“That’s only because you’ve nothing in common with your husband,” Rebecca blurted, with immediate regret.
Tabitha cut her tongue to the side of her cheek and pondered this for a moment. Tension rose between them. Rebecca flashed forward and gripped her friend’s elbow, murmuring, “That was too far, Tabitha. I know it was. I’m terribly sorry. I just see you together and know that…”
“That we have very little to speak about?” Tabitha countered. “That I sit at the breakfast table and nod at whatever he says, regardless if I agree or not? Yes. That’s what my life is, Rebecca. I’m sorry that it appears so dreadful to you. In actuality, it’s quite pleasant to – to sit and listen to another’s opinions, to know that he requires nothing from you except quiet support.”
“And yet, you’ve so much more to offer,” Rebecca said, her voice rising.
“Admit that you’ve never had such stellar banter with another of your suitors,” Tabitha said, lifting a single finger and pressing it into Rebecca’s chest. “Admit it.”
“I cannot,” Rebecca said. Her stubbornness rose like a wave and crashed between them. “It’s simply not true.”
“As if you and Gregory ever had a single thing to discuss.”
“Owen’s and my only real discussion revolves around the fact that neither of us wish to marry the other!” Rebecca cried. “I don’t believe that to be any sort of thing to build a marriage from. Yet of course, perhaps it’s more common ground than you and Anthony have…”
“I’d ask you to kindly step away from the topic of my marriage,” Tabitha retorted.
Rebecca sighed. Her shoulders flung forward, and she dotted her handkerchief across her cheek once more. “I’m terribly sorry, Tabitha. Really, I am. I see your relationship with your husband, and I cannot align it with my view of you – nor with any sort of future I wish for myself. Yet of course, I know my place in society. I’m no imbecile.”
Rebecca paced the little stone path next to the rose bushes. With each inhale came the thick scent of roses, the moss that grew on the other side of the brick walls. Tabitha’s eyes followed her, and goodwill replied. Even without speaking. It was clear that neither girl wished to spend the afternoon in the midst of a wretched argument.
“I’m sure he’ll get us out of this,” Rebecca said finally, her eyes connecting with Tabitha’s.
“Surely,” Tabitha returned. “And if he doesn’t, I know someone who will be entirely displeased if you do marry him.”
Rebecca hardly listened. She shot towards the gate and creaked it open, murmuring, “What was that, Tabitha?”
“I just suspect that Augustus won’t be entirely pleased if you find yourself married to the likes of Owen…” Tabitha called.
But Rebecca was lost in thought, already stepping out onto the stone path that led back to the house. Tabitha whipped along after her, saying, “Goodness, Rebecca. I’ve only just told you that I can hardly keep up with you when you take on your manic runs.”
When Rebecca and Tabitha reached the back of the mansion once more, Rebecca gasped and gripped the door. “What was that you said about Augustus?”
Tabitha squeezed her knees through the fabric of her gown and scrunched her eyes tightly closed. “It really doesn’t matter, Rebecca.”
“I hope you know that I didn’t mean to ignore you…” Rebecca replied. “I just had the sudden feeling that if I remained in that rose garden a moment more, my mind might explode.” She hesitated, then cranked open the door to the back hallway. “All this stress has given me a single thought, dear Tabitha. I think we both deserve another slice of that raspberry crumble.”
The girls sat on the floor next to the table in the parlour, no longer masquerading as proper ladies. As it was later in the afternoon, Molly suggested that they pair their crumble with glasses of wine, which they accepted with wild, childlike grins. Molly tapped the glasses before them as they barrelled through several rounds of gossip. Rebecca, slightly conscious that Tabitha had tried to explain Augustus’s affection toward her, especially since she’d heard Tabitha’s conversation with her husband during that recent morning, steered clear of Augustus, even as Tabitha tried to yank them that direction once more.
Later in the afternoon, her lips blotched red from wine, Tabitha said, “I wonder, what will you and Owen do the next time you see one another?”
“You mean, the morning I’m dressed in my wedding gown, rushing through the centre of town?” Rebecca returned.
“I’m sure you’ll see him soon,” Tabitha said. “In fact, I heard a rumour that he’ll be at Zelda’s garden party next week.”
“The blonde from Augustus’s?” Rebecca asked. “I can’t imagine a single reason I’d like to attend such an event.”
“Darling, you must! All I do is sit in my house and sew and wait for parties like this. I know that in the next year, I’ll have a child. This makes this summer my final one for such affairs, at least for a number of years. Please, Rebecca.”
Rebecca’s eyes rolled back in her skull. “You’re so dreadful, Tabitha. You know precisely when to utilise guilt to your advantage. They should consider using you in court.”
Tabitha flung forward and wrapped her arms around Rebecca’s neck. Rebecca sighed, yet felt a grin lurch up toward her ears. Her engagement to Owen, her silly fights with Tabitha. It all felt like a game, one that required last-minute invention of different rules.
