With a sigh of resignation, she raised herself from the bed and began to gather her clothes.
Desmond watched Rebecca as she dressed. He could not disagree with her assessment. He thought back to his stagnation at the office, and to the prolonged misery of days and nights without her. He would not revisit that place. The death of his father showed him what really mattered in life; convention and propriety were not among them.
He stood up and began to dress. "Rebecca," he said, "come home with me." She turned to him, her eyes as wide as the meadows they had crossed. "Come and dine with me at Clayton House tonight. I'll send a message up to the house. Please, Rebecca." He pulled her gently to him. "Just you and I."
Rebecca was uncertain but not unwilling. "You cannot be serious, Desmond. Mother would already have us drawn and quartered because we spent the afternoon together."
"But you're right, Rebecca. Your mother goes too far. We must draw our line in the sand." He buttoned his shirt. "Besides," he added, "I have no inclination to leave you just yet." Desmond looked at her with hopeful eyes. "Please don't make me," he said. All of her caution melted away in the depth of his gaze.
Rebecca stayed silent while they continued to dress. Finally, she spoke, "What is for dinner then?" she asked him, smiling. She gathered her hair in a knot. Desmond buttoned his pants. He looked up at her.
"You are," he answered as he grabbed her around the waist. He pulled her close to him and kissed her. Rebecca smiled broadly at him, as she draped her arms about his neck.
"But what am I having?" she whispered in his ear.
"Whatever you desire," he replied softly. He nibbled lightly on her ear. Rebecca laughed. "Desmond, you are so impetuous," she chided him lightly. "We are both going to starve."
"On the contrary," Desmond countered. "You will feast like a queen tonight, Rebecca. I promise you."
The mood had lifted and they hurried to finish dressing. They left the cottage in much the same way they had found it. No one looking upon that barren room would have guessed at its secrets.
When they arrived at Clayton House, the sun was almost settled. They tied their horses at the gate. Jackson greeted them both by name at the front door. He appeared slightly flustered, but gracious all the same, not normally having the privilege of Lady Rebecca's attendance.
"Lady Evelyn Garway waited for you, sir. She left not fifteen minutes ago." Jackson relieved them of their coats and hats.
"I hope she wasn't put out. Did she wait for long?" asked Desmond.
"Not at all, sir," the manservant replied. "She was in fine humor when she left, sir."
"Good," Desmond said. "Jackson, would you be good enough to fetch Hannah? Lady Rebecca and I will be dining here tonight and I believe Lady Rebecca will want to freshen up, won't you, darling?"
"Dining here, sir?" Jackson was startled.
"Yes, Jackson, I've assured Lady Rebecca that Clayton House has as fine a table as any in the village. Is Mrs. Pike still here?"
"Yes, of course, sir," Jackson replied. "I will let her know at once."
He turned to hasten to his tasks. It had been awhile since they had had a guest for dinner and never one as splendid as Lady Rebecca. He supposed he would have to get used to it.
"Oh, Jackson, I almost forgot." Jackson stopped and turned. "We will have to send word to the manor," Desmond added.
"Yes, straightaway, sir." Jackson was off again.
Rebecca felt liberated. Being here alone with Desmond exhilarated her. It was a vision of things to come, what their life might be like. Desmond reached out to her and she took his hand. He pulled her close.
"You smell like fresh air and moonlight," he whispered. "I think I was foolish to bring you here after all. It's rather counter-productive."
Desmond didn't feel like eating at all. He wanted to gather her in his arms and carry her to his room. Rebecca kissed him slowly on the lips.
"I do have to freshen up, darling," she told him.
Just then, Hannah arrived, slightly short of breath. "Ma'am," she said demurely, not daring to look up. She curtsied briefly.
"Hannah, please show Lady Rebecca up to the guest room and bring her whatever she needs," Desmond directed. "I'll wait for you in the dining room, Rebecca."
He watched the two women ascend the stairs. He then descended into the servants' passage to the kitchen to meet with Mrs. Pike. She was tending to the fires and already had pots steaming on the stove.
