Rebecca (25 page)

“No, we ain't done!” called out a voice as the adults started to disperse. “We have one more song to sing.”

Rebecca whirled and gasped in astonishment, “Greggy, that is all we have.”

The tall boy who had been one of the most enthusiastic proponents of the choir from its onset shook his head. He bowed smoothly. “If you please, my lady.” He took her hand and led her to stand by Nicholas.

Standing in front of the others as she had been doing, he counted off the tempo of the tune in the air before them in an accurate imitation of Rebecca. She felt her husband's arm go around her shoulders and looked up at him. At the question in his eyes, she shrugged. She had no idea what the youngsters had planned.

Greggy said without looking at his audience, “We have practiced one final song by ourselves after our regular practice. We want to sing especially for Lady Foxbridge who has done so much for us. Remember it's for her alone.”

A soft swell of shock murmured through the fairgoers as a trio of children stepped forward. In a slow tempo that did not make it sound like the taunt it originally had been, they began to sing in close harmony the all-too-familiar words of “Yankee Doodle.” As the rest of the children joined in, nobody was surprised to see tears of joy rolling along Lady Foxbridge's cheeks.

She made no effort to brush them away as she listened to the love that had nothing to do with the silly words of the song that symbolized the spirit of revolution in America more than any other. She knew they had chosen it for her because, like she, it was from the New World.

Although the children had been prepared for protests from their parents, there was none. When they finished, there was silence as they looked at Rebecca for her reaction. “Thank you,” she whispered in heartfelt gratitude. “That was the most lovely version I have ever heard.”

Immediately the green was alive with cheers. It had been a successful fair which ended on a happy note. Many of the children rushed over to hug Rebecca before rejoining their parents and friends.

“That was wonderful, Rebecca,” said Nicholas, as he watched the last youngster run off to the candy booth.

She smiled. “They did beautifully, didn't they?”

“
You
did beautifully.” He turned her in his arms to face him. “You have worked so hard, and the effort shows. I am so proud of you.”

“But 'twas you who gave the money for the bell. Soon we shall hear the chiming when it's time for services.”

He replied, “That was only money, sweetheart. What you have given of yourself is far more valuable. Do you think they would prefer the cold clang of a bell or the sweet sounds of their children's voices?”

His arms drew her to him, and he brought her lips up to his. Not caring about the crowd, he kissed her with all his desire. He had never thought he would be as pleased to be linked with this lady as he was today. He had expected her to fail in her effort, but she had succeeded superbly. What she had done had nothing to do with her incredible beauty, but with her warm heart.

Only a flash of lightning followed in a few seconds by the lazy sound of still-distant thunder separated them. With a smile, she told him she had to get her bonnet from over by the table where she had been working.

“I'll have the carriage brought around,” he answered. When she turned toward the lemonade table, he captured her arm. She looked at him, and he ordered in a husky voice, “Don't be gone long, sweetheart.”

“I'll be but a moment.” She stepped back from him, unsure if she could escape the warm bonds of his eyes. Weaving through the crowds taking apart the booths and hurrying to get home before the downpour began, she pulled out her plain, straw bonnet that she had worn when she left Foxbridge Cloister and tied it under her chin.

Her trip back to Nicholas was slowed by villagers thanking her graciously for the music she had brought to them. She understood that they felt more comfortable approaching her than her husband, who represented the long-time separatist attitude of the Wythes. As he had told her, there was more gratitude for the children's choir than for the extravagant gift.

She moved to the church porch where Nicholas was waiting for her. As she slowly climbed the steps, she tried to keep dismay from her face as she saw Clarisse beside him. She wondered where Richard Carter was, but knew it did not matter. Once Nicholas arrived, Clarisse would have noticed no one else. Because they stood at the far end of the porch, the sounds of the dismantling of the fair and the oncoming storm masked her approach. Her eyes widened as she saw Clarisse step close to Nicholas and slip her arms around him. The red-haired woman put her long-nailed fingers against the back of his head as she raised her lips toward his.