Chapter 13
Rebecca’s stomach stirred with resentment. She perched at the edge of the carriage seat, whilst Anthony assisted Tabitha. Then Anthony shot up and brushed his hands across his knees. His beaming eyes felt childlike and idiotic, and Rebecca’s nostrils flared out. She forced herself to keep her lips pressed shut.
“What an exciting event!” Anthony said. “I daresay I haven’t attended a garden party since before we were married, darling. It must have been our own. The engagement party. Don’t you remember?”
“Of course she remembers,” Rebecca replied, her brow high. “It was only last summer. We were all there. One isn’t required to leaf through the back alleys of one’s mind to discover it. You served quail. I wore a yellow dress. Tabitha wept because she drank too much wine.”
Tabitha’s eyes flashed towards Rebecca, flickering dangerously. “I don’t remember crying.”
“Perhaps that was me, then,” Rebecca returned.
“Regardless, it really is a pleasure to join the two of you,” Anthony said. He wrapped his hand around Tabitha’s and squeezed it, beaming. “I’ve heard a rumour that your fiancé will be amongst us?”
“It’s imperative that you keep this news to yourself, Anthony,” Tabitha said, seemingly sensing the anger that sizzled behind Rebecca’s eyes. “They haven’t yet announced it. Nothing is set in stone.”
“I’ll be on my best behaviour,” Anthony replied. “Neither of you need worry about me.”
The number of insults that sprung to Rebecca’s mind regarding Anthony seemed to drift longer and longer. But she pressed her lips shut and gazed out of the window as the moors rushed past in a symphony of colour: green and light yellow and the bright blue sky above. Here, Anthony spouted some poetics regarding the late springtime and all its wonder, words Rebecca immediately squashed from her mind. All she yearned to do was tease him about his idiocy.
Zelda lived in a large estate, a fifteen-minute carriage ride from Tabitha and Anthony’s home. Tabitha and Anthony had apparently attended a party there the previous summer, prior to their engagement, while Rebecca had never been. When the wheels crunched to a halt beneath them, she refused to wait for Anthony’s gentlemanly surge towards the door.
She hopped out without him, lifting her skirts just in the nick of time, and then slipped out of the way to allow Anthony and Tabitha onto the path. From the garden came the sound of string instruments, the dull hum of conversation. Rebecca’s heart leapt into her throat, although she detested the reason why.
The thought of Owen Crauford, potentially fli
rting with the likes of the overly blonde and beautiful Zelda, wrapped a tight, jealous hand around her throat. She lifted her chin and paused for a moment, waiting for Anthony and Tabitha to join her. Then together they strode towards the garden entrance.
Prior to their arrival, however, Augustus slipped out from the garden gate. His smile broadened upon sight of Rebecca. Although Rebecca almost willed it, she had no physical response to his appearance.
“Good evening!” Augustus said. He bounded towards them, reached for Rebecca’s hand, and tapped down a tender kiss. “Tabitha. Anthony. Marvellous to see you again. I don’t imagine I’ve seen the two of you together since your wedding. Beautiful affair.”
Tabitha thanked him with an overly bright voice. Rebecca kept her eyes forward, despite their desire to roll back. Together, the four of them entered the garden party, a full-flung affair of nearly thirty guests, many of whom were approximately Rebecca’s age, on the brink of the end of their courting years, marriage-hopefuls with their eyes on potential prizes. One could feel the simmering sexual tension in the air, the furtive glances, cast across the flowers and wine table.
“Rebecca, tell me. You’re a frequent reader of the Greeks, are you not?” Augustus asked suddenly, cosying up closer to Rebecca.
But Rebecca felt far too frantic, her eyes still scanning for her dearly beloved, Owen Crauford. She cleared her throat and nodded slightly, enough to keep Augustus occupied.
“Wonderful! Rebecca, I wondered about your interpretation of The Iliad. You see, I’ve recently returned to it, and I can’t quite…”
Rebecca strung her finger into the air, forcing Augustus to pause. Her eyes had locked onto Owen Crauford, speaking conspiratorially with Theo across the garden.
“What is it?” Augustus asked. His eyes drew a line from Rebecca to Theo and Owen. “Ah! I see. What sort of chaos will you craft tonight? I’ve heard that your engagement is on the brink of announcement, which means one thing only…”
Rebecca’s eyebrow shot high. “Whatever do you mean? Has the gossip circulated?”
“News of your impending engagement has made the rounds, so to speak,” Augustus affirmed. “Although of course, like me, many are waiting with bated breath, wondering what will happen next. I’ve also heard that Owen has a similar mindset to you. That he weasels his way out of his various romantic engagements, and that he’s of the mind to do it again.”
Rebecca swallowed, her stomach tossing with sudden fire. “Will you excuse me for a moment, Augustus?”
“As long as you promise to return, so that we may discuss…”
“Of course, Augustus. I’ll be only just a moment.”
