The hours passed quickly as they spoke with the ones who had come in curiosity and love to see what the Wythes had meant by a reenactment of their vows. Only one person tried to talk business to Nicholas, but he was silenced instantly by others who reprimanded him for acting so on a man’s wedding day.
More toasts were drunk to the newlyweds than anyone would have guessed possible. The kegs of beer and wine were watched carefully that nobody got too intoxicated on the grounds of Foxbridge Cloister. Everyone celebrated in a way that had not been seen since the lords had collected their rents so formally every quarter day.
When an orchestra was set up on the terrace, the dancing was enthusiastic. Unlike the ball at Marchwood Hall, if someone made a mistake in the steps everyone laughed and urged the person to try again. It was the first time the villagers had ever had a chance to dance the minuet. The musicians delighted in playing the folk tunes of the west country as the gentry tried to learn the complicated dances refined through centuries.
At a break in the dancing, the children were urged to sing before it grew so late that they fell asleep by the rose bushes. The applause was as enthusiastic for the second performance as for the first. Rebecca stepped aside and let Greggy lead them as he had been doing for the past weeks. He was the one she had thought of first for her school. He was ten and extremely intelligent. Only if he could read and write his name would he be able to fulfill his potential. Someday, he could be a fine employee. Perhaps even a minister, for he spent much time with Reverend Middleton asking questions about their faith.
Rebecca left Nicholas chatting with some of the men about the latest news from Whitehall about the situation in Europe. As far as she could tell, there was always political unrest on the continent. She could not begin to decipher the complicated relationships between France, Spain, the German states and her adopted country. With the British no longer fighting their recalcitrant former colonies, they could concentrate on their next-door neighbors. There was a sense of smugness among them about their superiority over the others across the English Channel.
Taking a plate from the table, she moved to an arbor to sit for a moment of quiet. After being the center of attention all afternoon and dancing every dance, she wanted to rest. Her right leg ached with fatigue, and she wondered if it would ever be normal. Her smile returned as she thought of the real reason she wanted to rest.
Her eyes lingered on Nicholas. She admired the trim lines of his athletic body which had recovered so quickly from the wound inflicted by the currish Baron Royce. After the end of the festivities, it would be time for the celebrations she would share with her beloved, oft-married husband. She chuckled softly as she took a bite of the food on her plate.
All hunger left her as she heard two women talking nearby. She knew they did not see her in the arbor, or she thought they did not. Both Clarisse and Lady Margaret would delight in hurting her, but she thought they would prefer to do so to her face. To make her presence known would simply damn her further in their eyes.
Clarisse was saying, sarcastically, “This has been quite the wedding. Not exactly what we expected when we heard Nicholas was alive and coming home to Foxbridge Cloister.”
“What can one do? Nicholas is Lord Foxbridge, and it shall be as he wishes. We can do nothing about this vulgar girl he has brought home to play with. At first, I thought it would pass when he saw how poorly she fit in here, but it hasn’t. The infatuation has increased.” Lady Margaret sighed as if she was a martyr having to bear the load of her daughter-in-law’s lack of breeding. “She has turned Nicholas from his own mother, and now she threatens to do the same with Eliza.”
“What a shame! It’s positively disgusting how she allows those urchins to paw over her. I guess they remind her of her own family.”
Lady Margaret chuckled shortly. “Rebecca cannot see that she is being used. Of course they act as if they love her. Hasn’t she convinced Nicholas to pay for resurrecting that ugly little church?”
“Maybe it wasn’t for the villagers,” said Clarisse, snidely. “There was some talk about her and Reverend Middleton being very friendly last month. Why, I heard from Marie, my maid, that the first week she went there, they were alone in his house for nearly three hours.”
“Surely the housekeeper was there!” gasped the aghast woman.