“Enough, Clarisse,” she heard Nicholas state firmly. “I have told you before that I'm not interested.”

Clarisse's seductive voice murmured, “Come now, Nicholas, don't be so silly. That little Yankee Doodle can't satisfy you as I can. Come to me, darling, and I will give you what we shared before you were so foolish as to go away to America and marry a child.”

“Rebecca is my wife. Not you. I told you many years ago that when I took such vows there could be no other for my wife or myself. That was when I asked you in a moment of romantic fervor to be mine.”

“You never asked me to marry you!” she argued.

He laughed with a hard edge to the humorless sound. “You did not believe me. You thought I was joking when we went on that picnic with your friends up from Bristol. How coldly you told me that you never would marry me, Clarisse. Now it seems you were right.”

“Divorce her, Nicholas. It wouldn't be that difficult. She hasn't given you an heir. You know that I would be willing to do so.”

“You pregnant, Clarisse?” He chuckled. “I can't imagine that! You would never shut yourself away when your body grew heavy with a child who would remind everyone that you were no longer the carefree woman you once were. I am married to Rebecca, and that is how I want it to be. She is the type of woman I long ago decided I wanted to be married to. She is sweetly sensual, beautiful, and so intelligent I cannot help but care for her.”

Her hand rose to slap his face. Viciously, she spat, “And I am none of those things?”

He caught her wrist as she was set to strike him again. There was a hatred in his voice that Rebecca had never heard. It made any anger he had directed at her seem insipid by comparison. “What you are I wouldn't say in the churchyard, Clarisse. You have broken more hearts and destroyed more marriages than any one woman has a right to do. You won't destroy mine. Once I was set to offer you my heart like the fool that I was. Now it has been placed in the safekeeping of another woman who will not betray it just to cause misery to everyone she meets.”

Before Clarisse could snarl the insults she was thinking, a voice intruded. She heard the vicar call, “Lady Foxbridge?”

Both she and Nicholas turned to see the man hurrying to speak to the woman who stood not a dozen paces from them. Clarisse knew that Rebecca had heard every humiliating word her husband had uttered.

Rebecca said nothing as she smiled at the minister. Again she accepted his thanks. For a second, as she looked into his warm eyes, she saw the apology he had never spoken as they tried to forget that he had fallen in love with her. “I had a lovely time, John,” she said softly.

“I'm glad, my lady. I hope we will see you tomorrow at the service. You and Lord Foxbridge best hurry home before the storm breaks.” Wishing her a good evening, he scurried away to his own snug cottage on the opposite side of the green.

The warm feeling of Nicholas's hands settled on her shoulders. He bent and whispered in her ear. “Are you ready to go home, my dear?” he asked gently, knowing she was embarrassed by her accidental eavesdropping. Taking her hand, he walked with her toward the carriage.

The first drops of rain were falling as he helped her into it. She could not keep from looking back at the church, but Clarisse had disappeared. Inside, she sat uncomfortably on the edge of the seat as she stared at the green. It had become a tattered painting of litter and empty tables growing wet in the storm.

“There will be another one next year, Rebecca,” Nicholas murmured. “This is an annual event.”

“But I won't be here next year.” Her voice was mournful.

He twisted her to look into his eyes. “That is and always has been your decision to make, sweetheart. I have never seen you as happy as you have been the last few weeks. Even Mother's nasty comments have rolled off you like water on eider. You are happy here with me, aren't you?”

She closed her eyes and nodded. “I have never been happier.”

“But?” he prompted when she paused.

“You know the ‘but,'” she said softly. “I promised I would stay until fall. Then I have to go home.”

His hands on her face tilted it back so he could look into her pain-filled eyes. “Silly Rebecca! You are so obstinate that you won't see your own heart is becoming entwined with the life in Foxbridge Cloister. What awaits you if you go back to Connecticut? A life with a man who has not kept his promise to come for you.”

“He will,” she said, but without conviction.

