by Liz Tyner
‘That’s harsh.’
He raised his hands, words sputtering. ‘If you could see your face. They have already done more to you.’
‘…’ank you.’
‘And now you wish to marry?’ The earl took the lantern from the servant and held the light towards Fox’s face. ‘Rebecca?’
Fox waved the lamplight away from his eyes.
His father didn’t move, rapt. ‘I cannot believe this. She agreed?’
Foxworthy forced his mouth to work and looked at his father. ‘Why not?’
The vicar’s voice cut into the air, fluttering in rage. ‘You sinful scoundrel.’
Fox turned. The vicar snarled, teeth bared. Fox moved just in time to dodge the vicar’s fist.
Fox stepped back, staring at the man who hardly reached his chin and was old enough to be his grandfather.
Rebecca’s father put up both fists and squared off. ‘She’s changed her mind. My daughter will not marry a—’
The earl stepped between them, his palms on the vicar’s chest. ‘Whitelow. Don’t you think he looks bad enough?’
The vicar controlled his heaving chest. He softened his speech and his shoulders. ‘We will just forget all about it.’
Fox stared at Whitelow.
‘My daughter needs a man with—moral fortitude. You’re much too highborn for my daughter. It’s not that I don’t think you’d make her a—husband. But you’re so far above her in standing. She’s Rebecca. She’s not a lady.’
Fox breathed himself taller and broader, and pulled every bit of his heritage into his eyes. The vicar took a step back.
The earl waggled his head, oblivious to Fox. He gave the vicar a stern look. ‘My son isn’t perfect, but he’s—going to be my heir. He needs a wife like Rebecca.’ He looked down his nose. ‘Do not forget who owns the vicarage.’
‘Father.’ He stepped to look in the man’s eyes. ‘They will not…’ee…’omeless.’ Pain ripped through Fox’s jaw.
‘Well, she would have to have my permission to wed.’ The vicar’s jaw sounded bruised. ‘I…of course would be happy…um…um…of course.’ He looked at the earl as he spoke. Then he watched Fox. ‘My daughter is just a country woman. Suitable for a vicar’s daughter. Perfect, in fact. But for a peer…’ His voice squeaked on the last word.
‘You cannot…tell…’ee not to wed.’ The spears of pain from speaking were nothing compared to the boiling heat inside Fox. He’d thought the vicar fond of him. He should be happy to discover Fox’s status.
‘I would have to admit that she’s important in the village,’ the earl said. ‘She’s quite a dedicated woman. And if my son could stay here and have you believe he’s a vicar?’ He shook his head. ‘Then she’s already had a strong influence on him.’
The vicar spoke softly, eyes moving back and forth between the men. His hands formed a prayer-like clasp. ‘She’s more than a help to me. She is the lifeblood of this village. She must remain with the village.’
Fox did not speak. His rage would control his words.
‘He’s got enough highborn blood to give to the offspring.’ The earl indicated his son with a waggle of head. ‘He’s got every ounce of his grandfather’s highborn views and airs enough for the both of them.’ One brow and his nose went higher. ‘My son’s children might need a drop more purity bred into them. Some virtue. Becca could help there.’
‘But she’s unsuited to the peerage.’ A whisper. A condemned man’s hope for pardon.
The lantern light moved to the vicar. ‘She could stay at the country estate once the grandchildren arrive.’ The earl spoke. ‘Nothing wrong with a man and his wife living in different houses. And I need time to train the next generation.’
‘You’ve been ill.’ The vicar’s voice wavered as he looked at Fox. ‘I would hate for you to make such a decision when you’ve been so close to your death bed.’
‘Nonsense,’ the earl blustered an answer. ‘He’s making a good decision. I’ll go with him for the Special Licence. We don’t even need to wait.’
His father thought Fox would change his mind if they waited for the banns to be read. And even though both the earl and the vicar argued different sides, they both did so for the same reason. Neither had an ounce of faith in Fox’s capabilities as a husband.