“No, just the two of them. I am sorry that you have such a Lady Foxbridge to deal with. Poor Nicholas is so blinded by love for his little harlot that he will accept her child and never question its parentage.” She laughed cruelly. “Perhaps there is something to this resemblance she has to Sybill Wythe. Shall we have another glass of champagne, Lady Margaret?”
“Why not? It’s a pity to waste it on these peasants who have no appreciation for it.”
As the voices faded in the distance, Rebecca hid her face in her hands. The stories about her were still strong. She could not believe that her friends in the village cared for her simply because of what her husband’s money could do for them.
“Lady Foxbridge?”
She glanced up to see the disturbed face of Brigit. The child remained as sweet as she had been the first day of choir practice. “Hello, Brigit.”
“Are you sad? You shouldn’t be because today is a party day for you. My Ma said we should all be happy today because you are happy.” The little girl threw her arms around her and whispered, “I love you, Lady Foxbridge.”
Rebecca felt the heaviness of tears. Such a heartfelt testimonial told her that the words her two enemies spoke were lies. She was the one who had approached the children, not the other way around. She was the one who had come to them in need, and they had given her love in return. “I love you, too, Brigit. You look so pretty today. Is that a new dress?”
She nodded, her braids bouncing with enthusiasm. “For me. Ma cut it down from one of hers, so I could have something pretty to wear. I hope when I get married, I can have a dress just like yours.”
“Let me tell you a secret. This isn’t my wedding dress.” In a conspiratorial tone, she told the little girl about her real wedding to Nicholas and how she had worn a dress not so different from the one Brigit wore.
One by one, the children wandered over to listen. Soon she was telling them of her childhood on the farm so like their parents’. They laughed when she told of mishaps while bringing uncooperative cows home, for it was something that they all knew. When they shared their own stories, she enjoyed them.
Rebecca looked at their young faces, no longer as clean as when they first had arrived, and knew she wanted to start her school as soon as the harvest was completed. Few would be able to attend until then because their hands were needed in the fields. She was sure she could convince the parents to let her have their youngsters for a few hours each day. Education was something belonging only to the elite, and certainly they would want the best for their children. John had told her the lack of a teacher had kept them from starting a school. That problem was solved.
“Ah, here you are,” said Nicholas with a laugh as he peeked around the arbor. “Hello, youngsters. I should have known you all would be here plotting mischief.”
When Rebecca laughed, the children joined in. They were not so sure how they should treat this imposing man who was taller than most men they knew. He owned all the land farther than most of them had ever traveled.
“We have been telling stories about the tribulations of growing up on a farm,” she said. “I’m afraid time has slipped away from us.”
“Your parents are looking for you, children.” As they obediently rose, he added, “Don’t forget to get an extra piece of cake to take home. First ones there get the most icing.” He laughed as they turned from subservient little adults back into children as they raced across the lawns.
“Nicholas, you are as bad as you accuse me of being. They have had enough cake today. I hope they don’t get stomach cramps.”
He laughed as he drew her to her feet. “It’s a well-known fact that no child can have enough c
ake. Don’t you remember that?”
She had no chance to answer for his mouth found hers in the twilight. Her arms slipped around him as he pressed her tight to his strong body. When his hands slid along her in a clear invitation to what they both wanted, she gasped with the strength of the soaring passions building inside her. Familiarity with each other had only enhanced their loving. Although they knew what the other enjoyed when they were close, Nicholas had taught her there was no need for their lovemaking to be a matter of rote. Constantly they explored new ways to express that love.
A shiver raced along her as he whispered in her ear. “I think I have played host long enough. Come with me now, and let us continue this wedding as it should be.”
“A reenactment of that, Nicholas, would mean you going away from me for over four years.” She ran her fingers along the breadth of his chest. “I don’t think I would like that.”
He laughed in honest delight at the mournful sound of her voice. Sweeping her up into his arms, he said, “I know I wouldn’t like that one bit, my love.” He glanced up as the music began again. “Do you wish to dance, or shall I offer you other entertainment?”
