Rebecca (15 page)

“I know she is acting abominably, but that isn't your fault. Don't be ashamed for what you are.”

Her eyes sparked with blue lightning. Coldly, she stated, “I am not ashamed of myself or any of the Norths. Nothing anyone says will ever make me ashamed of my family. If you are, that is your problem. I just won't sit here and listen to her belittle my family night after night!”

He enfolded her in his arms tenderly. He did not kiss or caress her. Simply, he held her until he could feel the stiffness of her outrage fade into the soft sounds of sobs as she cried out all her unhappiness and homesickness for the world she had left behind in Connecticut. “I apologize for the way my family is treating you.” He tilted her tear-covered face up to meet his sympathetic eyes. “Dear Rebecca, I'm not ashamed of you or of your family whom I have met so briefly. You are right to be hurt by my mother's attitude. Come, sweetheart, and sit down. I'm sure Esther has prepared a fine meal. Sit with me, and we will forget the smallness of others while we enjoy each other's company.”

In a soft voice, she said, “I can be nothing but what I am, Nicholas.”

“I know, and I would have you no other way than the way you are. Shall we?”

With a watery smile, she nodded. He took her hand and seated her again at the large table that somehow seemed more cozy than when the others had been present.

Nicholas was his most charming as he entertained her with stories of his mishaps after joining the army and being transformed from a leisure-loving member of the gentry to a hardened soldier commanding twelve men who knew more about combat than he could have learned in a lifetime. He did not tell her that it was those men who had sacrificed their lives when his foolish commander had sent them directly into an ambush. They had given their lives to protect their captain who had nearly died despite their efforts. His stories were only of the amusing parts of soldiering.

As she ate, Rebecca relaxed. It was like a dream to be sitting in this beautiful room lit by candles in a crystal chandelier and drinking wine from goblets made of the same material. When dessert was served, she picked up the cup placed by her plate and took a sip. “Tea!” she exclaimed. “Oh, I haven't tasted this in years!”

He chuckled. “I hope it does not offend your patriotic sensibilities, sweetheart.”

Before she answered, she took another sip of the steaming beverage. She shook her head. “No, it doesn't, for I used to love tea before the blockade made it impossible to get it. Sometimes we had something called tea made from roots, but it didn't taste like this.” She smiled broadly as she saw his amusement. “After all, as you have reminded me more than once, Nicholas, the war is over.”

Taking her slender hand, he helped her to her feet. He picked up her cup and handed it to her. “Let's finish this upstairs. We can relax in the sitting room of our suite while I discuss some things with you that must be gone over even before the morning. If you haven't guessed, there will be an onslaught by the curious once our neighbors learn I am home and have brought a bride with me. There are certain things which will be expected from Lady Foxbridge.”

She sighed. “Very well. I guess it's time for me to go back to school. It will be strange being a student again after being a teacher so long.”

“Teacher?” he asked as they walked along the hall.

“Yes, I was the teacher in the village school at the church once Hart returned from the army and was able to take over the duties on the farm.” When she saw the shock on his face, she asked, “What's wrong with that? Teaching is a most honorable profession.”

“No one will argue with that, my dear. It is just that I realized I know so little about you.” He paused on the steps so that she stood one riser above him. Their eyes were nearly level. “I don't know your favorite color, what you love to eat, or if you like to dance and sing.”

“Blue, apples in the fall and strawberries in the spring, and I love anything to do with music,” she replied with a smile. “Anything else that you need to know before my tea grows cold, Nicholas?”

He bent forward and kissed her uptilted lips. “I will take my time learning of you. Come on, Professor Wythe, and take your lessons now.” He put his around her waist and led her merrily to the rooms they would share for the short time they planned to live together as husband and wife.

Chapter Seven

Rebecca was coming down the front steps the next morning when she saw Nicholas walking toward her from what she guessed were the stables. He waved and motioned for her to join him before turning at the sound of hoofbeats approaching along the driveway.

