Putting her teacup on the tray on the table separating them, Lady Margaret said, “Very well, Rebecca. I will tell you the truth. I want you gone from Foxbridge Cloister.”
“Isn’t that Nicholas’ decision to make?”
With a sniff, she rose. Walking across the room, she put as much space as she could between them. “Nicholas is blinded with love for you, as you well know. What are you going to do for him, but drag him down to your level? Can you imagine the laughingstock he will be in London? The fine Lord Foxbridge with a wife who has her maid teach her how to dress. How many errors will you make before he is so shamed that he cannot show his face again?”
“You needn’t worry about me shaming Nicholas in London this fall!” she averred. “I shan’t be there!”
She pounced on the words. “What do you mean? Can it be that you are thinking of leaving Nicholas?”
Rebecca gasped as she realized what she had almost divulged. If the truth of her marriage to Nicholas was discovered by his mother, in no time everyone would learn that Lady Foxbridge kept her husband from her bed. Coolly, she thought of the one lie she could use. “I mean only that if Nicholas and I are lucky, you will be announcing around that time the anticipated birth of your first grandchild, Lady Margaret.” Smiling at the aghast expression on her mother-in-law’s face, she said, “I wish you a good day.”
Rebecca was proud of her self-control which kept her from slamming the door. Blindly, she sought her own room. Going in, for the first time she ordered Collette from her room. Although the maid was shocked by Lady Foxbridge’s action, she left quickly as she wondered where Lord Foxbridge might be found at this time of day.
She threw herself on the bed and began to cry out her frustration with her mother-in-law’s continual hatred. How hopeful she had been when she had received the invitation to visit Lady Margaret! How quickly those hopes had been dashed!
When comforting hands rubbed her back tenderly, she looked up to see Nicholas regarding her with sympathy. “Hold me, Nicholas, please,” she begged.
“Any time, my love, any time.” He did not kiss her as he held her close to his body. Feeling the quivers of distress wracking her, he wondered what had hurt her so. When he had seen her earlier, she had been happy as she chatted about her excitement over the ball at Marchwood Hall that evening. “Do you want to talk about it, Rebecca?”
She shook her head. With a watery smile, she said, “Not really. There is nothing that serious wrong.”
Recalling similar incidents, he knew that his mother had tried to hurt Rebecca again. She had not succeeded with him, so she had attempted to drive a wedge between them by attacking his wife. Although he hated to do it, to protect Rebecca from this torture he was going to have to issue an ultimatum to his mother. Either she would have to treat his wife decently, or she would be banished from the Cloister. Trying to make light of the weighty problem, he said, “If you say there’s nothing wrong, I believe you. Collette was upset, and she thought you might want me.”
“I do want you, Nicholas.” She buried her face in his damp shirt front.
“Smile, for I have told you over and over that with you is where I want to be also. Come on.”
She watched as he stood and held out his hand. “Where are we going?”
Nicholas laughed in a much-lightened tone. “How about a ride? You have been back on Blossom for a week now. How about that ride you have been promising me as soon as we both have a free moment? I am not busy, and you don’t need to spend any more time in your room!”
“That sounds wonderful.” She rang for Collette. “I will meet you in ten minutes at the stable, Nicholas.”
“Five, sweetheart. I don’t wish to be away from you any longer.” He drew her to him and kissed her with the promise that this ride would be ah excuse to escape the many eyes at the Cloister to share the sweetness of the touching which sent lightning racing through their souls.
In a whisper, she gazed up at him. “Five it will be.”
Nicholas was waiting at the base of the main staircase when Rebecca descended after her many hours of preparation for the formal affair at Marchwood Hall. When Collette had finished helping her dress in the lovely teal silk dress whose satin underskirt was nearly a midnight blue and had done her hair, the reflection in the mirror had been a stranger.
Never before had Rebecca dressed so fancily. The jewelry setting off her dress was crusted with pearls. Yet what drew her eyes most was the powder in her one-time dark hair. To see the ornate curls dusted all in white was queer. Suddenly she seemed like some cold, high-ranking lady whose heart should not have been beating so hard with the excitement of the upcoming ball.