She leaned her head on his shoulder. “It’s time for the bride and groom to retire gracefully.”
He did not put her on her feet as he carried her through the back gardens to a private door. No one noticed until much later that the guests of honor were missing. They knew the newlyweds would not wish to be interrupted as they enjoyed their own form of commemoration of their wedding.
Although Rebecca warned Nicholas not to strain himself, he just laughed as he carried her to their suite. With a chuckle, he tossed her onto the bed. He left only long enough to lock the door leading to the hallway. He did not intend to be disturbed by anyone. As he returned to her, the faints sounds of the merrymaking wafted up from the lawn. Neither of them noticed as her eyes were held by the intense, burning desire in his. He shoved her back against the mattress. His hand reached under her and grasped the hooks of her gown. One swift tug ripped them apart.
“Nicholas!” she gasped. “You are destroying my dress.”
“I waited so long to make love to you that I was afraid some night I was going to throw open that door, press you like this to your bed, and ravage your pretty body.” His eyes glittered demoniacally. “Would you care to play such tonight, my love?”
She laughed. “Dear husband, how can you play the rapist when I am so willing?”
“Hush,” he whispered before he bent to kiss her just below her ear. “If you don’t want to play in that manner, I will woo you with poetic phrases. My darling Rebecca, high priestess of love, deign to notice your unworthy suitor tonight.”
Her eyes closed at the touch of his fingers on her skin as he pulled her ruined dress aside. His caresses sent powerful cascades of ecstasy over her, but humor remained in her voice as she said, “I think you had too much wine to drink. You are quite intoxicated.”
“Only with your beauty, dear twice-wed wife. We had a wonderful wedding. Now I want to sample your sweetness once again. Love me, my lady.”
Partly, she retorted, “Is that a command, my Lord Foxbridge?”
“A request only, but one I hope you will satisfy.”
She pulled his mouth down toward hers. “I will try, if you will be my Nicholas and love me as you do so well.” Any answer he would have given her was lost in the rapture spinning sweet webs of desire around them.
Chapter Eighteen
As soon as possible after the harvest was completed, Rebecca put her plans for the school into action. Reaction was much as she had anticipated. The villagers were thrilled with the chance for their children to have some book learning. Lady Margaret was outraged. The older woman threatened all kinds of mayhem until her son told her if she did not like it, it was unfortunate. The school would be held three mornings weekly for two hours each day. If she did not want to be at the Cloister during that time, she should feel free to use the carriage to call upon her friends.
Eliza and Curtis were amused by Rebecca’s enthusiasm for her latest project. So wrapped up were they in their own love that very little of what went on around them seemed to enter their own private world. The first morning of school, Eliza peeked in to see fifteen children perched on the hard benches that the monks once had used for their prayers. They watched Lady Foxbridge explain the beginning mysteries of letters and numbers.
Nicholas knew that his wife would not fail. She was urging the children to share what they were learning with their older siblings who could not attend the school. He did not visit the little classroom, for his presence would cow the students and disrupt lessons.
One night, several weeks after the school had opened, he was enjoying the quiet in their sitting room as he read the latest newspapers from London. They were only two weeks old, so he was finding much of interest in them. Rebecca sat on the settee with her feet drawn up under her as she worked out the lesson plans for her class the next day. It was becoming more complicated as the children progressed.
They had all started at the same point of ignorance, but some were leaping ahead of the others. She wanted to press them on as fast as they could go, to cram all they should learn into the short hours and years she would have them in her classes. Once they were old enough to work, they would be lost to her. Greggy was her oldest, and she had gone to his mother directly to ask that he be allowed to attend. As she had guessed, he was her star pupil. Already he was learning to read phrases from the Bible, which was the only book she had for children. She vowed to search the nursery in the attic to see if there were others.
A knock interrupted the tranquil, domestic scene by the fireplace. With the nights turning crisply cool, they enjoyed the warmth of the burning logs.