Rebecca shot out across the garden. Her mind flickered to thoughts of her current appearance: a light pink gown, its corset tight around her waist, cinching it tight, and her breasts surging over the top of the fabric. Her red hair had curled itself into perfect ringlets, which bounced across her shoulders as she walked. If the eyes of the onlookers at the party were any indication, she looked remarkable, beautiful. Not the sort of woman Owen Crauford could avoid. She wouldn’t allow it.
Just before she reached him, she paused to grip a glass of wine. She lifted the glass in a ladylike manner, her eyes upon Owen, and as she sipped, she watched with pleasure as he shifted his gaze towards her, eyeing the way her breasts tilted up, the long stretch of her neck as she drank. When she’d finished drinking, she allowed her eyes to stumble upon Owen, as though it hadn’t been purposeful. Slowly, a small smile appeared on her lips.
Just as she’d suspected he would, he shared a smile in return.
This was all the invitation she required. She carried her wine towards him, her eyes connected with his. Beside him, the handsome Theo spun round to see what had caught Owen’s attention. The look on his face told Rebecca everything she needed to know. Theo approved of this match for his friend – or, in fact, was jealous of it. His expression echoed the others in the crowd.
“Good evening,” Rebecca said, upon reaching Owen.
Owen lifted his glass and clinked hers. “Marvellous to run into you. I was just told minutes ago that it’s rumoured my engagement will be announced soon.”
Rebecca’s smile floundered for a moment. “I’ve heard just this news as well.”
“Remarkable, isn’t it? That we haven’t been told the news of this announcement until now?” Owen replied. “I suppose our fathers like to keep us on our toes.” His eyes turned toward Theo as he added, “Theo here has never been forced into any sort of matrimony. Have you, Theo?”
Theo waved a flat-palmed hand and said, “Ignore him. Pay attention to me. My name is Theo – Theo Ayles. I’ve heard a bit about you, although I’m sure Owen has left out the best of it. He’s apt to do that.”
Rebecca slipped her free hand into Theo’s and curtsied in greeting. “Wonderful to meet you, Theo. Have you heard Owen’s newest assertion? He refuses to marry me. And I, him.”
Theo’s eyes glittered. It was clear he’d heard the news, probably told over and over again, in a manner that both annoyed and thrilled him. “I daresay that’s a conversation for a far different time, don’t you? Here we are, at the party of the beautiful Zelda. In the wake of our recent party at dear Augustus’s, Zelda and I have found a sort of understanding.”
Rebecca’s mouth turned into a round ‘O’. Her eyes turned across the garden to find the stunning Zelda in a tight-fitting yellow dress that seemed to make her blonde hair as bright as the sun. Zelda fell into a flurry of laughter, her tender hands wrapped over her stomach, her eyelashes fluttering. Whoever she spoke to, a stranger Rebecca had never encountered, laughed along. It wasn’t clear if the laughter was staged or real.
“She’s really quite something,” Rebecca said finally.
“Quite. And, admittedly, a bit of an imbecile,” Theo said. “However, she really knows how to piece together a proper party.” He gestured towards the string orchestra, made up of six players, seated together, brows furrowed as their bows swept over the strings.
Zelda’s conversation with the stranger broke up seconds later. Theo knocked back his glass of wine, letting the liquid course across his tongue, and then excused himself. He sauntered towards Zelda, whose face brightened upon his arrival. This left Rebecca alone with Owen Crauford once more. Although she still hadn’t turned her eyes back to him, could hardly acknowledge him, she felt his eyes upon her, beating down.
“I suppose I should say that you do look quite beautiful, Rebecca Frampton,” he said, although his voice simmered with sarcasm.
Rebecca yanked her face back to him and gave him a smirk. “I hope you shower me with similar compliments throughout the many years of our prosperous marriage.”
“Only when they’re truthful,” Owen returned.
“I imagine the thought of someone’s beauty remains truthful, as long as true love exists behind it,” Rebecca said, arching her brow.
“You sound like an optimist. I’d hate to think that’s the sort of person you are,” Owen said.
“Perhaps I am. An optimist. I’ve never considered myself as such. This would explain why I disrupted so many of my previous engagements. Always hope for something better…” Rebecca said, her voice still snide.
Zelda called them into the house for dinner, her little hand flapped about as she articulated it. Owen leaned forward and said, “I suppose I don’t need to add to the rumours. I’ll join Theo and Zelda for dinner. Perhaps I’ll find you later, so that we can continue our reckless banter. Hmm?”
Rebecca’s heart surged into her throat. Was it possible that she genuinely yearned for him to find her? Certainly, she adored the playful back-and-forth, the feeling that their words were articulate and meaningful, like chess pieces.
As she walked across the garden in a haze, she stumbled upon Augustus, Tabitha and Anthony. Augustus seemed in the midst of telling them about a poem he was in the midst of writing. Tabitha, ever suited to such things, nodded along with semi-genuine interest, whil
st Anthony’s smile had downturned almost completely. When Anthony spotted Rebecca once more, he nearly leapt from his skin.
A Wicked Duke's Prize: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 12