Damnation and—in Rebecca’s words—dash it.
He supposed he agreed with them. He should do the right thing for Rebecca and step aside. The new vicar who watched the conversation would soon be swayed into Rebecca’s charms.
After all, she’d been taught the role of vicar’s wife from birth.
‘Well, if I may insert a word,’ the upstart spoke.
Fox imagined Rebecca in the new vicar’s arms and fought off the urge to choke the rapt attention from the man’s face. The little mongrel. All the bones on his face were where they were supposed to be. He’d never done an honest night’s drinking in his life. That pious little puddle of mud. He probably had his own flower press and embroidery needle.
‘You. May. Not.’ Fox heard his voice.
So did his father and the vicar. Both stared at him.
Fox turned and went to the house. Only Rebecca had any say in this discussion.
*
The earl’s heir was worse than she’d realised. She walked over, looked at the bed he’d slept in and crossed her arms. The covers so neatly tucked in place. How dare he use that bed? Eat the food she cooked? Not only was he immoral, he was a liar as well. How he must have been laughing at the vicar’s daughter’s foolish plans to marry him. And her plans were foolish, but not as ridiculous as her hopes had been.
She was only fortunate that his father had returned before the immoral heir had had his immoral way with her. Not that she was going to do something so impure, but still, he had fed her a bit of bread and he’d kissed probably hundreds of women. Hundreds. All of them society women, both married and single. And then—then he’d visited his father’s estate to ruin even more women. At any moment he could have told her who he was and they would have whisked him to the estate. She would personally have dragged him every step of the way and over every rock she could find.
The door opened and closed. She turned her back to it. Footsteps sounded behind her. ‘Re…ecca.’ Words feather-soft.
‘So I was another one of the proposals.’ She could not look at him. She could not risk herself slapping his traitorous deceitful, ragged, fitting face.
‘No. You’re the first ’oman I’ve ever pro’osed to…wasn’t ’arried.’
‘How many married women have you proposed to?’
He didn’t move. ‘A fair number.’
‘You can’t even remember. Not only are you a liar, you’re a proposer.’
‘Lie, no. Pro’oser. In jest.’
‘I thought you were the vicar. A near saint.’
‘Never said that.’
‘You lied, though.’
‘No.’
‘Not with words, but that makes it worse.’
‘Worse?’
‘You lied and you didn’t speak the words, but your mind knew. You knew you were misleading me. That is what a lie is. To mislead. It isn’t just done with words. It’s done with the heart and mind. And to try to get out of it because you didn’t say the exact words doesn’t make it truth. It is lying with trickery worked into it, which is even worse than an honest lie. I count it double.’
‘I count it as…’alf.’
Her legs tensed and she turned, taking a strong step to him. ‘You cannot have half a lie. That is what is wrong with you. There is no such thing as half lies or half-truths. They are whole.’ She held her thumb and forefinger with a space of air between them. ‘No lie is small. A man who kills another believes he has a reason to kill a man or he would not do so. So if he tells a magistrate he is innocent, to him that is a small lie.’ She pinched her fingers tight and her wrist moved with the emphasis of a snap.
‘N…not…’erfect. Not vicar. Not vicar’s child. Heir. W
e don’t have lie rules.’
‘Another reason not to wed you.’ She held up one finger. ‘Lies.’ Two fingers. ‘Proposals.’ Three fingers. ‘Disgrace.’
The words blew over the coals of anger in his stomach. ‘You…’ish to call ’o…off ’arriage?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘…’ou made…’romise…’oo wed.’
‘You surely would not hold me to that?’ Her voice rose and shrilled. ‘I made a promise to wed a vicar. You are not a vicar, therefore I did not promise to marry you.’
‘…’ou made…’romise…’oo wed. I asked…’ou said…’
‘Yes. To the man I thought a vicar. The man I thought honest. Decent. Good. None of those other women you asked held you to your request,’ she practically shouted.
‘No.’ He quietened his words and raised the volume of his stare. ‘They…they’re not as devout as you so I did not ex…expect much.’
