“That sounds rather terrible.” She pulled her horse up, as they’d come to the lane leading to the earl’s estate, and fixed him with a compassionate expression that made his heart tighten.
“The marks were to show me the number of times I had failed. I was forced to count them at the end of every day and chart them. Depending on the number of mistakes, different punishment would be meted out at the end of the week.”
“Oh, Christian.” She spoke with sympathy, not disdain. Her brown eyes shimmered. “I am terribly sorry. You were a grieving boy.”
He chuckled, though without much humor, and dismounted. It wasn’t fair to the horses that they stand still so long. If she wished to talk, they could do so while walking. Going to her side, he held his hands up to help her down.
Rebecca put her hands on his shoulders and permitted him to guide her to the ground. Christian allowed his hands to linger on her waist, enjoying how well they fit there, just above the curve of her hips.
Steady. Growing closer to her is perilous, remember?
He released her reluctantly and stepped back, then handed her the lead for her horse.
“The world isn’t kind to those who are different.” He gave her half a smile and finally started a slow-paced walk up the lane. “My grandfather did what he thought best to make me fit society’s expectations. By the time I went to Oxford, the accent was gone.”
“Oxford must’ve been better for you than Eton. Wasn’t it?” She kept even with him on the path, glancing at him from time to time as they walked. She held her long skirts up in one gloved hand and kept the lead for the horse in the other, yet her movements remained smooth and graceful.
“In some ways, yes. In others, it was much the same.”
Rebecca’s mournful eyes went from focusing on him down to her toes. If he’d meant to throw her into a state of melancholy, it seemed he’d done so. Christian sighed and approached her, taking the lead from her hand and adding it to his own. Then he reached for her hand, their gloved fingers interlacing.
“I do not tell you all of this to make you sad, carina. I want you to understand, at least in part, the sort of man I am. And why. Now you know why I keep myself apart and do not mourn the loss of company.”
And you will not mourn my loss when this thing between us comes to an end.
She stared down at their joined hands, then lifted her pretty face to study him. The woman possessed a tender heart, that much he knew for certain. The beautiful brown depths of her eyes were full of compassion and understanding. Her pale pink lips were pressed tightly together as she considered him.
“You have friends now, Christian. Nathaniel and Thomas liked you. My sisters are growing fonder of you. I know Lucas thinks highly of you, too. He asks your opinion often when we are in company.”
At some point, they had stopped walking. He could not be sure when. But they stood nearly toe-to-toe, her head tilted back so the brim of her hat didn’t come between them.
“What of you, Rebecca?” he asked, her given name falling easily from his lips. “Are you a friend, too?”
It was a stupid thing to ask. A ridiculous thing. Even if she answered that she was, she would cast him off if she knew he had thought to risk her reputation by ending their betrothal.
Those pink lips curled upward, slowly, and her eyelashes lowered to further soften her expression.
“I am. But I wish to be more than that, Christian.” She tilted her chin up a little higher, her cheeks turning rosy. If he hadn’t been watching closely, he would’ve missed the flicker of her eyes when they left his to look at his mouth, then came back up. Her blush deepened.
Could she be thinking—be facing a similar temptation to his? A gentle, but irresistible force pulled him forward. Christian bent down, watching her carefully, ready to pull away if she showed even the slightest hint of hesitation or surprise. He prayed he wouldn’t see disgust. But Rebecca, the beautiful, sweet, persistent woman, rose up to meet him and their lips touched in the most perfect kiss.
Her lips were softer than he expected, smooth, and warm. For all the gentleness of the contact, brief as it was, it lit a fire in him that spread from his pounding heart through his limbs. His very soul ignited, and the wonder of it made him long to wrap her in his embrace, to hold her close and explore the heady feeling. The strength of that desire checked him, shocking him.