"Mrs. Pike, you are a miracle worker," said Desmond as he surveyed her preparations.
"I'm happy to do it, sir. I had a chicken roasting for tomorrow. It'll do for tonight, I imagine. There will be a dinner service in twenty minutes, sir." The older woman was so preoccupied; she might have looked up to him for one second during her entire address.
Desmond smiled. "I could kiss you, Mrs. Pike. I gave Lady Rebecca very high expectations for dinner, I'm afraid."
"I won't disappoint, sir," she stated flatly. "You can save the kiss for your sweetheart." Desmond grinned at her.
Desmond hurried down the passage and up to his room where he hoped Jackson was waiting for him. "Quickly, Jackson, I don't want to keep her waiting." His fingers ran down the front of his jacket, undoing buttons.
"No, sir," Jackson replied, as he brought out a well-pressed jacket from the armoire. Within ten minutes, Desmond was dressed and groomed for dinner. He took one last look in the mirror before heading down the stairs. "Will you bring out the best wine that we have, Jackson? The very best."
"Very good, sir."
"You're a good man, Jackson. Thank you for all your help this evening. It would have been quite impossible without you." Desmond smiled at him and left the room in haste.
When he arrived in the dining room, he was relieved; she had not yet come down. The table was set.
"Desmond, that's not fair."
He turned around to see her standing in the doorway. Her hair was down and gathered to one side, secured with a ribbon.
"I don't have a change of clothes," she said regretfully with a slight shrug of her shoulders.
She felt awkward without her usual dinner attire and he, standing there so handsome in his black tie and dinner jacket. She looked down at her skirt, and then looked at him, smiling.
He wondered whether he would ever become accustomed to her natural elegance and beauty. For now, he was rendered speechless.
He went to her, framed her face with his hands and raised her lips to his. Rebecca closed her eyes. His lips were soft and moist. He lowered his hands slowly, his fingers caressing the length of her throat.
Reluctantly, Desmond lifted his head, ending their embrace. "You are perfect just as you are," he said to her.
He led her to the table and pulled out her chair. Jackson arrived to fill their wine glasses.
They sat in close proximity to one another at one corner of the table. Desmond had not given any direction to the manservant that way. Either Jackson had the sensibility of a romantic or had simply chosen the most expedient setting in the circumstances. In either case, Desmond was content. The manservant left the room briefly.
The candlelight made diamonds out of Rebecca's green eyes. Desmond slipped his hand over hers.
"This was a brilliant idea," he said. "Why have we not done this before?"
Jackson returned with the soup tureen and Desmond drew his hand back. After the servant had spooned out each serving, Desmond excused him.
"Thank you, Jackson, we'll ring for you."
"Very good, sir," Jackson replied before taking his leave.
Rebecca leaned over to Desmond. "You know we may never hear the last of this," she cautioned him. "They're probably still smelling their salts."
"It will no doubt make for some lively dinner conversation this evening," Desmond surmised. "The Countess and my mother will be sure to have an opinion."
Rebecca smiled as she thought of her grandmother's pragmatic wit and sharp tongue. "What would your mother say, Desmond?" Rebecc
a's interest was piqued. She dipped into her soup.
"My mother was born and raised in the city, Rebecca," answered Desmond. "Her views are not as provincial as one might expect. She may not like what we've done but she would respect my choices."
"All of your choices?" Rebecca asked coyly.
Desmond sipped on his wine. "I rather think so," he replied. "What are you getting at?"
"She can't have been too pleased with me after I slighted your first proposal," Rebecca said ruefully. "I'd be surprised if she'd forgiven me when I can hardly forgive myself." She paused and added, "When I reflect on that time, I wish so very much that I had had better counsel, or..." Her voice dropped off.
Desmond looked at her intently. "Or what?" he asked her.
"Or had simply been a better person," she concluded uneasily. She looked at him and smiled meagerly She placed her spoon in the bowl in front of her.