“Don’t get up, my love,” said Nicholas. He called, “Who is it?”
When his sister answered, he told her to join them. Eliza opened the door, and they saw she had her sweetheart with her. As Nicholas motioned for them to sit by the fire, Rebecca automatically tightened the neckline of her dressing gown.
Since the time when Curtis had come into the room after the village fair and found her dressed only in her robe, she had been aware of the appreciation in his eyes when they settled on her. She had grown accustomed to it from other men, but she did not think Eliza’s suitor should be looking at her that way. Hoping it was all her imagination, she said nothing of it to anyone. Nicholas’s keen eyes had not noticed it, so over and over she tried to tell herself that she was just overreacting to something that had not happened and never would.
“Nicholas, we would like to talk to you about something very important,” began Eliza with uncharacteristic nervousness.
He smiled at his wife. There was no doubt what the twosome wanted. He had been expecting this since the remarriage ceremony. That day he had seen how Curtis and Eliza had looked at each other, as if they were wishing it was their marriage being performed in the family chapel. “Go ahead, sister.” He had joined Rebecca on the settee, and he put his arm around her shoulders. They had never had to endure this situation, for they had asked no one’s permission to marry.
Eliza glanced at Curtis, who took her hand in his. The young man said, “I have asked Eliza to marry me. We have known each other for more than two years, and the devotion between us is very strong.” He smiled innocuously. “We have been very impressed by the love we have seen that you share, and we feel that ours is the same. We have come for your blessing and authorization to marry.”
He turned to Rebecca. “What do you think, sweetheart?”
Batting his hand away from her hair, she laughed. “Stop teasing them, Nicholas. Tell them yes or no. Don’t be cruel.”
“You have heard how she orders me about, Curtis. I do not doubt that Eliza will be much the same.” He chuckled as Rebecca gave a false groan of misery at his continued jesting. “If you think you can endure being married to a hot-tempered Wythe, welcome to the family.” He rose and held out his ha
nd to his future brother-in-law.
A victorious grin shone on the slighter man’s face as he shook Nicholas’ hand. Eliza and Rebecca embraced as they chattered about the next wedding to be held at Foxbridge Cloister. Nicholas sent Gilmore for a bottle of wine to toast this betrothal. The rest of the evening was spent in celebrating the engagement which would come as a surprise to nobody. When Eliza asked if they could hold a masquerade ball to make the formal announcement, she did not tell them it had been Curtis’s idea. She would have agreed with almost anything her fiance suggested. The idea of a masked ball here at Foxbridge Cloister appealed to everyone.
Eliza had decided already she was going to go to the party dressed in the style of ancient Greece. With her dark hair piled high on her head and a simple gown draped over her slender body, she would be as beautiful as one of their temple priestesses. “I know who you must go as, Rebecca,” she added, enthusiastically. “You must go as Sybill Wythe.”
Rebecca laughed. “Shall Nicholas be the cuckolded Lord Foxbridge or my Spanish lover?”
“We shall rewrite history, my love,” he said, whirling her into his arms. “I shall be your Sybill’s beloved husband.”
“There will be no man coming from the sea for this Sybill,” she murmured before his lips on hers made talking impossible.
The others were baffled by their words, but there was no misunderstanding the fervency of the kiss. The love which had bound Rebecca so tightly to distant shores had been replaced by one which would last for as long as she lived. Curtis tugged on Eliza’s sleeve and led her from the room. Quietly, he closed the door, but he doubted if the lord and lady would have noticed their leavetaking if they had slammed the door as hard as they were able. As he looked at Eliza, his mind was on the one in Lord Foxbridge’s arms.
He had not been able to ignore the fire that burned in those intriguing blue eyes that often turned near-violet with emotion. That the flames were blazing only for her husband he knew. The rumors that she had been Middleton’s mistress over the summer was a lie started by vicious busybodies. Rebecca Wythe would never come to any man willingly but her husband.
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