Lord Clayborne's Fancy (30 page)

A few days before the arrival of the first guests for the wedding, and the day after Rebecca had entertained some neighbors to a musical evening, Clayborne found her in the small parlor gazing longingly out the window, a list with most of the items crossed off in front of her on the secretaire. She smiled up at him, trying to hide her weariness, and said, “I think the preparations for the wedding are well in hand.”

“I am more concerned with you than with the wedding. You’ve been working too hard. I didn’t bring you back to Gray Oaks to be a slave but to enjoy yourself. You may have a choice,” he said firmly, taking her hand and bringing her to her feet. “You may go to your room and rest, without a single list, mind you, or you may come for a drive with me in the curricle. Which is it to be?”

“I would love to go for a drive. Its such a  beautiful day” she sighed. “But I have things still to do.”

“Not for the next hour, you don’t. Now get your bonnet and I’ll expect you at the front door in fifteen minutes.”

“Such a tyrant!” she laughed. “I shall be ready.”

Clayborne drove her through the sunny country lanes and along the coast road. At first Rebecca talked of their guests and the wedding but she gradually relaxed into a companionable silence, enjoying the play of the light on the water.

“Could we walk on the beach?” she asked suddenly.

“Of course. We can do anything you wish.”

He tied the horse in the shade of some hawthorn trees and handed Rebecca down over the stones to the beach. Rushing like a child to the water, she sat down on the pebbles and, without the least embarrassment, pulled off her stockings and slippers. Her skirts held high with her hands, she waded into the water, squealing with delight as it washed about her legs. Clayborne was tempted to join her, but instead sat on the beach and watched her delight. Her bonnet hung back on her shoulders and the sun gleamed on her black locks as she wandered along, picking up stones with one hand and clutching her skirts in the other, though they inevitably dipped into the water.

After a while she joined Clayborne to sit on the beach while she let the sun dry her feet. They did not speak, but listened to the lapping of the water and the cries of the birds and watched the glinting of the sun on the water. It was a long time before Rebecca reluctantly reached for her stockings, saying, “I hate to leave. It’s so peaceful here.”

“We shall come again then.” Clayborne replied, setting the bonnet back on her head and tying the ribbon securely.

Rebecca chuckled and when Clayborne looked questioningly at her, said, “I could not help remembering how you kept pushing Lady Hillston’s hood back on her head at Vauxhall.”

It occurred to him that perhaps this snippet of his past should irritate him, but he could not help laughing. “Wretch! I would dearly have loved to see you and Mary in your disguises. Was I odious to you afterwards? You must have thought that very strange, coming from a man who had spent the evening with another woman.”

“No,” she whispered, “I... understood.”

Because he wanted to kiss her then, and feared to do so, he touched her lips gently with his finger. He could tell her now, tell her that he had come to believe her. Beg her to forgive his lack of trust.

Because if she could not, it would make her stay at Gray Oaks a misery, and she could not leave until the wedding was over and Elvira settled. Though it would suit him to unburden his heart, it would not be fair to her. She must be in a position to say no, and leave.

Rebecca raised her eyes to meet his. Why did he not kiss her? She could see that he wanted to, that he was rigidly controlling the impulse. He had been so very gentle with her since her return, never a reproachful glance, not a sharp word. No longer drawn into himself, he had been more like the Jason she remembered from their engagement. Still, when unaware of her observation, she had noticed his sad countenance. How she wished she could erase his troubles, and, oh, how she needed his love! Rebecca had very nearly worked up the nerve to stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek when he turned away to retrieve her reticule from the pebbles. With a sigh she took his arm for the climb up the bank to the curricle. “Some day soon I must show you my cartoons.”

“I have hoped you would. Shall you show me the ones of myself?” he taunted her.

“How do you know there are any of you?” she asked, but added, “You shall see them all.”

They drove back at a leisurely pace, discussing the guests who were expected soon. Mrs. Exton was likely to prove a troublesome member of the party, but Constance’s brother Charles and his wife were well-disposed to the match and were very pleasant people into the bargain. There were various other relations on both sides attending, but neither Clayborne nor Rebecca knew them and most would not stay above a night or two.

