Rebecca

by Ferguson, Jo Ann

  Richard shot an apologetic glance toward the dark-haired lady before turning away with Clarisse. He was sure the best thing he could do for Rebecca was to take the redhead elsewhere.

  Rebecca watched with ill-concealed anger as the two walked toward the other booths. When she saw the concern on the upturned faces of her young customers, she forced a smile and poured the crystal drink into their cups. She listened to their childish attempts to try to atone for the cruelty of Clarisse’s words. Soon their kindness cooled the fury inside her.

  The hours of the fair passed quickly, but she did not become fatigued as she served more cups of the lemonade than she could have counted. When Reverend Middleton came over to tell her that it was time for the children’s performance, she gratefully turned over her booth to one of the other church ladies.

  After the incident when Nicholas had discovered him holding Rebecca, John Middleton wisely had acted as if the whole episode had not taken place. Knowing that Rebecca loved her husband, he had resumed his friendship with her. Although the situation was strained between them at first, they were becoming friends again.

  With the innate knowledge that children possess, they quickly discovered Lady Foxbridge was looking for them. Quickly they lined up with a minimum of shoving and none of the cursing that she had insisted was unacceptable for a cherubs’ choir. While they were getting in place, Rebecca washed her face in lukewarm water from a bucket near the porch of the church. She undid her hair and tied it back in a loose fall along her back. There was no time to waste redoing it.

  “Stage nerves, sweetheart?”

  She glanced up to see Nicholas standing on the bottom step. With a chuckle, she said, “No, just a dirty face. I told all the children they had to be neat. I didn’t think I should be less.” She stepped down next to him. “I’m so glad you could be here, Nicholas. They are so proud of themselves, and I know they will be especially pleased to show off for you.”

  He stroked her damp face. “You didn’t think I would miss this chance to see the results of what you have worked so hard at for so long.”

  “I knew you were going to be busy today.”

  “Solicitors can wait, darling. I wanted to handle the most important business first.”

  She was astonished at the warmth that filled her, which had nothing to do with the summer temperatures. When he bent to kiss her cheek for luck, she smiled and ran her fingers lovingly along his arm before rushing to the center of the green where the children and their families were waiting.

  Nicholas followed more slowly. When he saw the vicar, he signaled to the man. He was pleased that Middleton acted naturally with him. Until the episode with Rebecca, he had been very pleased with the minster’s performance in the parish. He would hate to ask Middleton to leave when he was doing so many good things. They spoke quietly as Rebecca whispered final instructions to the children.

  Everyone became quiet as she motioned for little Timmy to step forward. Even the distant rumble of thunder did not distract the audience when the child opened his mouth to sing in a childish soprano the first verse of the hymn Rebecca had learned herself as a child. So sweetly did he sing that a murmur of appreciation circled the green.

  At the motion from Rebecca, the other children began to join in slowly, a few at a time. It was not long before the open area was filled with the sound of heartfelt singing. If a few flat notes or missed words marred the perfection, no one noticed. When the last chord drifted away on the fitful breeze, silence settled on the green. In an explosion, applause erupted.

  The children grinned in pride, but did not move. They watched Rebecca intently. When the clapping stopped, she nodded her head for them to begin. This time they sang a folk song which was native to western England. Only Nicholas knew that his wife had hounded the staff at Foxbridge Cloister until she could find someone familiar with all the words to the complicated rhyming song. The youngsters had no trouble dealing with the madrigal tunes which wove together and apart like dancers performing the minuet.

  The applause was more enthusiastic at the end of the second song. Although every parent in the village had heard a bit of the music for the past month, no one had been able to hear the whole. They were astonished that the children had this much talent. There was always time for music in this land so controlled by the rhythms of the sea and wind, so it was an extra joy to hear the children in such an organized chorus.