He pulled back, enough to look into her eyes. They were closed, but fluttered open softly, and she started to smile. Rebecca raised herself up again, standing on her toes, and placed a kiss upon his cheek. The sweet innocence of the gesture made him tamp down on his feelings more severely.
He cleared his throat and took himself in hand. Their interlude, under the shade of the ancient chestnut trees, was hardly appropriate. He ought to apologize. Ought to promise it would not happen again, and he opened his mouth to do so—
Rebecca squeezed his hand and tugged him forward, the smile still on her lips. She said nothing, her look was one of pleasure and peace, and he would not disturb her cheerfulness again today. That she could smile, could still wish to hold his hand, after all he had told her, after he pressed his advantage and kissed her, made his heart swell and his head light with relief.
I’ve made a terrible mistake, he realized. Several. They walked in silence, his mind churning up thoughts of the letter asking for a way to end the marital arrangement, his desire to protect his heart, and that kiss.
No. I will not regret that. Though she might. He very nearly sighed aloud, but one look at Rebecca’s glowing expression as they neared the house kept him from making a sound. She thought, and accepted, that they were to wed. She didn’t know about his doubts.
What am I doing to us both? He didn’t have an answer.
Chapter Nineteen
The men went shooting early the next morning, before the day grew warm. This left the ladies a morning to pass at their leisure. Aunt Jacqueline opted to stay in her rooms, composing letters. She only spoke to Rebecca long enough to forbid her from going to the village, or to visit Christine again. These were punishments, the former for daring to commission a gown and the latter for staying overlong at her sister’s house the day before. Aunt Jacqueline said nothing of Julia, so at least that secret was safe for the time being.
Since the other young ladies had agreed to go to the village, amusing themselves by driving the gigs the earl and marquess lent them for that purpose, this left Rebecca a great deal of blessed quiet.
Taking up her journal and Mansfield Park, Rebecca went out into the open air of a beautiful summer morning. The grass was dewy and damp, which meant finding something other than a patch of it to sit upon.
At the front of the house there was an accommodating stone bench beneath one of the elms. Though the earl’s ancestors obviously had a great liking for chestnut trees, there were other varieties to be found on the grounds. And elms were tall, bushy sorts of trees, which struck her as rather friendly.
She slipped onto the bench and opened her journal first. Taking up her pencil and biting her lip, she hesitated. Dared she write about her first kiss? It had been beautiful and gentle, and yet stirred within her heart a desire for so much more.
If Christian kissed her like that, it must mean he was attracted to her. If he was attracted to her, could he not also come to love her?
For a long time, she stared down at the paper, unable to form any words. Perhaps writing of her time with her sisters would be easier. She began there, with her surprise at learning of Julia’s presence, then her delight in baby William, and her relief that Christian got on well with her family.
All of those feelings she could express adequately, and she recounted her day faithfully and descriptively. Then she came to writing about Christian.
It was hard to imagine how a boy of fifteen years faced being uprooted, given into the care of someone who detested his language, to be an object of ridicule among those who ought to have been his peers.
Her heart ached for
him, and it was in this frame of mind that she wrote of their kiss. Her pencil did not do it justice.
She sighed and stared at the book in frustration. She loved writing nearly as much as she loved reading. Normally, the words she sought came easily. Her sisters were forever telling her how much they enjoyed her letters—how they laughed or cried over what she wrote to them, her descriptions apt and her words eloquent.
How did one describe what had overcome her in the brief contact of Christian’s lips against hers? She’d been happy, but what an insipid word. Blissful? That was nearer the truth.
The words didn’t come this time.
She closed the little book in frustration and took up Mansfield Park with a huff. She adjusted herself on the bench, after glancing around to ensure no one was about, and laid down on her stomach. The cool stone made her shudder, but it would warm from her body heat soon enough. Propping herself up on her elbows, Rebecca tried to forget her own difficulties in favor of reading more about Fanny Price and the oblivious Edmund Bertram.
