock she had felt the morning she discovered that he had left without telling her goodbye. For months she had been waiting for this homecoming with eager delight. Nicholas had become Lord Foxbridge, a title he had deserved far more than his brother. Ready to assume the rigors of running the estate, he would need a woman eager and able to help him as his lady. Clarisse knew of no one better than herself to fulfill that role.

  She had been visiting Foxbridge Cloister since Brad’s death to convince Lady Margaret that she was the perfect choice for Nicholas’ Lady Foxbridge. She did not think it would be difficult to bring Nicholas around to that opinion as well. He had been so fond of her six years before.

  In a blatant invitation, she ran her fingers that glistened with gemmed rings along the front of his shirt. With a pretty pout, she regarded him from under her thick lashes. “It has been so lonely around here without your company, Nicholas. I was beginning to wonder if you ever were going to return. Now you have had your adventure in far-off America, and you can settle down here at Foxbridge.”

  “That is exactly what I have planned to do.” He turned to smile at a woman who was approaching.