As she saw her husband in the hall below, her eyes widened. Like her, he had had his hair powdered in the prerequisite style. It was tied back with a navy velvet ribbon which matched the material of his dress coat. Fine lace at his throat and wide sleeves made him look so different from the man who wore casual clothes while working on the grounds of Foxbridge cloister. For the first time, he appeared to be Lord Foxbridge and not her dearly beloved Nicholas.
His eyes met hers, and she smiled broadly. She saw his humor. He was far too aware of the difference between their appearance tonight and what they normally wore. This was like a joke. These dressed-up dolls were not their real selves. They were more comfortable in the things they had worn so long ago on the never-to-be-forgotten shores of the New World.
When she reached the bottom, he took her hand and bowed over it most formally. Opening the fan attached to a band at her wrist, she gazed coquettishly at him over it. “My dear Lord Foxbridge, I would guess.” Her tone was a copy of the overly obsequious ladies who had begun to call on her.
“Your intelligence is second only to your beauty, my dear Lady Foxbridge.” His dark eyes twinkled beneath the raven eyebrows which seemed even more sinister in contrast to his white hair.
Rebecca could not refrain from laughing merrily. His normal satirical humor would make the evening a delight even if it was otherwise boring. She had dreaded the gala all week and would be happy when it was over, although at the same time she had been thrilled with the idea of attending a fancy ball like those she had heard of from Eliza. “I feel so odd dressed like this,” she said.
“You look lovely, sweetheart.” He kissed her cheek. His eyes swept her slender form accented by the wide shape of her skirt. The gown dipped off her shoulders to display her soft skin. His fingers could not resist caressing it eagerly. He swallowed a moan of unsated desire which urged him to take her back upstairs and teach her the dance so unlike the minuets they would dance later. Huskily, he asked, “Are you ready to go?”
She nodded carefully, not wanting to disturb the multitude of curls on top of her head. By keeping her eyes lowered, she was able to prevent him from seeing the light glowing in her eyes as he touched her with such obvious longing.
Nicholas took her cape from Brody, who had been watching them with his normal tranquil expression although he had not missed a nuance of the love that bound the two of them together. Placing it over her shoulders, he tied the satin ribbons as his passion-filled eyes held hers. His own he folded on his arm, for it was still warm.
Holding out his other arm, he bid a good evening to the butler who held the door open. At the base of the steps the carriage waited. Sims waited patiently as Nicholas aided his lady into the plush interior. When they were seated comfortably, the vehicle started on the ten-mile drive to Marchwood Hall, the home of Sir Alec Carrollton.
During the long ride, Rebecca listened as Nicholas discussed the progress of the harvest. She was pleased that he treated her as a partner. Although he made all decisions publicly, often he would talk about some problem during the quiet evenings they enjoyed in the privacy of their suite’s sitting room. Usually she had no advice to offer him because she did not know much about what he talked about, but she knew it helped simply to have someone to listen.
Lately those discussions had turned into fa
r warmer methods of communication. It was useless to fight her desire for Nicolas any longer. She could not deny what she felt was love. She must let go of promises which had no meaning and fantasies with no substance. Her dreams centered on the life she was living by Nicholas’s side.
When they approached the gates to Marchwood Hall, torches burned on the gateposts. All along the road to the house, candles had been inserted onto posts to light their way. The country house glittered with the glow of hundreds of lights. It was a lovely house, matching Rebecca’s image of what Foxbridge Cloister might be. The stone walls were not as stained with sea salt as where the Wythes lived, but the house must be at least a century old. The windows were wider and not set so deeply in the walls. It was a home built for peacetime luxury, not for the protection of ravaging enemies from the sea.
Sims drove the carriage under a porte-cochere much like Nicholas joked about building at Foxbridge Cloister. At the top of the steps, a pair of liveried doormen stood like twin statues. They only moved to open the double doors as Nicholas and Rebecca approached. This elegance was on a scale which added to her discomfort.