She sputtered, arms crossed again, her voice a normal tone. ‘Do you think you can keep the vows?’
‘No. Human. Do you think you can keep…’ows?’ he asked. ‘Those…’ows are senseless.’
She uncrossed her arms and stalked to the Prayer Book. She clasped the book with both hands and held it like a shield. ‘I know I can.’ Her voice had the force of a sword. ‘If I vow to obey and serve my husband, then I will. And that’s why I can’t marry you. You’re not a man I could obey.’
At that moment he realised their words carried outside the walls of the house. He grunted and shrugged. ‘I could not tell you what to do. You are a…a person. You have thoughts of your own.’
‘A woman should only marry a man she can obey. We have to be as one facing the trials of the world. A man is the head of the family.’
He snorted. That was something a man’s boot would step into in a stable.
Marriage was to be between two adults. An arrangement of family. Nothing could make two people one. And she didn’t think he was good enough for her either. Blast it. He was the heir. He’d had the finest of everything in his life. Everything.
‘You agreed,’ he said. He touched her wrist, one finger swirling in a calming gesture. ‘Your word.’
‘It doesn’t count if—I agreed to wed a vicar, not a rake. There’s a big difference.’
‘Ru…ish… Your word,’ he said. And she was talking rubbish. ‘Twisted truth is not truth either.’
She sniffled. ‘I’ve made promises to myself. Promises about virtue. Honour. Purity. Goodness.’ She sniffed again. ‘Until I met you I did not realise how much I wanted to be a vicar’s wife. Now…now I will be quite happy to remain here… To remain unmarried now that I see we will be having someone worthy to take my father’s place.’
His thoughts kicked him in the stomach. ‘You are hoping to wed the new vicar.’
She turned her head as if she’d been slapped, but her eyes had had a look of guilt. ‘I am not hoping to marry a man who doesn’t know what truth and goodness are. And, yes, I thought to marry a vicar, but it was all based on deceit. You did not tell me the truth.’
‘I tried… You didn’t want to…’ear. You…had…me all dressed in halos and goodness.’
‘Oh.’ She whirled around. Her shoulders shook. ‘You blame me? Despicable. Doubly despicable. I would expect no less from a man such as you.’
He let her words fade into the night. ‘Look at me,’ he said.
‘No.’
‘Do you not care about the good you can do?’ He took her shoulders and turned her to him. ‘Good works all day instead of cooking and washing.’ He lifted one hand from her and rubbed his fingers of one hand together as if holding coins. ‘I will gam…le away in one night more money than you…’ave to…’elp others. I…’ill toss away funds you could use for those in need. You are sniffing away your chance to do…’ore and…’ore good.’
‘But I would have to marry you.’
He tossed his head back. He bit out his next words, ignoring the pain gripping him with his careful formation of words. ‘Do you think the martyrs had easy lives?’
‘But you will not make a good husband.’
He spoke slowly again to protect the muscles of his jaw. ‘I will…’ake the…’est kind. You will hardly see me.’
‘That is the problem. I want a true husband.’
‘Your father can…’arry us. Should be legal.’
‘That’s not what I meant. You have a reputation for scandal.’
He nodded. ‘Earned it. And you have re…reputation for good.’
‘And I earned it. Can you remain…faithful?’
‘Such an easy promise to make.’ He grasped her fingers and gave her the same look he’d given countless others, but then he slipped his hand from hers. But to keep?
How could a man survive with only one woman in his life? It would be a strange form of celibacy. Celibacy with a laugh on the man. To live in a world of banquets and only be able to savour one dish on the table. It didn’t matter how well the food tasted or how perfectly it was prepared, but after a time of having only one confection, even the turnips might have a strong appeal. ‘You ask ’ee to change who I am. You ask me to lie.’
Her eyes softened. She swallowed. ‘Yes. So you see why we cannot marry.’ She reached out, touching the air in front of his face as if she touched him. ‘It would be wrong for you.’
