Carola Dunn (25 page)

Rebecca clenched her fists in her lap, determined not to reveal her eagerness for further news.

“Does Lady Danville bring her son and daughter?” asked Miss Curtis. “I quite long to meet your dear little grandchildren. They must be the best behaved children in the world, I am sure.”

“Yes, and that brings me to another matter. Rebecca, I informed Muriel that you are in want of a situation, and she writes that she will be happy to employ you in the nursery. It is excessively obliging of her, I vow, but then Muriel always was a dutiful daughter. So you need look no further.

“Indeed, Miss Nuthall, you are very much beholden to Lady Danville,” declared Emma Curtis.

“It is very kind of Cousin Muriel,” Rebecca had to agree. At the same time she had resolved not to accept unless she exhausted every other possibility. She liked the family, but living in John’s brother’s household she would be unable to avoid seeing him now and then, and that would be agony.

The next day she had been offered a position as governess with a family residing near Bath. She had met and liked the mother and two small girls, and she would be well paid. It seemed ideal. Yet here she was, a day later, unable to put pen to paper to accept.

Rebecca’s pride was waning. She must see John once before she went away. If she had already arranged her future he could not think she was pursuing him.

She went back to her letter.

As she dipped her pen in the inkstand, a hackney clattered to a halt just below her window. It was too early for genteel visitors, and the carriage was too close to the house for her to see who stepped out. There was a sharp rat-a-tat-tat at the door, and she heard the sound of Donald’s voice, followed by his footsteps clumping up the stairs. Lady Parr was forever scolding him for his elephantine tread.

The footman opened the parlour door. “It’s a gentleman, miss, says he’s your uncle. A Mr. Exbridge.”

Rebecca shivered. For a moment a wild, unreasoning terror overwhelmed her, then she forced herself to remember that she was not afraid of him any more. She remembered the cell in the Peter-Paul fortress, and the endless hours wondering whether John was going to die in her arms. It was like looking down a long, dark tunnel, and the little, angry man at the far end was her uncle.

Donald’s voice seemed to echo from the tunnel. “Miss? Are you all right? I’ll tell him you’re not at home.”

“No, let him come up,” she said calmly. “Only leave the door open a crack and wait just outside, if you please.”

There was no sense in taking chances. Nonetheless she was confident, in control of the situation. She was writing when she heard the door open again and Mr. Exbridge snapped, “Rebecca!”

“I shall be with you in just a minute, Uncle. Pray be seated.” She could almost feel the outrage directed between her shoulderblades, but when she turned to him a moment later he was sitting down and there was as much puzzlement on his face as fury.

“A fine greeting this is, Niece, when I have come all the way to London to fetch you home.”

“You came all the way to Lincolnshire before, sir, with no better success than you can expect now.”

“Ah, but your fine friends are not here to protect you now, my girl. Her ladyship writes that you have lost your position and that she cannot offer you a home.” He was sneering now, the confusion gone as he recalled her invidious situation. “So off you go this instant to pack your traps and we’ll catch the Mail this very evening.”

“No, Uncle, I shall not go with you. Indeed, I wonder why you want me. There is no love lost between us, I think.”

“The why is my business.” He rose and advanced upon her. “I’ll have no more of your defiance or you know what’s coming to you!”

She kept her seat, shaken more by the memory of his violence than by the threat. Another step closer and she would call the footman.

He took that step, raising his hand. The door flew back with a crash and John strode into the room.

His fists were clenched and his dark eyes burned in his thin, pale face. His gaze was fixed on Mr. Exbridge, who took a step backward in alarm.

“Beckie?” John glanced at Rebecca.

“I am all right,” she said softly, though inside her coiled the fear that he would once again resort to blows.

Perhaps he saw it in her face, for he deliberately relaxed, letting his breath out in a long sigh. He too stepped back, to lean against the wall, watchful.

“I beg your pardon,” he drawled, “I fear I interrupt. Pray do not regard my presence.”

“My uncle was about to take his leave, my lord. He was kind enough to invite me to return to Buckinghamshire with him, but as I have been offered an excellent position I shall be unable to accept. Donald!”