“Just remember, Rebecca, that Mrs. Lambert will be only too willing to see to everything necessary for the house guests. Don’t tire yourself. Constance will be disappointed if you don’t enjoy the wedding, you know,” Clayborne said as he handed her down from the curricle.

“You’re right, of course. I’m glad you took me out this afternoon, for I enjoyed myself and feel more rested. Thank you, Jason.”

“It was my pleasure. We shall do it again soon if you like.”

“After the wedding, if you please,” she laughed. “I shall not work my fingers to the bone, but there are still matters to be seen to and the wedding is less than a week away now.”

When Rebecca returned to the small parlor she was greeted enthusiastically by Mary and Elvira, desiring to know if they could use some materials they had found in the attic, and borrow her sewing basket. “What are the two of you up to?” Rebecca asked quizzingly.

“It’s a secret,” Mary explained. “A surprise we will have ready in a few days. Really, it’s for George and I promise you it will keep us all out of mischief for some days.”

“I find that singularly difficult to believe,” her sister retorted, “but you may have the material and the sewing basket. You will not do anything too dreadful, I trust.”

“It’s just for sport,” Elvira said, “and I think you will be quite pleased with it.”

“Run along then, and if I can help just let me know.” Rebecca waved them off.

Whatever the project was, it did seem to keep them occupied, for they were gone for the better part of the next few days, either in the stables or in the girls’ rooms. The guests had begun arriving and arrangements were completed for the wedding, but Elvira, Mary and George were rarely to be found.

Mrs. Exton grudgingly admitted that Mott was unexceptionable, but declared she did not envy her daughter the care of a four-year-old such as George. Charles Exton reminded her that he had often been told of his own extreme youth by his mother and thought he could not have been much less of a handful.

“Much worse, you were,” she declaimed proudly and assured Constance, with no heed to the contradiction, that little George was an angel compared with her brother at that age.

As matron of honor, Rebecca took part in the beautiful wedding with mixed emotions. The ceremony was impressively solemn, though the vague Mr. Rivers did lose his place twice, and Mott was remarkably nervous. Clayborne as groomsman and George as ring-bearer supported the groom to the best of their differing abilities, but the couple were as relieved as they were joyous to be pronounced man and wile.

Rebecca’s heart went out to them, but she was unhappily reminded of her own wedding a year ago and the expectations she had had. Just so had she and Jason stood before a cleric and heard the time-honored phrases read, thinking that they were beginning a new and rewarding phase of their lives. Surrounded by approving family and well-wishing friends, the venture had seemed propitious.

Rebecca thrust aside her despairing thoughts and smiled at the couple as they walked hand in hand down the aisle. No such cloud would darken their horizons, she felt sure.

The wedding breakfast at Gray Oaks was opulent in the extreme and alive with the color and smell of the late summer flowers Rebecca had caused to adorn every conceivable niche of the house. Every door stood open for the summer breezes to play through the rooms, ruffling the bride’s golden hair and ivory lace wedding gown, and cooling the groom’s flushed cheeks.

Rebecca went with Constance to help dress her in her traveling clothes. “How can I thank you for everything, Rebecca?” Constance asked, her eyes shining with happiness. “It was the most beautiful wedding ever.”

Pleased with the success of the day, Rebecca only smiled and said, “I’ve loved every minute of it. Now you are to have a delightful trip and do not be concerned for George. We’ll be happy to keep him as long as we may. Mary and Elvira are up to something with him, but I have not as yet discovered what it may be. You shall hear all about it on your return, no doubt!”

After enduring her mother’s tears and hasty reminders, and hugging Mary and Elvira and George, Constance placed a kiss on Clayborne’s cheek and assured him that he could not have been more generous. Mott helped her into the traveling carriage, everyone waved vigorously, and the carriage departed.