  Rebecca paused as she saw Reverend Middleton wave to get her attention. When he walked out to stand beside her, he said, “Please allow me to interrupt this joyous noise unto the Lord to make an announcement. Today, through the efforts and generosity of everyone here, we have raised enough money to buy the materials to rebuild the church steeple. We—” A cheer interrupted him, for soon the men would be spending their few leisure hours working to raise the proud structure on the church roof once more. He raised his hands. “I have another announcement to make before the children sing their last song for you. Not only will we have our steeple, but the kind donation from Lord and Lady Foxbridge will enable us to have a bell for it.”

  A gasp of surprise erupted from Rebecca as the crowd clapped enthusiastically again. Her eyes settled easily on Nicholas who smiled. She bit her lip to keep it from trembling like the tears of happiness on her eyelashes. He had known how important this project was to her. All the time when she had been concerned that he would be angry because she was working with the youngsters, he had been planning this wonderful gift to his tenants. She had no words to thank him. In front of this crowd, she could not run to him and thank him wordlessly. She shook John’s hand as he expressed his gratitude, but she did not know what she said. As she turned to the children, she saw their broad grins.

  “All right,” she whispered. “This is the last number. Make me as proud of you as you have so far.”

  Rebecca need not have worried. The youngsters performed the song even better than they had in practice. The hand motions and play-acting it required went without a hitch. Never had she seen them perform so faultlessly. When they finished, she was the first to begin to applaud for their efforts as she faced their audience. “As you can see, your children have worked long and hard to entertain you. I am sure you will be pleased to know that they plan to continue their choir, which Reverend Middleton has agreed will be a part of the church service once a month. Thank you very much.”

  “No, we ain’t done!” called out a voice as the adults started to disperse. “We have one more song to sing.”

  Rebecca whirled and gasped in astonishment, “Greggy, that is all we have.”

  The tall boy who had been one of the most enthusiastic proponents of the choir from its onset shook his head. He bowed smoothly. “If you please, my lady.” He took her hand and led her to stand by Nicholas.

  Standing in front of the others as she had been doing, he counted off the tempo of the tune in the air before them in an accurate imitation of Rebecca. She felt her husband’s arm go around her shoulders and looked up at him. At the question in his eyes, she shrugged. She had no idea what the youngsters had planned.

  Greggy said without looking at his audience, “We have practiced one final song by ourselves after our regular practice. We want to sing especially for Lady Foxbridge who has done so much for us. Remember it’s for her alone.”

  A soft swell of shock murmured through the fairgoers as a trio of children stepped forward. In a slow tempo that did not make it sound like the taunt it originally had been, they began to sing in close harmony the all-too-familiar words of “Yankee Doodle.” As the rest of the children joined in, nobody was surprised to see tears of joy rolling along Lady Foxbridge’s cheeks.

  She made no effort to brush them away as she listened to the love that had nothing to do with the silly words of the song that symbolized the spirit of revolution in America more than any other. She knew they had chosen it for her because, like she, it was from the New World.

  Although the children had been prepared for protests from th
eir parents, there was none. When they finished, there was silence as they looked at Rebecca for her reaction. “Thank you,” she whispered in heartfelt gratitude. “That was the most lovely version I have ever heard.”

  Immediately the green was alive with cheers. It had been a successful fair which ended on a happy note. Many of the children rushed over to hug Rebecca before rejoining their parents and friends.

  “That was wonderful, Rebecca,” said Nicholas, as he watched the last youngster run off to the candy booth.

  She smiled. “They did beautifully, didn’t they?”

  “You did beautifully.” He turned her in his arms to face him. “You have worked so hard, and the effort shows. I am so proud of you.”

  “But ’twas you who gave the money for the bell. Soon we shall hear the chiming when it’s time for services.”

  He replied, “That was only money, sweetheart. What you have given of yourself is far more valuable. Do you think they would prefer the cold clang of a bell or the sweet sounds of their children’s voices?”