“Try to enjoy yourself, Rebecca,” came a whisper in her ear.
She looked up to see Nicholas’s dark eyes admiring her openly. If she was beautiful tonight for her husband and he was pleased to be with her, then nothing else should matter. “I hope to have a lovely time,” she said as quietly.
A quick smile flashed across his face as he turned to hand their invitation to the man standing at the door of the ballroom. Without glancing at it, he turned to the man beside him and intoned, “Sir Carrollton, my Lord and Lady Foxbridge.”
Their host was a middle-aged man whose hair was white by nature, not by powder. He was short, not much taller than Rebecca, and appeared as round as he was tall. The gold buttons on his waistcoat strained to hold the garment closed. Nicholas had informed her that she should not be fooled by his pleasant, grandfatherly appearance. He had warned her that Sir Carrollton had a reputation for a fondness for lovely, young ladies which had made him unwelcome in several households in London.
Even without that foreknowledge, Rebecca would have sensed the truth when she was introduced. His eyes candidly regarded her with open admiration. When he raised her gloved fingers to his lips, he squeezed them in an obvious invitation. She pretended not to understand what he intended by his eager looks and moist kisses. Her voice was icily correct as she said, “We were pleased to be invited to your fete this evening, Sir Carrollton.”
“You honor me with your lovely presence this evening, my lady. You and your husband are doing this house a great honor by attending our simple entertainment.”
Her lips twitched at the pompous little man’s attempt to impress them. If this party was simple, she wondered what Marchwood Hall would present as a formal affair. She opened her fan to hide her smile under the pretense of using it to cool herself. When she felt Nicholas’s hand on her arm, she agreeably went with him to the main part of the room.
The orchestra had completed its preparations and now played a lyrical tune by one of the new European composers who were writing so many lovely melodies. Rebecca could not guess which one it was. About the room, many people were gathered, talking easily about the latest gossip and political news. The colors worn by the guests made the room appear as if it was filled with a multitude of silk butterflies.
Rebecca felt a warm sense of self-satisfaction when she saw that her gown was as fine as any of the others. Never before had she been vain, and it was not vanity that made her compare herself favorably with the other women. She simply wanted to make Nicholas proud of her. She wanted to see that sweet light of love in his eyes which had been there when he had congratulated her on the success of her children’s choir.
“Get set, Rebecca,” he said, with a laugh. “Here we go.”
“Excuse me?” she asked in sudden confusion.
He did not have a chance to answer as the guests noticed who had arrived and swarmed around them to bask in the reflected glory of the rank possessed by the Wythes. It did not take her long to understand his amused warning. There was no doubt that everyone wanted a chance to meet the new Lady Foxbridge and try to impress her imposing, influential husband.
Smoothly, he steered her through the circle which formed around them at every step. When he knew it was useless, he stopped and spoke to those intent on fawning over them. Watching him, Rebecca learned quickly the needs of being politic. She smiled and allowed the men to kiss her fingers as they bowed to her. Sternly she controlled her shock when the ladies dipped in a brief curtsy when she was introduced to them.
Nicholas’s arm slipped around her shoulders. To the man he had been speaking, he said, “Excuse me, Lambert, for I hear the orchestra getting ready for the next dance. Rebecca, would you like to dance?”
“Yes, I would, thank you,” she answered calmly. Only in her eyes could he see her relief that the many questions would be halted, at least for a short time.
He kept his arm around her as they walked to where the dancing would be. “You are doing beautifully under the most horrible circumstances. I don’t know why all of these people seemed compelled to try to impress us. Before I left six years ago, I saw Brad going through the same gauntlet each time he entered a room. I didn’t realize then how ridiculous this whole situation is. It will calm down when the season reopens in London. We will no longer be the latest topic of gossip.”
“Let’s dance,” she urged.
“If you feel any strain on your leg, you must drop out immediately. We will be attending other dances.”