Desmond was moved. "Rebecca, you must not blame yourself for our falling out." He reached for her hand and held it gently. "I should have had more sympathy for your position. A woman's fate is entirely determined by the man she chooses to marry. After that, she wins or loses by his choices alone." He withdrew his hand. "Any one in your place would have acted with equal ambivalence."
Rebecca smiled at him regretfully. "You're very generous, Desmond. You're forgetting that I loved you. I look back on my actions now and cannot believe how shallow my thinking was then."
Desmond arched his eyebrows. "What about me?" he asked her. "I acted like a petulant child. I was angry with the fickleness of the entail so I broke your heart and mine along with it," he told her candidly. "What is worse is that I knew that you loved me. And I loved you. So who is to blame?" He looked at her pointedly, then rose from his chair and rang for Jackson. This discussion discomfited him, bringing him back to a time of insufferable loss and heartache. Jackson arrived to clear the table and left.
"I've upset you," Rebecca said quietly. "I'm sorry."
"No, you haven't, Rebecca," he assured her. "I upset myself." He returned to his seat.
Rebecca reached over and placed her hand on his forearm. He placed his hand on hers and caressed her fingers. Hearing Jackson's approach, they drew back from each other.
As the manservant served the various dishes in series, Desmond was amazed at the feast that Mrs. Pike had prepared on such short notice. Jackson finished his service by replenishing their glasses.
"Thank you, Jackson." The manservant retired at once, sensing that his presence was neither needed nor desired.
"So we were both foolish," Rebecca said softly. "We shall not speak of it again."
They each sampled their glass of wine and turned their attention to the plates before them.
Rebecca was very pleased. She hadn't realized the size of her appetite until the smell of the roasted chicken had wafted its way up to her nose. The tender breast melted in her mouth and the poulette sauce was the perfect complement.
She looked up at Desmond, saying, "Mrs. Pike has outdone herself. This is marvelous."
Desmond nodded in agreement. He added, "Oh ye of little faith. You suggested we were to starve." He smiled at her triumphantly.
Rebecca laughed. "We would have starved with the menu you had proposed."
"Oh, you're still on the menu, Rebecca," Desmond replied. He wiped the corners of his mouth and leaned forward over his plate. "I hope you don't think otherwise."
Several seconds passed before Rebecca answered. "My, you have a rather large appetite, Desmond," she responded. "Is there no satisfying you?" Rebecca took a sip of her wine and looked at him over the rim of her glass. Desmond smiled at her brazenly but said nothing. They continued to dine until their plates were empty.
Over the course of their meal, they decided that a four-week sojourn on the continent would serve them well as their honeymoon. Rebecca was partial to Italy, specifically Florence and Rome, while Desmond's tastes veered further south to the isles of Greece.
Over the fruit plate, he recounted the many benefits of secluded beaches, white silky sands and azure waters.
Privately, he longed to see the length of her lying on those sands, her skin drenched with the waters of the warm Aegean Sea. He would persuade her.
Desmond set down his knife and fork. "Are you quite done, darling?" he asked her pleasantly.
"Yes, thank you, Desmond," she answered, "Positively stuffed."
"Then may I suggest that we retire to my room for dessert?" Desmond rose from the table.
Rebecca dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and left it folded by the side of her plate.
Desmond pulled out her chair for her. She thanked him and made her way to the staircase. She looked behind her quickly and spied him smiling like a libertine.
She stopped at the foot of the stairs and leaned against the newel post, her hands at her back.
He came to her and put his arms around her waist. He kissed her lips, her cheek, and the side of her neck.
She laughed. "What is it?" he whispered against her throat. She draped her arms about his neck.
"I was just thinking about the first time we met," she said softly, smiling to herself.
"What about it?" Desmond murmured in her ear.
"You feared my parents were going to push me away from you," she said. "Yet here we are.”
They don't want me here with you and you're ready to carry me off to your bedroom. It is comical, isn't it?" She looked at him, her eyes twinkling.