  His arms drew her to him, and he brought her lips up to his. Not caring about the crowd, he kissed her with all his desire. He had never thought he would be as pleased to be linked with this lady as he was today. He had expected her to fail in her effort, but she had succeeded superbly. What she had done had nothing to do with her incredible beauty, but with her warm heart.

  Only a flash of lightning followed in a few seconds by the lazy sound of still-distant thunder separated them. With a smile, she told him she had to get her bonnet from over by the table where she had been working.

  “I’ll have the carriage brought around,” he answered. When she turned toward the lemonade table, he captured her arm. She looked at him, and he ordered in a husky voice, “Don’t be gone long, sweetheart.”

  “I’ll be but a moment.” She stepped back from him, unsure if she could escape the warm bonds of his eyes. Weaving through the crowds taking apart the booths and hurrying to get home before the downpour began, she pulled out her plain, straw bonnet that she had worn when she left Foxbridge Cloister and tied it under her chin.

  Her trip back to Nicholas was slowed by villagers thanking her graciously for the music she had brought to them. She understood that they felt more comfortable approaching her than her husband, who represented the long-time separatist attitude of the Wythes. As he had told her, there was more gratitude for the children’s choir than for the extravagant gift.

  She moved to the church porch where Nicholas was waiting for her. As she slowly climbed the steps, she tried to keep dismay from her face as she saw Clarisse beside him. She wondered where Richard Carter was, but knew it did not matter. Once Nicholas arrived, Clarisse would have noticed no one else. Because they stood at the far end of the porch, the sounds of the dismantling of the fair and the oncoming storm masked her approach. Her eyes widened as she saw Clarisse step close to Nicholas and slip her arms around him. The red-haired woman put her long-nailed fingers against the back of his head as she raised her lips toward his.

  “Enough, Clarisse,” she heard Nicholas state firmly. “I have told you before that I’m not interested.”

  Clarisse’s seductive voice murmured, “Come now, Nicholas, don’t be so silly. That little Yankee Doodle can’t satisfy you as I can. Come to me, darling, and I will give you what we shared before you were so foolish as to go away to America and marry a child.”

  “Rebecca is my wife. Not you. I told you many years ago that when I took such vows there could be no other for my wife or myself. That was when I asked you in a moment of romantic fervor to be mine.”

  “You never asked me to marry you!” she argued.

  He laughed with a hard edge to the humorless sound. “You did not believe me. You thought I was joking when we went on that picnic with your friends up from Bristol. How coldly you told me that you never would marry me, Clarisse. Now it seems you were right.”

  “Divorce her, Nicholas. It wouldn’t be that difficult. She hasn’t given you an heir. You know that I would be willing to do so.”

  “You pregnant, Clarisse?” He chuckled. “I can’t imagine that! You would never shut yourself away when your body grew heavy with a child who would remind everyone that you were no longer the carefree woman you once were. I am married to Rebecca, and that is how I want it to be. She is the type of woman I long ago decided I wanted to be married to. She is sweetly sensual, beautiful, and so intelligent I cannot help but care for her.”

  Her hand rose to slap his face. Viciously, she spat, “And I am none of those things?”

  He caught her wrist as she was set to strike him again. There was a hatred in his voice that Rebecca had never heard. It made any anger he had directed at her seem insipid by comparison. “What you are I wouldn’t say in the churchyard, Clarisse. You have broken more hearts and destroyed more marriages than any one woman has a right to do. You won’t destroy mine. Once I was set to offer you my heart like the fool that I was. Now it has been placed in the safekeeping of another woman who will not betray it just to cause misery to everyone she meets.”

  Before Clarisse could snarl the insults she was thinking, a voice intruded. She heard the vicar call, “Lady Foxbridge?”

  Both she and Nicholas turned to see the man hurrying to speak to the woman who stood not a dozen paces from them. Clarisse knew that Rebecca had heard every humiliating word her husband had uttered.

  Rebecca said nothing as she smiled at the minister. Again she accepted his thanks. For a second, as she looked into his warm eyes, she saw the apology he had never spoken as they tried to forget that he had fallen in love with her. “I had a lovely time, John,” she said softly.

