Carola Dunn (26 page)

“Of course not,” John said impatiently, “but that is beside the point since she will not have me.”

“Did she give you any reason?”

“No.” The strength of animation died out of him. “She ran from me.”

“Excellent,” said Teresa, to her cousin’s surprise and irritation. She stood up, the energetic grace of her movements unaltered in the years since he had first met her. “I had best be off to assure her of a place in our home. And you, my dear, had best stay right where you are and rest. You are burned to the socket. Annie, a footstool for his lordship, if you please. Chiquita, you have been behaving angelically. I shall be back shortly. Be good until I return and I shall take you to Gunter’s for an ice.”

“Lawks,” said Esperanza with an experimental air, “I druther have Aunt Beckie than an ice any day.”

Teresa laughed and swept out of the nursery, her vitality somehow leaving John more exhausted than ever.

“You know,” he said to Annie as she set in front of him a footstool decorated with worn needlepoint roses, “I always thought I wanted to marry someone just like your mistress.”

She shook her head indulgently. “Now Miss Teresa would never have done for you, my lord. Someone quite different’ll suit you a whole lot better, mark my words.”

Sighing, he raised his booted feet to the stool, settled the baby firmly in the crook of his arm, and rested his head against the back of the chair. His eyelids drooped. If only he were not so tired...

Chapter
21

Though nothing but embers remained in the fireplace, the bedchamber was still quite warm, for Lady Parr did not stint on coals. It was misery that chilled Rebecca as she huddled in the chair by the window. The sun had moved round to shine into the far end of the small back garden, its rays pitilessly illuminating the single leafless tree, the empty flower beds, the yellowing patch of lawn.

Rebecca saw herself withering away into a sere, loveless old maid, always taking care of other people’s children, never her own. Was she mad to have refused John? Was not her own love enough to build a marriage?

If he came to regret that he had wed her, he would never reproach her. Yet she could never be content, knowing he longed to be free. She weighed the chance of unhappiness with him against the certainty of long, lonely years without him, and could not decide whether she had made the right choice.

Despite her heartache, a gleam of triumph sneaked into her thoughts now and then. She had defied her uncle and won. Admittedly she had had help, but it was help she had requested. She had made preparations before receiving him, instead of waiting submissively. Even if John had not come in, she would have prevailed.

There had been murder in John’s eyes. For a moment she had been sure that her uncle was once more to be laid senseless at her feet. He had restrained himself, for her sake, she knew. He was fond of her. Was it enough? Should she have accepted him?

How thin and pale he was still! Under pressure from Cousin Adelaide, Rebecca had put on a little weight since arriving in London, but she could still feel her own ribs through her thick woollen dress. They were a pair of scarecrows, well matched. She smiled mirthlessly.

There was a knock at the door and the parlour maid stuck her head into the room. “Lady Graylin’s come, miss. She’s asking for you. In the drawing room.”

Teresa! Rebecca’s immediate impulse was to say she was not at home. How on earth was she to explain that she had forsaken Esperanza because a door had been closed too soon?

Suddenly she felt both foolish and guilty. She had been so taken up with her own emotions she had selfishly abandoned her duties because she was slighted, quite possibly by accident. At the very least she owed Teresa her most fervent apologies. She squared her shoulders. If she could face her uncle, she could face even this embarrassing situation.

“Pray tell Lady Graylin I shall be with her in a moment.”

Quickly she tidied her hair, once more severely braided. The dress she was wearing—she had scarcely noticed what she put on this morning—was a plain grey worsted morning gown, with high neck and long sleeves, that had served two winters at her uncle’s before she even came to London. It would have to do.

She hurried down to the drawing room. Teresa was standing near the hearth, examining with visible distaste a statue of the Egyptian jackal-god Anubis that graced the mantle.

“I always did dislike that thing excessively,” she remarked in a conversational tone, turning as she heard the door open. “My dear Rebecca, how happy I am to see you again.”