Rebecca lost herself in reading to the point that she didn’t hear the approach of a carriage until the driver shouted, startling her enough that she raised up to see who had come.
Her blood ran colder than the stone bench and her stomach gave a faint dip that nearly made her sick.
The Devon carriage stood before the house, four white horses pawing at the ground while drivers and footmen scurried about the vehicle. Rebecca slowly lowered herself against the bench, hoping she had not been seen. The shade was the only thing hiding her, though her dress was a muted violet that would blend well with the stone.
The tall, straight-backed figure of her father passed between the carriage and the house, entering it without even looking behind him. Rebecca relaxed, glad to escape his notice.
Then she saw another figure, also tall, and gangly, walk up the steps of the earl’s home.
She sat up quickly and took a stumbling step forward. Dare she?
“Harry,” she shouted, waving her arms in the air like a lunatic.
Her brother heard her and turned, then raised a hand to his eyes to block the sun. She knew the instant he recognized her, as his whole posture changed and he waved back. Then he pointed to the house and at her. He wanted her to come inside. She supposed he couldn’t very well join her without their father noticing Harry’s absence. Rebecca waved back and gathered her books, then went to the side of the house at a run.
As quickly as she could manage, she was up the servants’ staircase and in her room, ringing for Hettie.
Rebecca hadn’t damaged her gown, but she knew it wasn’t the thing to wear in front of her father. Unfortunately, she would need to put on something of a finer make, and that meant a great deal of flounces and lace. When Hettie arrived, Rebecca didn’t give her even a moment to speak before she started issuing orders.
Though she couldn’t trust the maid with her secrets, Rebecca knew Hettie was quite excellent at her job. In less than a quarter of an hour, Rebecca’s dress had been changed to a bright green gown. The color always made her feel a trifle ill when she wore it, but it had the requisite lines and frills her aunt insisted was the height of fashion.
After one last glance in the looking glass, Rebecca thanked Hettie for her help and hurried from the room. She had no wish to see her father. But Harry hadn’t been to see her in three months at least. She adored her younger brother. Though four years separated them in age, they’d become close.
After they lost their mother, Julia had taken to looking after all of them, but Harry preferred Rebecca’s company to the other sisters. He would steal away to her room sometimes, when he woke from a bad dream, and she would read to him until he fell asleep or the sun rose, whichever came first.
An obliging footman informed her that the new guests were in the morning room with the countess. Some of the tension left Rebecca’s shoulders. Her father wouldn’t be too harsh in front of Virginia.
She entered the room, her eyes finding Harry standing near the window, before she necessarily turned to her father and made her curtsy.
“Father, what a surprise. I did not think we would see you in Kettering this summer.” There. Each word was polite without being overly warm or standoffish.
Her father grimaced and came forward, his cool blue eyes taking in her gown and hair, then studying her face. “I understand I am not the only surprise guest. Lord Easton is here.” Though there was no accusation in his tone, his eyes narrowed. He knew she had managed to invite the viscount to the country.
“Isn’t it lovely that my cousin invited him, too?” Rebecca said as smoothly as she could. There could be no weakness, no tremor or uncertainty in her voice, if she was to make certain he didn’t believe her to be the one who instigated the invitation.
Thankfully, Virginia understood. “It seemed right to do so, given the announcement of your betrothal. What better way for young people to get to know one another than at a house party? They are well-chaperoned and have all sorts of amusements to enjoy.” Virginia came forward and deftly took her uncle’s arm. “And now you are here, it will only add to the occasion. How long will you be at your estate, Uncle?”
“A fortnight,” he answered evenly. Though he didn’t much care for Virginia, he would never be openly rude to the wife of an earl.
“That is lovely news. You must come to dinner this evening. It will be delightful to have you. I’m certain my mother will look forward to seeing her dear brother. I will seat you together, of course.”
Rebecca nearly giggled at the way her father’s head jerked when he heard that suggestion. Virginia’s tone, light and careless, didn’t at all indicate her words were meant as a threat.