The footman appeared instantaneously and looked about with suspicion. “Yes, miss?”

“Mr. Exbridge is leaving. Show him out, if you please.”

“My pleasure, miss.” He grinned. “This way, sir.” The squire glanced uncertainly from the short but solid servant to John, tall and powerful despite his thinness, and then to Rebecca. Her calm dignity and resolute bearing appeared to be the deciding factor.

“I hope you will deign to visit your poor old aunt and uncle one of these days,” he said with uneasy joviality. “For old times’ sake. Well, good-bye, then.”

He put out his hand but Rebecca did not take it. She bowed slightly.

“Good-bye, Uncle. Pray convey my...compliments to my aunt.”

“My lord.” The squire’s nod was curt, accompanied by a glower of intense dislike. John did not respond.

Mr. Exbridge made his ignominious retreat. Donald went after him, closing the door with a click distinctly audible in the silence that followed their departure.

“Will you not sit down, my lord?” Rebecca’s voice sounded brittle in her own ears. Her nerves were ready to snap.

“Thank you, no. I am no longer an invalid.” He moved to the table, leaned on it with both hands, towering over her. He was angry. “How could you agree to meet that man alone? Of all the ill-considered, muttonheaded starts!”

“Do not scowl at me so!”

“Suppose I had not come in just then?”

“I should have sent him to the rightabout. I am not afraid of him any more. Besides, I had Donald wait just outside the door.”

“You cannot rely on servants, and someone else’s servant at that,” he said impatiently. “Marry me, Beckie. Let me take care of you.”

Astounded, she gazed up at him, incredulous, then joyful. All too quickly, she returned to earth. From the moment she had met him he had protected her, rescued her from danger and distress. Gallant, chivalrous, he saw marriage as the best way to fulfil the obligation he had taken upon himself. His offer was almost unbearably tempting—but she wanted his love.

Besides, she told herself, turning away, he would come to regret it. His family would object to her undistinguished, though respectable, birth and her lack of fortune. One day, perhaps, he might find a woman to love, someone as lively and intrepid as Teresa. She would become a burden to him.

“Beckie?”

“No.” She had sworn never to allow a man power over her. Her uncle’s visit reminded her of her vow. “No, I cannot.”

He laid one hand gently on her shoulder, trying to turn her towards him. If she looked into his beloved face, if he tried to argue with her, her resolve would fail.

She broke away and ran from the room.

* * * *

“Damnation!” John swore softly. In his frustration and despair he drove his fist at the little table, pulling back at the last moment. Violence, even violence that would only hurt himself, was no answer. Was that why she had refused him? After all this time was she still unable to trust him not to react with blows?

He sank wearily into the chair she had just vacated, his head in his hands.

All his plans for the future turned to dust and ashes. There was no point in regaining his strength if he was never again to hold her soft slenderness in his arms. He might as well lapse back into a life of dissipation if she was not going to be there to encourage and applaud his efforts. He needed her belief in him, and there was so much he wanted to give her in exchange. Not only material wealth, but all the tenderness and passion, all the devotion that, unexpressed, was tearing him apart.

He glanced around the gloomy parlour. The dark green curtains, the maroon upholstery and faded carpet increased his depression. When he entered the room, full of hope, the sun had been shining on Rebecca’s hair. How splendidly she had defied her uncle! Perhaps she was right, she did not need his feeble protection.

Her letter, lying on the table in front of him, caught his eye. Her firm, rounded handwriting was so plain that he took in the meaning of the few lines without intending to pry.

At least he could spare her the unpleasantness of going among strangers. His immediate impulse was to tear the paper to shreds, but again he restrained himself. As soon as he reached home he would ask Teresa to come here and assure Rebecca of a place in her household.

The sooner that was done, the better. He pushed himself to his feet and left the room.

The footman was waiting in the hall. After one look at John’s face he held his tongue and opened the front door with alacrity. Remembering the man’s readiness to aid Rebecca, John tossed him a sovereign.

“Watch over her.”

“Right, m’lord.”

His carriage was waiting. A few minutes later he was back at Stafford House, enquiring of the butler as to Teresa’s whereabouts.