She took her hand away, and he felt as if he’d been slapped. How dare she tell him that? What she really meant was that he was not good enough for her. Well, he wasn’t in that moral garden of Eden she lived in.
He touched his face.
Rough whiskers, swollen skin. And she’d said yes to that. But not to an earl’s son. She could look at his fortune and turn her back. He would always know she did not marry him for funds, a title or his easy smile. And her heart was kind. She’d refused to kill a lizard he would have stomped on and he’d watched her push it out the door with her broom while keeping her arms extended and walking on her toes.
He knew. If he were ever to remain faithful to a woman it would be to this one. Her good works that she took Sundays off from were genuine. Her foolish views of truth would make her words genuine.
Well, what was one more lie?
All the memories of his previous liaisons spun into one. He tried to remember a name or a face of a woman who had meant something to him, other than the first, or one he thought would have considered him above any other.
The closest he could come to pulling a woman from his memory into his thoughts was the old asp Lady Havisham. She truly liked him, in a spitting, biting form of friendship.
He looked into Rebecca’s eyes, seeing beyond, he believed, into innocence. He knew she didn’t love him. She might, in some corner of her heart, have an affection for him. But he doubted it went deep. She couldn’t. She didn’t truly know him, and if she did, he’d not be seeing the compassion in her gaze. He doubted she’d even like him as much as Lady Havisham if she knew his past.
The sound of the bone cracking resurfaced and the memory of how he’d fought the fog in his mind when he tried to wake churned through him.
He reached for her hand, pulled it up so that her palm covered the thin scar line on his cheek. She didn’t pull away, and her eyes softened.
It would destroy her if he married her and didn’t remain true. Much in the same way his parents’ marriage had been destroyed by fidelity.
And she didn’t even know it. He would be discreet, which was as good as faithful.
He didn’t love her. He wasn’t even sure why he had any fascination with her, except he believed her more genuine than any person he’d ever seen.
He forced his lips around the painful words and his jaw to speak. She asked too much. And she asked what he did not know.
‘I…I will be faithful.’ How, he did not know, short of cutting off his pizzle. Damn. It would bleed.
Chapter Ten
Rebecca hadn’t spoken much with her father after Fox had left. The relief on the o
lder man’s face had numbed her words. He thought she’d changed her mind. It wasn’t deception exactly. She’d told him they must wait until morning because the night had been so fretful. And that night, through the walls she’d heard the murmur of her father’s prayers.
But she’d also heard the words the earl had spoken when they’d shouted in front of the house. The earl owned the roof over her head and the place her mother was buried. Now she had time to think of that.
With one word, he could banish them. She’d never, ever thought his lordship capable of such a thing. But she’d heard him threaten her father with it. And the earl wanted her to wed his son.
Even if the earl accepted her wish not to wed, and had no problems with it, his son would inherit if the earl died. There was no way around it.
And how would his son feel about letting her live in his village? He was vengeful. He’d freely admitted that.
She curled into bed, shut her eyes and realised she was not going to be able to stay in her home. No matter what. And it was likely that her father would not either. She could ensure that her father would have a home as the earl’s daughter-in-law. It would even be possible for both her and her father to live on the earl’s estate.
Rebecca knew the servants that worked there. She’d grown up with them. Seen them at Sunday Services her whole life.
She had to reconsider her wish not to marry the heir.
And she had to be careful. She could not let her father know she was making the sacrifice for him. And she could not be certain the earl’s son wouldn’t change his mind.
He’d proposed so many times to women and not moved through with it once. She needed a ring on her finger to put a roof over her father’s head. He’d devoted his life to others and he deserved the best she could do for him.
*
The next morning, she discovered porridge could be burned. The scent alerted her and she scraped off the charred part from inside the bottom of the pan and started over.
When someone knocked on the door, she looked out the window and recognised one of the maids from the earl’s house.
After opening the door, they spoke a few pleasantries and the woman gave Rebecca the note she’d been sent from the earl.