Rebecca curtsied, trying to stop her mouth quivering. It was impossible to force words past the lump in her throat. As she rose, she was enveloped in Teresa’s verbena-scented embrace and found herself crying on an azure velvet-clad shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed.

Teresa patted her back and led her to an elegant if uncomfortable sofa with arms in the shape of crocodiles’ grinning mouths.

“I cannot imagine where Lady Parr found these things, I vow! I had forgotten this particular monstrosity. Sit down now and tell me everything.”

Rebecca blew her nose. Interrupted by hiccups she tried to express her penitence. “It was shockingly wrong in me to have left Esperanza without a word. For weeks John had been my chiefest care. To tell the truth I had almost forgotten she was in my charge.”

“Why did you leave? Why not go with the others into my uncle’s house?” Teresa sounded more curious than reproachful.

“The door closed. Somehow it was impossible to go up to it and knock and ask to be admitted. It was silly of me to take affront. I daresay it was only a careless servant.”

“I am certain of it. Yet how should you have been able to think straight after what you endured in St Petersburg and on the voyage home? Andrew and I feel very much to blame for your sufferings.”

“Oh no, indeed I never thought...”

“But we are. Andrew has decided to quit the spy business and try for a respectable post in a more predictable country. On that basis, we hope you will come back to us.”

“You are not only asking because you feel responsible for what happened?”

“Fustian! We need you. I am in the family way again, and Chiquita misses you very much. When I offered to take her to Gunter’s she said, ‘Lawks, I druther have Aunt Beckie than an ice any day.’”

Rebecca could not help smiling. “She is a darling. I could come to you when you leave Stafford House.”

“Did John offend you in some way when he was here this morning?” Teresa asked in her usual forthright manner.

“John?” She was startled. “How do you know he was here?”

“He told me. In fact, he asked me to come and assure you that you have a home with us.”

“Then you only asked me back for his sake.”

“No, I asked you back for my sake and Chiquita’s. Which is not to say that I would not do so for John. I am very fond of him.”

“And he of you. He admires you prodigiously. You are the sort of woman he should marry, lively, adventurous, beautiful, well-born.”

“What a catalogue of virtues!” Teresa turned serious. ‘Yes, perhaps he does admire me, but I would not suit him as a wife. Andrew has the self-assurance to be able to cope with my starts. I used to think that John was equally confident. It was you who showed me to the contrary. He needs someone who will support, not challenge him, someone who believes in him, someone to whom he can feel protective, yet who is strong enough for him to turn to in his need, as he did to you when he was ill.” She paused. “You did not answer my question: has he offended you?”

“No, but how could I accept his offer when he was only being chivalrous? That’s what he said, just as you guessed it, ‘Let me protect you.’ If I were at Stafford House, he might try to persuade me to change my mind.”

“If chivalry was his only motive, then you need not fear that he will pursue you. After all, with Andrew and me you will be in no need of protection. But that was only a small part of it. To be sure it was chivalrous in him to arrange for your comfort if you do not choose to marry him, but he proposed because he is desperately in love. He is very unhappy. Do you dislike him so much you cannot bear his attentions?”

“No, oh no! It is not that. I am afraid I should give in if he asked me again.”

“And why should you not?” Teresa sounded satisfied.

Rebecca bowed her head. “I am a coward. I grew up seeing my uncle beat his wife, and I swore I would never put myself in a situation where that could happen.”

Teresa took her hand. “It must have been very terrible, but not all marriages are like that. You have seen others now, mine, and Muriel’s. Do you mean to go through life being afraid?”

“You cannot understand. You rescued Annie from the slave ship, and Muriel from the slaver when he abducted you. How would you know what fear is?”

“Who told you about the abduction? Muriel? What do you think would have happened if I had let her see how terrified I was? Bravery is doing what you can, even when you are frightened, just as you did on the way back from Russia. Besides, you have no reason whatsoever to fear John. He would, and nearly did, give his life for you.”