“I am afraid I will be needed at my estate for the time being. There are things I must settle there before I may socialize. Perhaps another evening.”
Virginia pursed her lips as though disappointed, but she nodded her understanding. “Of course. I will send you a schedule of our events. You and Horace are more than welcome to join us any time. But Uncle, won’t you sit with me a moment? There is a matter I would consult with you about. I have sought my mother’s advice, but I would like to hear what you have to say.” With skill, cunning, and a guileless smile, Virginia steered Father away and allowed Rebecca to turn and greet her brother.
Harry was taller than when Rebecca had last seen him and looked as though he had been all stretched out. His hands, which had always been large, completely engulfed hers when he lifted them.
“Rebecca,” he said, his voice a trifle scratchy. “I cannot believe you’re getting married.”
Glancing over her shoulder at their occupied father, Rebecca took her brother’s wrist and pulled him quickly from the room, saying loudly, “You absolutely must see what the earl has done to the gallery.”
Harry wisely closed his mouth and followed until they were down one long hallway and then in the family portrait gallery. He tugged out of Rebecca’s grasp at that point and reached out to take her shoulders and pull her into an embrace.
Somehow, the boy was taller than she was. Rebecca’s eyes filled with tears as she returned the hug. When had he grown up? When had she?
“Are you all right?” Harry asked, his voice more subdued. “Father hasn’t exactly been gentle in his talk of this arrangement. He seems…somewhat obsessed over it.”
Rebecca chuckled, the sound a little dampened by her tears, and stepped back. “I am fine, Harry. I will admit to being terribly uncertain at first, but I have come to know the viscount better this week past. I think we will get on well together. If anything, that should please our father.”
Harry narrowed his eyes at her. “I would like to meet Lord Easton. I’m sorry to hear all the men are gone shooting. I’m not certain how long father will stay in the house with Aunt Jacqueline here and no one else to impress. He did say he wanted a private word with you, though.”
Rebecca brushed aside that comment without concern. After all, she’d done nothin
g to upset her father this time.
“The gentlemen said they would be back at luncheon. Surely that is not too far off. I am certain Virginia will persuade Father to stay that long, at least. The promise to speak to the earl will likely keep him here.” She winced as she spoke, realizing how disrespectful the words sounded. But they were true, and Harry’s nod said that he knew it as well as she did.
“What were you doing under that tree?” Harry asked, looking out one of the long windows that faced the front lawn. “I didn’t even see you there until you shouted at me.”
“I was reading,” she admitted with a shrug.
“Something scandalous?” Harry asked with a crooked smile. Oh, he knew her well.
“Only according to our aunt’s idea of the word.” Rebecca grimaced and folded her arms, though she failed to hold in what she most wished to say. “Just you wait, Harry. When I’m married, I will fill an entire room with novels and then invite you to come and stay to read them all with me.”
Harry chuckled and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “I hope so. I’d much rather spend summer holidays with you than at Whitewood.” He shuddered as he named their family estate. “That house is cold and empty without you girls flouncing about.”
Rebecca gasped in pretended horror. “I do not flounce, Horrible Horace, and you know it.”
He laughed. “Come, let’s go for a walk in the gardens. Then if Father doesn’t agree to stay he might at least consider leaving me behind when we aren’t readily found.”
“School has made you devious, Harry.” She linked her arm through his and pulled him to the music room. They went through the secret passage and the servants’ stair, avoiding detection. She supposed she had become devious, too, even without the excuse of school.
As they strolled about the back gardens, Rebecca made it a point to keep Harry talking of himself. She asked him questions about school, his friends, his summer holiday, and every topic she thought a boy would enjoy expounding upon. Though he possessed a young man’s typical aptitude for short responses, after a few minutes he was speaking more freely and easily.
Miss Devon's Choice: A Sweet Regency Romance (Branches of Love Book 5) Page 18