The horse was racing at top speed. It came to a stop just in front of Nicholas. The rider slid off quickly and threw her arms around the man. Even from across the lawn where she stood, Rebecca could see the intensity of the kiss the red-haired woman gave Nicholas. Swallowing the surprising surge of jealousy, she strode toward the two. She wanted to meet this woman who was kissing her husband with such familiarity. She suspected she knew exactly who the woman was.

Nicholas was gently breaking the grip the woman had around his neck. He pushed her away without any regret. “Hello, Clarisse.”

She purred a greeting as her green eyes roved over him with obvious appreciation. Clarisse Beckwith was a beautiful woman, and she knew it. Her auburn hair was thick and curled perfectly around the alabaster purity of her skin. The riding habit she wore accented the lush curves of her body which had known Nicholas' touch too long ago.

With him home at Foxbridge Cloister, she would be able to forget the rage and shock she had felt the morning she discovered that he had left without telling her goodbye. For months she had been waiting for this homecoming with eager delight. Nicholas had become Lord Foxbridge, a title he had deserved far more than his brother. Ready to assume the rigors of running the estate, he would need a woman eager and able to help him as his lady. Clarisse knew of no one better than herself to fulfill that role.

She had been visiting Foxbridge Cloister since Brad's death to convince Lady Margaret that she was the perfect choice for Nicholas' Lady Foxbridge. She did not think it would be difficult to bring Nicholas around to that opinion as well. He had been so fond of her six years before.

In a blatant invitation, she ran her fingers that glistened with gemmed rings along the front of his shirt. With a pretty pout, she regarded him from under her thick lashes. “It has been so lonely around here without your company, Nicholas. I was beginning to wonder if you ever were going to return. Now you have had your adventure in far-off America, and you can settle down here at Foxbridge.”

“That is exactly what I have planned to do.” He turned to smile at a woman who was approaching.

Clarisse appraised the stranger. She nearly snickered at the low quality of the woman's dress. It looked like something her mother would have worn, with its plain skirt split in the front to show the embroidered petticoat and laces closing the top of the bodice. When the woman came closer, she lost all desire to smile. The dress did not detract from her loveliness. She wondered who the woman was. Even the servants at Foxbridge Cloister dressed better.

For a moment, she feared that Nicholas had found some cheap trollop to bed and had brought her to Foxbridge Cloister. If that was so, Clarisse would see that she was gone soon. No one else was going to have this man. She had waited too many years and turned down too many wealthy admirers' offers of matrimony so she could be waiting when Nicholas came home. She was not going to have her place usurped by a harlot who did not have the sense to dress to fit her place as the mistress of a lord.

“Hello, Rebecca. Come, and meet our neighbor.” Nicholas held out his hand. “Rebecca, this is Clarisse Beckwith, who lives at Beckwith Grange, about a mile south along the shore road. Clarisse, this is Rebecca Wythe, the new Lady Foxbridge I'm sure you have heard about by this time.”

“Lady Foxbridge?” gasped the startled woman. She had not heard the gossip, for she had spent the whole morning readying herself for her expected reunion with the man she wanted. It had taken hours to choose the right perfume and clothes so that, when Nicholas took her to his bed, as she had thought he would be eager to do, she would be more alluring than ever. The staff at Beckwith Grange would not have dared to give her the news that Nicholas had come home with a wife. They feared her awesome wrath.

Rebecca smiled coolly. She was not deceived. This was the Clarisse who Eliza had said thought she had an understanding with Nicholas. That explained the kiss she had given him. Rebecca wondered if this woman had been her husband's lover in the past. It would not have surprised her. That would explain the possessive gleam in the red-haired lady's eyes, which were filled with astonishment rapidly changing to hate.

“Hello, Miss Beckwith,” she said graciously.

Nicholas smiled. Rebecca, with her usual insight, had perceived that Clarisse intended to resume the relationship they had shared six years ago. He would not have been interested in doing so, even if he had not brought Rebecca back to Foxbridge. The idea of letting Clarisse get her eager claws into him or his title did not appeal to him.

Recovering her aplomb, Clarisse managed to ask, “How are you, Lady Foxbridge?”