Rebecca was silent. From the moment when he had pulled her from the river, half dead and wholly at his mercy, John had never treated her with anything but the utmost gentleness. She had seen him refrain from violence under extreme provocation, because she was present. She trusted him.

Perhaps it was pride that had raised the issue, in an effort to postpone the capitulation she saw coming.

“Did he tell you that he loves me?” she asked hesitantly. Teresa’s brow wrinkled in an effort to recall precisely what he had said. “Not in so many words, but in a roundabout way. I could not be more certain of it.”

“Why did he not tell me? And he guessed where I was, why did he not get in touch sooner?”

“He is still not in very plump currant. He is angry at himself for his weakness, because he wants to be strong for you. Uncle Stafford says that John is making plans for a career in Parliament, and my guess is that he wanted to arrange everything before he asked for your hand. Not adequate reasons for delay, I daresay, but remember that he has been very ill. Surely you can forgive him.”

“I do, of course. But I have just refused him. I cannot run after him now!”

Teresa grinned. She stood up, straightened her elegant hat with its blue-dyed, curling ostrich feathers and pulled on her kid gloves.

“Chiquita is asking for you. Will you come and see her? And Annie is eager to show off the baby.”

“Wait, oh please wait.” Rebecca was half way to the door even as she spoke. “I shan’t keep you above a minute. My pelisse...I must put on a bonnet...Oh dear, this dress…”

“I shall not leave without you,” Teresa reassured her, but Rebecca did not take the time to change her gown.

Teresa had come in the duke’s landaulet, which was always put at her disposal when she was in London. Rebecca sat beside her, her hands clasped nervously, as the groom drove the short distance through the busy streets of Mayfair.

Suppose Teresa had mistaken John’s meaning. Suppose he had changed his mind after this morning’s meeting, or, worse still, scorned her for chasing after him. As the carriage turned the corner into Park Lane, Rebecca nearly begged the driver to stop and let her out.

It was too late. They pulled up before the imposing façade of Stafford House, the front door was opening, the vast marble entrance hall engulfed her. Meekly she followed Teresa up the grand sweep of the main stairway, then up a lesser stair. To her relief there was no sign of the duke or duchess.

They stopped in front of a door that was slightly ajar.

“Let me go first,” said Teresa. “The baby is likely sleeping and Chiquita’s greetings are enough to wake the dead. I shall bring her out here to you.”

She disappeared, and for a dreadful moment Rebecca thought that she had indeed been brought here only to see the children. Then Chiquita flew into her arms and it was impossible to feel anything but delight in her welcome.

At last the little girl’s enthusiasm calmed. Rebecca’s bonnet had been knocked askew. Teresa untied the ribbons, took it off, and set it on a nearby table.

“As I thought, the baby is asleep,” she said. “Annie is expecting you. Chiquita, let us see if Papa is home from the Foreign Office and would like to go with us to buy an ice. She gave Rebecca a little push towards the door. “Go on.”

The nursery was silent. Annie looked up as she entered, set aside her sewing and curtsied, beaming.

“It’s a real pleasure to see you again, Miss Beckie,” she said in a low voice.

“It is good to see you, too, Annie.”

Rebecca kissed the maid, who had gone through so much with her, but her gaze wandered about the room. John was sitting in a chair by the hearth, cradling a baby in his arms. He made no move to greet her, and she realized he was sleeping. His face was pale and tired, defenceless in relaxation.

All her doubts fled.

Walking softly, she went to him and kissed his forehead. He blinked up at her drowsily. She was distantly aware of Annie deftly whipping the baby from his clasp and departing.

Rebecca had had enough of lengthy explanations. “I love you,” she said.

John pulled her down onto his lap and his mouth took hers with a passionate hunger that was as satisfying as it was unexpected. His arms held her captive, straining her against himself as if he would never let her go. It was some considerable time later that he looked down at her with a tender, half teasing smile.

“Dearest Beckie, there is one thing I keep forgetting to tell you. I love you, too.”

Copyright © 1990 by Carola Dunn

Originally published by Walker

Electronically published in 2003 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228