When she promised, he led her out to the dance floor. She was glad that it was a very simple minuet so that she could follow the steps easily. Her smile was lovely as she held her husband’s hands and twirled gracefully through the pattern of the dance. When they switched partners, she recognized the man but could not remember his name. It was fortunate that he was willing to carry the majority of the conversation. Once again her plan of simply listening with a pleasant expression worked well. She dipped in a curtsy as the dance demanded and took the fingers of the next man along the line.
Her blue eyes narrowed as she looked into the face of her newest partner. She did not know him, but the way he ogled her gave her a sensation as if some insect was crawling along her skin. He held her fingers too tightly so he could draw her closer than necessary. When his arm went around her waist very briefly, she could feel his fingers stroking her audaciously through the fine silk of her gown. Outraged, she twirled away. When she broke the pattern of the dance, the others stopped to regard her. Rancor burned in her eyes as she stared at the unknown man. A hand on her arm made her spin about forcefully.
“Lady Foxbridge, is there some problem?”
She regarded the face of her host, who was clearly upset with the disruption. When Nicholas pushed through the other dancers, she was spared having to lie. In a frigid voice, he stated, “My dear Carrollton, you may have forgotten that unfortunate incident when Rebecca was injured, but you needn’t confront my wife in this ungracious manner. If she doesn’t want to dance, she can step out at any time.”
“It is all right,” she said quickly. “Please, may I sit down? I don’t feel like dancing now.”
All eyes centered on them as he took her hand and placed it on his arm before leading her to a small room which was little more than an alcove off the main room. He sat her on one of the padded benches. “Are you hurt, sweetheart?” His voice was gentle with his concern.
“I’m fine. It is just that I’m not used to being pawed while dancing, and I didn’t like it. I don’t know your English customs, Nicholas, but if that is one of them, I do not wish to dance any more.”
His eyes grew black with fury. “’Tis a custom that no gentleman would practice. Who was so crass, my love?”
She sighed and stroked the curve of his cheek. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not hurt. There is nothing you can do to change what happened. I don’t k
now the man, but I will avoid him from now on.”
“You must learn that society here is far less puritanical than in America, sweetheart. It is not unusual for a beautiful woman like yourself to have a whole court of admirers and lovers surrounding herself.”
“I don’t want that!” she vowed.
Nicholas framed her face with his hands and drew her close as he kissed her hungrily. His fingers caressed her cheeks where the rose color had deepened when his tongue had wheedled her lips to part so he could savor the varied textures of her mouth. “My Rebecca, I wouldn’t want you to have any lovers but me,” he whispered as his lips brushed hers.
She felt her body melting against his as the flame in her soul burned outward to bring the blossom of her love for her husband into full flower. Her hands slipped beneath his coat to feel his virile body through the silk of his shirt and waistcoat.
He chuckled lightly in her ear. “This isn’t the time or the place, darling. I think we should remember that we are far from alone here.” He kissed her swiftly, but there was no lack of desire in the slight touch. “A glass of champagne?”
“That would be very nice,” she replied quietly. She was still overwhelmed by the opulence of the sensations she experienced in his arms. Perhaps a glass of the cooled wine would take the heat from her face.
He kissed her cheek. “Wait here. I will be back in just a few minutes.”
Rebecca’s eyes followed him as he crossed the salon to where the champagne was being served from a fountain by the edge of one of the many gardens. When he disappeared among the crowd, she closed her eyes and savored the fantasy of joining her husband in his bed. If she could have guessed the hell waiting for her, she would have clutched more tightly to her dreams of heaven.
Chapter Fourteen
Content with her dreams of love, Rebecca gazed at the other guests attending Sir Alec’s party. No longer the center of attention, she could stare without anyone realizing she was watching them. The men were dressed as ornately as the women with brocade coats which rivaled the hues of the gowns. It appeared as if there was a contest to see who could pile their powdered hair higher. Rolls of false hair and pinned-on curls augmented the hair styles taller than her Aunt Dena’s best hat and, in Rebecca’s opinion, just as silly.
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