  “I’m glad, my lady. I hope we will see you tomorrow at the service. You and Lord Foxbridge best hurry home before the storm breaks.” Wishing her a good evening, he scurried away to his own snug cottage on the opposite side of the green.

  The warm feeling of Nicholas’s hands settled on her shoulders. He bent and whispered in her ear. “Are you ready to go home, my dear?” he asked gently, knowing she was embarrassed by her accidental eavesdropping. Taking her hand, he walked with her toward the carriage.

  The first drops of rain were falling as he helped her into it. She could not keep from looking back at the church, but Clarisse had disappeared. Inside, she sat uncomfortably on the edge of the seat as she stared at the green. It had become a tattered painting of litter and empty tables growing wet in the storm.

  “There will be another one next year, Rebecca,” Nicholas murmured. “This is an annual event.”

  “But I won’t be here next year.” Her voice was mournful.

  He twisted her to look into his eyes. “That is and always has been your decision to make, sweetheart. I have never seen you as happy as you have been the last few weeks. Even Mother’s nasty comments have rolled off you like water on eider. You are happy here with me, aren’t you?”

  She closed her eyes and nodded. “I have never been happier.”

  “But?” he prompted when she paused.

  “You know the ‘but,’” she said softly. “I promised I would stay until fall. Then I have to go home.”

  His hands on her face tilted it back so he could look into her pain-filled eyes. “Silly Rebecca! You are so obstinate that you won’t see your own heart is becoming entwined with the life in Foxbridge Cloister. What awaits you if you go back to Connecticut? A life with a man who has not kept his promise to come for you.”

  “He will,” she said, but without conviction.

  “If he had loved you, Rebecca, he would not have let you go. If the situation had been reversed, and it was Bennett who was interrupting our wedding, do you think I would have allowed him to take you from me? Do you think I will if he dares to show up at Foxbridge Cloister, although it isn’t likely to happen?”

  Her eyes searched his face and saw the truth. Nicholas would never let her go to another man. He had had no intentions from the beginning of letting her return to
America. His farcical bargain had been simply a way to ease her into Foxbridge Cloister and to keep her from becoming desolate in her sorrow and homesickness. As he had told Clarisse, he took the vows he had spoken with Rebecca seriously. She was his until death parted them.

  Weeks ago, those thoughts would have sent terror spinning through her, but it was joy which filled her now. Although he had not said the words aloud, she was beginning to believe Nicholas loved her. Her fingers traced the varied planes of his face before slipping to entangle in his hair.

  This invitation to kiss eager, soft lips Nicholas did not ignore. Thirsting for the satisfaction of the desire driving him mad, he took her mouth with unfettered yearning. When his lips explored the responsive skin of her neck, she moaned softly and pressed the curves of her slender body close to him. His fingers moved along her to discover once again the body filling his dreams night after night until he woke in agony to stare at the door which was all that stood between him and the woman who should be sleeping by his side. As he touched the sweet roundness of her breast, he could feel her delight though her thin dress.

  A knock on the carriage door forced him to pause as he was about to reach for hooks at the back of her dress. “My lord?” came Sims’s voice, as if he had not seen the passionately embracing couple. “We are at the Cloister.”

  With his irreverent grin, Nicholas said, “Thank you, Sims.” He smoothed Rebecca’s dress back into place with a caress as sweet as the ones she had enjoyed moments before. “Ready to run in the rain, sweetheart? I think we should consider building a porte-cochere on this old house to keep the new lord and his lady dry.”

  “You aren’t made of sugar, Nicholas. You won’t melt if you get wet.”

  He laughed as he lifted her from the carriage. Taking her hand, he led her quickly up the steps. “No, I’m not made of sugar, and neither are you. I would guess you were created out of the tartest green apples which look so tasty but are dangerous to the one who dares to overindulge in enjoying them.”