“Please, as we are neighbors, you should call me Rebecca.” She smiled with genuine amusement. “I'm afraid I am not used to the grand title. I must admit it came as quite a shock when Nicholas told me that I was the recipient of such a grandiose name.”

Nicholas kept his wry comments to himself. The way Rebecca told it, there had been nothing unusual about either their courtship or their marriage. He was not surprised she was reacting this way to Clarisse. Although she was not sharing his bed, Rebecca had no intentions of Clarisse doing so while she slept on the far side of the connecting door. There were very few people whom Rebecca did not like, but Clarisse would be one of those.

The redhead smiled, but seethed underneath. She had been spending the last six years getting used to the sound of that name for herself. Who was this child who had spirited away Nicholas's heart? Next to her freshness, Clarisse knew she appeared an overripe spinster. With barely concealed barbs, she asked, “Nicholas, where did you meet your wife?”

“We met in America. She saved my life, so how can a man resist that?” He placed his arm around Rebecca's slender shoulders, not missing the narrowing of Clarisse's green eyes at the motion.

“Oh, you worked in the army camp or some such thing?”

Rebecca could not disregard the insult. With icy rage, she said, “Despite your insinuation, Miss Beckwith, I was not a camp follower. I'm afraid I come from a worse background than that. I'm one of those unspeakably horrid Patriots. Ironic, isn't it? A professed Yankee married to an English lord!” Without a change of tone, she added, “It has been most interesting meeting you, Miss Beckwith. I'm sure we will have the pleasure again soon.”

“Good day,” Nicholas said, trying without success to hide his pride in his wife for handling the situation so adroitly. His grin would further enrage the woman who wanted to resume her place in his bed and the way she had once controlled his life, but he did not care. There had been many changes in Nicholas Wythe in the years since they had last met. No woman was going to direct his life, especially Clarisse Beckwith, who loved the idea of his title and wealth more than she cared for him. “Thank you for stopping by to welcome us home, Clarisse.”

The spurned woman glared at them, then turned and mounted her horse. With a flash of her whip on the horse's flank, she was gone in a cloud of dust toward the main gate. Even as she rode at full speed, she was trying to think of a way to pay back the chit who had dared to steal the title of Lady Foxbridge.

“You certainly handled her well, Rebecca.”

Her eyebrows arched in an easy mockery of his most irreverent expression. “I don't think it is normal even in liberal England for a woman to welcome her husband's mistresses. See her if you must, Nicholas, but not at Foxbridge Cloister. If you want to maintain an appearance of marital bliss, don't entertain that woman in our rooms.”

He drew her into his arms. “Believe me when I say that I have no desire to do any such thing with Clarisse. What we once shared is in the distant past. If I had wanted to have her as a permanent fixture, it would have been simple to arrange. You are the one I want, Rebecca. How did you sleep last night?”

“Fine.” She lowered her eyes so that he would not see the truth. She did not want him to know that she had listened for his footsteps in the other room and, until she had heard them, she had been unable to sleep.

“I have made an appointment for you with Mademoiselle Pacquette, Eliza's dressmaker. My sister thinks it is imperative that you have a new wardrobe as soon as possible.” He teasingly kissed the tip of her nose. “I agree, sweetheart. Now that we are home, we must do some entertaining.” He laughed loudly at her grimace. “All our neighbors, not just Clarisse.”

“My mind is full with the rules of etiquette you tried to teach me last night. I think I remember them all.” She smiled, but the glitter of anger remained in her eyes. “I promise I will use them on the next caller at Foxbridge Cloister.”

He held out his hand. “How about going for a ride with me, Rebecca? I was just about to have my horse Donar saddled when I saw you coming out of the house.”

Lowering her eyes, she said. “I can't. I don't know how to ride.”

“You don't know how to ride?” he asked in shock. Riding was so much a part of life in the country that all children were taught at the same time they learned to walk. He could not remember not knowing how to ride or loving a race along the moorlands on horseback.

“I have never had a need to know how to ride. Father and Hart took our horses when they went to join the army. I know how to drive a wagon, but I have never ridden. If I needed to go somewhere, I walked. If I had something heavy to carry, I put it in the wagon. It was that simple.”