“I believe Lady Graylin is in the nursery, my lord.” Boggs’s usually expressionless face was concerned. “Shall I send James to ask her ladyship to step down? Allow me to lend your lordship a hand up the stair.”

John shook his head and plodded upward. He must look as fagged out as he felt. When at last he reached the nursery, Teresa’s anxious exclamation confirmed it.

“John, you are exhausted! Come and sit down at once.” Sinking into the wing chair by the fire, he summoned up a smile for Esperanza, sitting at the table with her favourite chalks.

“I’ll be ever so quiet, Uncle John, so’s you can sleep,” she promised. “Gayo’s not here so there won’t be any noise. ‘Less the baby cries.”

“Where’s Gayo?”

“He’s gone back to my dressing room. It would only worry Muriel to think that her children might be exposed to his occasional lapses from propriety.”

“He said a naughty word this morning,” Esperanza announced with considerable satisfaction.

“Hush now.” Teresa kissed her daughter and took the chair opposite John. “Do you want to talk?”

“I want to ask a favour.” His arms felt heavy and useless, empty. He raised his voice. “Annie, will you let me hold my godson?”

“Of course, my lord.”

She was ironing again; the sweet smell of starch filled the room. She put down the iron with care and went to the cradle in the corner. The baby was awake. He cooed and gurgled at his godfather, waving his little arms. A measure of peace entered John’s bruised heart.

“What can I do?” Teresa asked quietly.

“Will you go to Rebecca, right away, and tell her you want her? Tell her you
need
her.”

“You were going to do that.”

“I didn’t have a chance.” He lowered his voice and glanced at Esperanza, but she was once more absorbed in her drawing. “Oh, I made a real mull of it! Her uncle was there when I arrived and I forgot all my pretty speeches.”

“Her uncle? I have never heard her speak of him.”

“She had rather forget him. He came to fetch her from Tom’s, before you arrived there, and after I sent him away with a flea in his ear she told me something of her life in his house. I expect I ought not to tell you, but I want you to understand her.” Repeating what Rebecca had said, and what he himself had seen, of Mr. Exbridge, John found his impotent fury reviving.

The baby, half asleep, stirred and whimpered in his arms. He strove to remain calm.

“That explains a great deal,” said Teresa thoughtfully when he finished the story. “I don’t quite understand, though, why the man is so eager to have her restored to his custody.”

“He lost control of her income when she left. A paltry sum, yet her keep probably cost him no more than half of it. If she had stayed there no doubt he expected to cow her into handing over the principal when it is passed on to her. However, do you not think his real motive might be resentment at losing control over her, rather than the money?”

“Possibly. He cannot be accustomed to defiance. Yes, I daresay you are right. What a dreadful creature! Rebecca must trust you a great deal to have confided such a shocking tale to you.”

“I hoped so. I believed so. Yet she was greatly shocked by that wretched duel, and worse so when I knocked Exbridge down, though it was in her defence. For her sake I am learning to control my violent impulses, which are not frequent, I assure you! And I have never struck a woman since—” he smiled bleakly, “—oh, I was six or so. I kicked a parlour maid and got the birching of my life.”

“You love Beckie greatly, do you not? Muriel and I knew you were attracted to her before we all left for Russia. Before you did, I suspect.”

“I did not realize how I felt until she was arrested. Even Kolya suspected before I did. What a slowtop I was! Then after we rescued her from the fortress, she was under my protection and I could not honourably pay my addresses. You cannot imagine how difficult it was to stand aloof. Later, of course, I was in a sense under her protection. At least, I was in no fit state to offer. And now I am free at last and I made a cake of myself. I did not even manage to tell her that I had arranged a comfortable future for her if she chose not to marry me. She refused me anyway. Do you think she is in love with Kolya? They were on the easiest terms, and he had more to do with saving her than I did.”

“Fustian! She was gratified by his flattering attentions, to be sure, but no more than any pretty young lady with her first admirer.”

“He thought of marriage. His father warned him off.”

“Did he, indeed! Still, it can have been no lasting passion or he would have defied Prince Volkov. You will not hesitate if you encounter opposition, will you?”