by Bold, Diana
Theo seemed to think that his change in style would be a red flag to those who’d known Andrew well, but the thought of wasting more money to mimic such silly clothing choices was not an option for him. He’d already decided that Andrew had no one he was close to in Wiltshire except for Miss Barton. As long as he avoided that particular lady, he didn’t think his clothing choices would be much cared about or remarked upon.
At last, the appointed time arrived. Christian paced the foyer, surprised by his eagerness to see Rebecca again. Theo stood by the front door, shaking his head. “You mustn’t be seen to be so eager, lad. It isn’t befitting a man such as you,” he said quietly.
Christian raised an eyebrow. “I don’t see an issue with my behavior. Isn’t this how a man should act when he’s happy to see a woman?”
“You like her,” Theo said in surprise. “You’ve been protesting this match so much that I hadn’t realized it until just now.”
Continuing to pace, Christian shot his uncle a look. “She’s sweet, smart, and beautiful. Of course, I like her.”
“That’s good,” Theo said with a grin. “This would have been far more difficult if she was unpleasant in either looks or manner.”
“Even if that were so, I’d still have to marry her,” Christian said, still a bit annoyed with Theo, though he wasn’t sure why. He knew that his uncle really did have his best interests at heart, that he truly wanted his nephew to better himself, to have everything that he should have as his father’s son. He just didn’t like the fact that his uncle seemed to think he was in charge of this whole thing. But there wasn’t any way that Christian could escape his uncle’s assistance now. They were bonded together in this, for better or worse.
At last, the sound of a carriage could be heard pulling up in front of the house. Without waiting for his uncle to instruct him, he left the foyer and went to wait impatiently in the sitting room for the ladies to be shown in.
Moments later, Theo escorted both women into the room, and Christian surged to his feet, hurrying forward to welcome them. Rebecca wore a blue satin gown, which hugged her lovely body like a glove, and her blue eyes sparkled with the same pleasure he knew must be reflected in his own.
“Lady Rebecca,” he said softly, bowing over her hand and pressing his lips lightly against her soft skin. “I’m so glad to see you again.”
“I’m glad that you invited us,” she responded a bit breathlessly.
He held her gaze for a moment longer, then forced himself to turn to her cousin. “Lady Sabrina,” he said with a small bow. “It’s wonderful to see you again as well.”
“We are happy to be here,” Lady Sabrina assured him.
“Please come in,” he said, stepping back and gesturing to the seating area before the fireplace. “We have about a half an hour before dinner.”
The two ladies entered the room and took seats upon the sofa. Christian sat in the chair closest to Rebecca, stunned by his need to reach out and hold her hand. Already, he’d become used to that sense of connection between them, the warmth and human contact that had been missing from his life for so long.
He glanced up and found Rebecca staring at his hand, as though she was having the exact same thoughts. Their gazes caught and held, and a look of such understanding passed between him that it took his breath away. He had never felt such a thing with anyone else before.
Sabrina laughed lightly, breaking the tension between them. “My goodness! With the looks that are passing between the two of you, I might as well not be here at all.”
Rebecca flushed so deeply her cheeks were nearly the same color as her brilliant hair. “Sabrina!” she cried in shock. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m sure you do,” Sabrina said, amusement still lacing her voice. “However, I’m very glad to see it! Why don’t you show us your garden, Lord Trowbridge? I feel like stretching my legs.”
Rebecca laughed at her cousin’s antics, then covered her mouth with her hand. He stared at her, transfixed by the happiness on her face. He wanted her to always be this happy.
“Yes,” he murmured. “I’m afraid it’s not much to look at, but I’d appreciate any suggestions you ladies might have to restore it.”
He led them out through a set of French doors in the gallery, which was filled with paintings of his illustrious ancestors. They were probably turning in their graves to know that a bastard was now in charge of their legacy. He shuddered a bit, unable to meet the accusing gazes.
Once outside, they found themselves on a wide patio, which he suddenly imagined swept and tended, with a nice table for him and his new bride to eat their breakfast in the sunlight. Beyond the patio, what had once been manicured gardens with hedges and fountains stretched off into the distance. Now, however, the gravel paths were choked with weeds, the hedges overgrown.
He guided Rebecca toward a path he knew led to a spot that was actually still quite pretty, with roses growing wild and a stone bench. As she’d promised, Sabrina strode off in the opposite direction. He had a feeling this was quite improper, but he much appreciated Rebecca’s chaperone leaving them to talk privately.
“How have you been?” Rebecca asked, looking up at him with her wide blue eyes. She smelled wonderful, of lavender and vanilla, and he fought the urge to press his face against the sweet spot behind her ear and simply breathe her in.
He smiled, hoping that all the stress and worry he’d been dealing with the past few days didn’t show on his face. “I’m doing well. And you?”
“Wonderful,” she answered.
He wondered why they were once again making small talk. He’d hoped they’d moved beyond that, but perhaps she was still as nervous around him as he was around her.
Gesturing around the decrepit garden, he met her gaze. “I truly would appreciate it if you could tell me what must be done to restore this place to its former glory.”