Desmond stopped and looked at her. "You're comical, yes." They were both smiling as they kissed each other. The kiss deepened and Desmond pressed her against him. He gathered her in his arms and carried her up the stairs.
They had only fifteen minutes and they would make the most of it.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Lady Garway sat stiffly at the desk in the library as she waited for the others to arrive for dinner.
Her aristocratic bearing belied her Welsh roots. She had become the title that her dowry had made attainable for her; and, but for her accent, no one would have suspected her a born-commoner.
She was resplendent this evening, and there was no hint of the rough-hewn heritage that her daughter, Rebecca, so often derided.
The irony was – and it was clear – that Rebecca's stately beauty and poise came directly from her mother. And now, Lady Garway feared Rebecca had also inherited the hot-blooded boldness that had made her grandfather one of the wealthiest men in Wales. While that temperament may have served his purposes, its application in Rebecca's circumstances could prove to have quite the opposite effect.
Lady Garway rose from the desk. She had no heart to finish her letter to Owen. She had related to him the excitement of the wedding preparations and she had written of her concerns for Owen in these early weeks of his wife's pregnancy, but Rebecca's current tactic preoccupied her, and she could think of nothing else.
Rebecca had not yet returned home, and the dinner hour was almost upon them. She suspected that Rebecca was with him in a passionate rendezvous that they had arranged in clandestine fashion.
Lady Garway could appreciate very well that the alliance between Rebecca and Desmond was the best possible outcome for the family. However, that consideration, although substantial, should not outweigh all others.
It was uncanny to her that Rebecca should persist in this conduct when she had already brought the family to dishonor and ridicule with the Sir Isaac affair.
Abbott entered the library and Lady Garway looked to him. "The Countess of Delafield has arrived, ma'am," he announced. "Shall I show her into the drawing room, ma'am?"
"Yes, of course, Abbott, thank you. I will be there in a few minutes."
Lady Garway collected her thoughts and sorted her feelings. With a grand sigh, she headed towards the hallway. Everything, she had told herself, would soon settle to its rightful place, but things had not gone that way at all. Owen's indiscriminate choice of a foreign-born wife had been the first omen. And this affair betwe
en Desmond and Rebecca was yet another sign that things would never be the same again.
Lady Garway entered the drawing room, greeting the Countess with a polite apology. They exchanged pleasantries about the weather and the wedding plans.
Lord Garway soon joined them, and it wasn't long before the Countess commented on the absence of her two granddaughters.
"Louisa should be here shortly," Lady Garway replied. "As for Rebecca, who knows? She went riding this afternoon and, so far, hasn't returned." Lady Garway's mouth was set in a firm and unmoving line.
"Why do I sense that the issue here amounts to more than simply being late for dinner?" The Countess looked down the bridge of her nose to her daughter-in-law.
"I think she may be with Desmond," Lady Garway answered her. Her tone was veiled with displeasure.
"And what of it? The last I heard they were still affianced,” replied the elder countess. "If you ask me, everything is as it should be."
Abbott entered the drawing room, announcing the arrival of Mrs. Baines.
"Good evening, everyone. I'm sorry I'm late," Mrs. Baines said as she spread her smile among the group. "So Desmond is not here. I thought he might be."
"Have you no inkling of where he might be?" Lord Garway asked hopefully. "Perhaps working late?"
"Naturally, that was the first place I checked," Mrs. Baines nodded in Lord Garway's direction. "The office was closed. I'm certain he'll turn up. I've never known Desmond to completely disregard the hour without good reason." She sat down on the settee next to the Countess.
Lady Louisa chose that moment to enter the room and it was a fortunate distraction from Lord Garway's point of view. She greeted everyone cheerily and seemed eager to give an account of her afternoon. She had taken to assisting Colonel William Snider with his daily errands, Colonel William having lost the use of his right arm in battle.
As Lord Garway understood the arrangement, Colonel William had agreed to his daughter's assistance, provided he paid her a regular stipend.
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