There was a letdown after all this activity, but soon the house guests began to arrange for their own leave-takings. Carriages were called for and the bustle began again. Charles Exton and his wife were accompanying his mother to Brighton, and despite her expressed desire to remain for another day to recover from the shock of it all, she found herself leaving Gray Oaks only a few hours after her daughter.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Mary and Elvira were impatient to change from their wedding finery into their riding clothes and did not wait for the last departures. They had debated springing their surprise on the assembled wedding party but had agreed that Rebecca just might not approve of that, good-natured as she was. Intent on astonishing Clayborne and Rebecca with their clever idea just before dinner, when everyone had had a chance to recover from the festivities, they hurried off to make the final preparations.

George was not long in following them to the stables, where the three of them began putting the final touches on their project. Fascinated by the stories of medieval life and jousting, he had asked Mary to fashion a blunt-ended lance for him to carry on old Bessie. Mary had enlisted Elvira’s assistance and they had gotten carried away in a spate of authenticity. Not only two lances but two masks as helmets, and two shields, were fashioned. They had practiced with these in secret and were delighted with the results, but George had seen a picture of a horse in trappings of white with red standing lions on them and he was not content until Mary promised to duplicate this costume for Bessie.

Poor Bessie was very patient with all the fittings which this took, and even allowed a sort of mask with enormous eye holes to be placed over her head. Numerous little bells were attached to her harness and she seemed pleased to jingle as she trotted along.

Mary absolutely refused to make more than one of these costumes, but she allowed as how Elvira’s mount should have bells also. Now all was in readiness for their debut for Clayborne and Rebecca, but they decided to have a practice joust in the far meadow so that they might stage the match perfectly.

“Sort of a dress rehearsal,” Elvira giggled.

Mary had decided to coordinate this event rather than participate in it, so she gave the direction for the two protagonists to face each other and come forward. George’s lance was a bit heavy for him to manage, but he valiantly aimed it at Elvira’s shield. The ensuing chaos ended in whoops of laughter and the decision to stage the event immediately for their proper audience, as George did not wish to tire himself out.

* * * *

Rebecca sadly wandered about the house after the last guests had departed. She would miss Constance sorely, even with Mary and Elvira, to say nothing of George, still about the house. She had celebrated the first anniversary of her own wedding just two weeks previously, and, though Clayborne had given her a charming locket and a delightful Rowlandson print he had found at Mistress Murphy’s cartoon shop in St. James’ Street, and promised a surprise which would not be ready for a few weeks, she had felt so depressed that her thanks had seemed even to herself to lack enthusiasm.

Clayborne, however, had sought to ignore this and had been genuinely pleased with the drawings Rebecca had given him of Gray Oaks. There had been one of him near the house, one of Mary, Elvira and George out riding and one of Constance and Mott in the topiary.

“The set is incomplete, my dear,” he teased. “There should have been one of you in the small parlor with a list in your hand.”

“I did try to draw myself,” she replied seriously, “but I could not feel that it was successful.”

“I should like to see it, all the same,” he urged, and she had gone to her room to fetch it for him. It had given him a start to see the drawing she brought, which depicted her sitting in her room gazing wistfully out the window. “May I keep it?” he had asked, not looking at her.

“Yes, if you like. But I shall try to draw a better one for you.” He had made no comment but tucked the fourth drawing into the folder with the others and excused himself.

Now that Constance had left it occurred to Rebecca that she might draw some scenes from the wedding as a present to her and Gregory. She took her drawing paper to the small parlor and quickly sketched three or four scenes, some serious from the church and some amusing from the wedding breakfast, with Mrs. Exton predominant in tears in one and George doing a somersault in another. She was just putting them carefully away when Clayborne entered.

“Oh, Jason, come and see the sketches I’ve done of the wedding,” she offered. “In fact, you shall see all of my sketches now if you like, as I’ve been meaning to show them to you.”

Rebecca handed him all the sketches except those of himself, reserving them for last. Clayborne was fascinated, and frequently commented on the ability his wife had for catching a character with a few carefully chosen lines. When he came to the one of Lady Hillston, he smiled wryly and remarked, “Oh, yes, I remember this one.”