Her eyes brightened, and some of the tension between them dissipated. “Really? You’d trust my opinion?”
He nodded. “Of course. You told me gardening was one of your favorite pastimes.”
“You were listening,” she said softly.
“Is that so surprising?” he asked.
“Yes. My father has never cared about what I do with my time. Whenever I tried to make suggestions or participate with the horses or the garden, he shooed me away as though I had no brains in my head at all.” She frowned, shaking her head. “You never listened to me, either... before. You once told me that if you ever wanted my opinion on anything, you’d ask for it.”
He winced. “I was a fool. Can you ever forgive me for the things I did in the past?”
They arrived in the secret little rose garden, and he gestured to the bench. She sat prettily, and he took his place beside her, so close their knees almost touched.
“The past isn’t important,” she said, and he could tell she actually meant it. “All I care is how you treat me now. If we’re to spend a lifetime together, I would appreciate it you sometimes asked my opinion on things.”
He wanted to tell her he was completely lost, that he’d never been trained how to run an estate the size of Trowbridge Manor. Rebecca probably knew far more than he did, simply from having grown up in these surroundings. Growing up in the stews of White Chapel, he’d never even imagined that places such as this, with acres upon acres of green grass, towering trees, and endless blue skies, existed. He was still a bit overwhelmed by it all.
But he could never tell her that.
A sharp stab of regret knifed through him. He sensed that in Rebecca, he’d found someone he could have bared his soul to, but there were some things he could never tell her, some secrets he’d have to hold forever. Once again, the urge to simply run away from this hit him hard, but he forced it back down.
“I would value your opinion,” he told her instead. “I must admit that I didn’t pay as much attention as I should have to my father’s instruction on how to steward this land. I su
ppose I simply thought that he’d always be here. That I wouldn’t have to take up these responsibilities so soon.” Better she think he’d been inattentive than completely inept.
“Really?” she breathed, her eyes lighting up. “You’d really allow me to assist you in running Trowbridge Manor?”
Too late, he realized that most men would never allow such a thing. Then he gave an internal shrug. Who cared what other people thought? He’d take whatever help he could get, and it didn’t matter to him whether that help wore britches or a skirt.
“Rebecca,” he said, giving in to the impulse to hold her hand again. He laced his fingers with hers and looked deeply into her eyes. “Let us decide what works in our marriage, shall we? No one else needs to know how we handle things in the privacy of our home.”
She nodded vigorously. “That’s more than I ever could have hoped for. In fact... you surprise me at every turn, Andrew. You’re not at all who I thought you were.”
He squeezed her hand, uncertain what to say to that. He didn’t think she meant that she was at all suspicious about his identity, but he still felt the need to tread carefully about such subjects. “You’re not who I thought you were either, Rebecca.”
She smiled shyly, ducking her head a bit. “Do you know that I let a gypsy fortune-teller read my tea leaves on the exact day that you came home?”
Raising a brow, he gave her a curious smile. “I hadn’t thought you the sort who’d give much credence to fortune-tellers.”
A soft laugh escaped her. “Me either, but I felt strangely compelled when I saw her. Almost as though she’d summoned me. As though I was meant to speak to her.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this. You’ll think me a fool.”
Perhaps he would think that, if some silly airheaded girl was telling him such things. But even though he didn’t know her well, he knew she had a good head on her shoulders. “I believe there are things that can’t be explained,” he said diplomatically. “Tell me, what did she say?”
“The first thing I asked was if I would be happy. She seemed a bit surprised by that, said not many people asked her about happiness.” She smiled. “Can you imagine? Don’t you think happiness is the most important thing?”
“I think not everyone has the luxury of seeking happiness,” he told her. “Too many people in this world are too busy just struggling to survive.”
Her eyes widened, and she bit her lip. “You’re absolutely right. I suppose I never looked at it that way.”
He shrugged. “Why should you? You were born into a life that most people can only imagine, but that doesn’t make you a bad person. You just don’t understand the struggles of the common man.”
“I suppose you rubbed elbows with men from all walks of life while you were in the military,” she guessed.
Realizing he was once again talking to her as himself instead of Andrew, he knew he had to switch directions. “What did the fortune-teller say about happiness?”
“She said that happiness was a choice,” Rebecca answered. “I found that very wise. I think that too many people see only the bad things in their life, even if they are blessed beyond all imagining. Yet, some of those you just spoke about, those who have nothing and struggle each day just to survive, still somehow manage to count their blessings.”
“I think you are probably right,” he said, wondering which of those two categories he fell into himself. It seemed as though the more he’d gained, the unhappier he’d become. Perhaps wealth was not all he’d always imagined it to be. In fact, it seemed as though the only thing about being Andrew he really enjoyed was this lovely girl sitting beside him. “Perhaps I needed to hear that today. Maybe I need to pay more attention to my many blessings.”
She nodded emphatically. “I thought so, too.” A lovely rush of color stained her cheeks. “I am going to try harder to choose to be happy, because, as you said, I do have the luxury.”