“If he had loved you, Rebecca, he would not have let you go. If the situation had been reversed, and it was Bennett who was interrupting our wedding, do you think I would have allowed him to take you from me? Do you think I will if he dares to show up at Foxbridge Cloister, although it isn't likely to happen?”

Her eyes searched his face and saw the truth. Nicholas would never let her go to another man. He had had no intentions from the beginning of letting her return to America. His farcical bargain had been simply a way to ease her into Foxbridge Cloister and to keep her from becoming desolate in her sorrow and homesickness. As he had told Clarisse, he took the vows he had spoken with Rebecca seriously. She was his until death parted them.

Weeks ago, those thoughts would have sent terror spinning through her, but it was joy which filled her now. Although he had not said the words aloud, she was beginning to believe Nicholas loved her. Her fingers traced the varied planes of his face before slipping to entangle in his hair.

This invitation to kiss eager, soft lips Nicholas did not ignore. Thirsting for the satisfaction of the desire driving him mad, he took her mouth with unfettered yearning. When his lips explored the responsive skin of her neck, she moaned softly and pressed the curves of her slender body close to him. His fingers moved along her to discover once again the body filling his dreams night after night until he woke in agony to stare at the door which was all that stood between him and the woman who should be sleeping by his side. As he touched the sweet roundness of her breast, he could feel her delight though her thin dress.

A knock on the carriage door forced him to pause as he was about to reach for hooks at the back of her dress. “My lord?” came Sims's voice, as if he had not seen the passionately embracing couple. “We are at the Cloister.”

With his irreverent grin, Nicholas said, “Thank you, Sims.” He smoothed Rebecca's dress back into place with a caress as sweet as the ones she had enjoyed moments before. “Ready to run in the rain, sweetheart? I think we should consider building a porte-cochere on this old house to keep the new lord and his lady dry.”

“You aren't made of sugar, Nicholas. You won't melt if you get wet.”

He laughed as he lifted her from the carriage. Taking her hand, he led her quickly up the steps. “No, I'm not made of sugar, and neither are you. I would guess you were created out of the tartest green apples which look so tasty but are dangerous to the one who dares to overindulge in enjoying them.”

“I don't think that was a compliment!” she retorted.

They hurried through the door Brody held open. Nicholas paid no attention to the butler as he kissed his wife lightly. “That's where you are wrong. I think you are perfect the way you are.” He was about to add more, but looked past her head as the clock gonged the hour. He groaned in emoted anguish. “I have to leave you now, sweetheart. I was supposed to be back to meet with the solicitors half an hour ago. I may see you at dinner, if we can get some of the details squared away by then.”

“Is there a problem?”

“Nothing you need concern yourself with.” He tweaked her nose playfully. “I just have to convince my tightfisted solicitors to part with enough money to buy a bell for the church.”

Rebecca laughed as she ran up the stairs. She rang for Collette and ordered a bath. After the long, hot hours at the fair, she was ready to soak for a while. Stripping off her filthy dress, she tossed it on the floor. It was so disgustingly dirty and stained, she did not want to put it on a chair. She pulled on a robe as she went out to the main room to get her needlework. It would keep her fingers busy while the bath was being filled.

When the door opened, she glanced up to greet Collette. She gasped as she saw it was not her maid, but Curtis Langston. Lady Margaret had invited him to stay at the house to show her pleasure with the relationship that had developed since he had become Eliza's steady escort in London during the previous season. Clutching the neckline of her robe closer to her chin, Rebecca was aware of how little she wore in the presence of this man who remained little more than an acquaintance.

“Excuse me,” he said calmly, as his eyes swept over her body outlined by the thin material. He noted her bare feet and smiled in a way which made her more uncomfortable. “I was looking for Nicholas.”

“He's with his solicitors in the study. Unless it's extremely important, I would suggest you wait, Curtis. What they are doing is very complicated.”

Instead of leaving as she had expected, he closed the door. “How was the village fair?” he asked.

“It was fine,” she answered tersely, wishing he would leave. “We raised enough money to replace the steeple, and Nicholas donated the money to buy a bell.”