“Did she say anything else?” he asked, truly curious.
“She said the oddest thing...” Her forehead scrunched up as though she were trying hard to remember the woman’s exact words. “She said, ‘Beware the suitor who returns from war. He will seem a stranger to you, but he is the one you were meant to find. Look with your heart, not your eyes.’”
He felt a shiver go down his spine. That seemed a little too odd, given the situation. He supposed he should just be lucky that she hadn’t actually told Rebecca that he was an imposter. “Surely, she must have known who you were. She must have somehow known that I’d just arrived back in Wiltshire.”
“I suppose you must be right,” Rebecca said, though she didn’t seem certain. “I know that most of them are charlatans, who only tell you what you want to hear. Some probably do research their victims, finding out what they should say. However, there was no way she could have known I was going to stop and talk to her. I didn’t even know myself until I was sitting down in her chair.”
He ran his forefinger tenderly across her palm, gazing up at her with his heart in his eyes. “Well, I hope that you are looking at me with your heart, Rebecca. And I hope eventually you come to think that I am the one you were meant to find.”
She’d been looking a little troubled, but at his words, she smiled up at him. “I’m starting to think that perhaps you are. Whoever would have imagined that when you and my father struck your deal, we’d eventually come to like each other?”
“Obviously, not you,” he said, trying to laugh it off. “I’m truly sorry that I was so unpleasant to you before. But I hope that in time, you actually will come to like me and realize that perhaps I have changed, grown up, become a man who is worthy of calling myself your husband.”
She stared at him for a long moment. “I sent word to my father that you’d come home. I’m sure as soon as he gets it, he’ll leave for Wiltshire almost immediately. Once he arrives, he’ll want to set a wedding date, and I expect he’ll want it to be as soon as the banns have been read. He is anxious to get a grandson, to see me settled.”
He swallowed. “Is he so formidable then?”
She pinned him with a sharp look. “You’ve known him your entire life. Haven’t you?”
“Of course,” he muttered, cursing himself for his carelessness. He felt it was only a matter of time before he gave himself away completely. If I haven’t already. “I look forward to seeing him when he arrives.”
“Do you?” she said, her gaze sharp, as though she was trying to see his very soul.
Once again, he realized he’d given the wrong answer. Her father and Andrew must have had a rocky relationship. He couldn’t imagine how he’d manage to fool an earl.
“Of course,” he managed. “I find myself more eager to make you my bride with each passing day.”
Unable to resist any longer, he leaned forward and cupped her sweet face in his hands, lowering his head and taking her lips in a passionate kiss. No longer tentative, she returned his kiss with just as much passion, burying her small hands in his hair and pulling him even closer.
He wrapped his arms around her, feeling as though perhaps fate had given him a treasured gift. Her curves fit perfectly against his leaner form, as though they truly had been meant to find each other. Andrew suddenly realized that he suddenly had no more doubts about whether he wanted to continue with this charade. Rebecca was the prize, he realized. And he’d do anything to win her.
When the need to do more than just kiss her became too strong to deny, he forced himself to pull away. He ran a trembling hand through his mussed hair, glad to see she looked every bit as flustered. Pushing himself to his feet, he held a hand out to her. Once she stood, he tucked an errant strand of her gorgeous auburn hair behind her ear, thrilled to find it was just as silky soft as he’d imagined.
“I should take you back to the house,” he murmured. “You’re far too tempting.”
Chapter Seven
During the next two weeks, Rebecca and Andrew saw each other nearly every day. Sabrina had given up
on any pretense of chaperoning them, and they went for long walks, drives in the countryside, and spent time in his study with their heads bent together over a new plan for the gardens. Every hour they spent together caused Rebecca to care for him more. Was it possible she was even falling in love with the man who would soon be her husband?
She feared very deeply that she was.
Yet she questioned repeatedly why the thought should scare her, and more importantly, why she still had a niggling sensation of unease over the change in him. Time and time again, she asked herself how this could possibly be the man she’d become engaged to.
When she saw her father’s coach coming up the long snow-packed drive of Riverbend Hall one Wednesday afternoon in December, those fears intensified. The greatest disappointment of the Earl of Marlborough’s life was that he had not been blessed with a son. He’d never made any secret of the fact that he considered Rebecca a cross to bear. Her mother had been pregnant half a dozen times, having several miscarriages, a stillbirth, and a little boy who’d only lived a few days. The earl had insisted that his wife keep trying, though, and Rebecca was convinced that the physical strain and disappointment had been the death of her.
With no heir, her father turned his attention to living long enough to see a grandson born. He’d been furious when Andrew had left for the Army before marrying her, but there was little he could do about it once the marriage contract had been signed. He couldn’t very well break the engagement, but she knew he had been simmering with anger over the entire matter ever since.
She’d written to tell him that Andrew had returned, and she had no doubt that the earl was here to insist that they wed just as soon as the banns could be read. She wasn’t sure what she was more afraid of, that he’d somehow sense that something was wrong as well, or that he’d pressure Andrew until he wanted to call the whole thing off.
