by Deborah Hale
The wistful note in her voice made Sebastian long to whisk her away in his carriage to visit every one of her friends. It elated him to discover she had not been alluding to a past sweetheart, and yet it saddened him too. Rebecca Beaton was meant to be cherished and cared for, not to spend her whole life moving from family to family, educating their pampered daughters until they had no further use for her services.
“Have you ever felt that sort of immediate connection?” Her question turned the tables on Sebastian. Caught in her deft ambush, he nearly blurted the truth. Fortunately, hard-won experience came to his rescue. Was Rebecca leading him on, seeking to win him over with her arts of attraction as he sought to win her with his powers of debate?
“I reckon I did feel that sort of instant attraction once.” His fingers dug into the arms of the chair and his voice grew cold and harsh. “To my grief, I later discovered I was deceived.”
Rebecca’s flying pencil fell still and her face reappeared from behind the easel. “I am sorry for that, Sebastian. You are a fine man and you deserve better.”
Her sincere sympathy and the sweet sound of his name on her lips were like balm on an old, ulcerated wound. If only Rebecca had stopped there...
“I know you must be anxious to prevent your brother from being deceived as you were. But you need have no such fears of Hermione, I promise you. She would never harm a soul, least of all a man she cares for as she does your brother.”
Sebastian found himself dangerously tempted to believe her, but he had been protecting Claude for so long. Sometimes he’d been so busy watching out for his brother that he hadn’t thought to watch out for himself. He could not stop now.
“Perhaps she would not mean to hurt him.” Forgetting he was supposed to be posing for the sketch, Sebastian sprang from his chair and began to pace the sitting room. “But they are both so young, her especially. You can vouch for her kind heart, but what of her judgment, her constancy?”
As he passed the window, he gestured toward the garden where the young couple were walking arm-in-arm, talking and laughing. They looked deliriously happy.
Sebastian reminded himself that delirium was a form of madness brought on by fever. When he glanced toward Rebecca, he feared that fever might be catching.
Chapter Six
A MIXTURE OF pride and hopeless yearning welled up in Rebecca’s heart as she stared at her sketch of Sebastian, which still needed a little work to complete. She marveled that her hands had managed to produce such a good likeness of him while so much of her mind had been occupied with defending Hermione.
Though it might not be as accurate a portrait as a professional artist could render, she flattered herself that it captured his dynamic spirit. About the mouth, she’d managed to convey the self-deprecating wit behind which he hid his basic goodness and concern for others. And in those guarded eyes of his, she’d revealed a secret shadow that had puzzled her... until he’d spoken of being deceived.
Then she’d understood—in part at least. She could not entirely fathom his feelings, having never before experienced the pain of love rejected or betrayed. Perhaps that was why her awkward effort to comfort him had misfired so badly.
Instead of being soothed by her overture, Sebastian had bolted from his chair to stride around the room, firing off questions about Hermione’s judgment and faithfulness. Much as Rebecca wanted to defend the dear girl against his charges, she could not forget the reservations Hermione herself had expressed about marriage before the gentlemen arrived.
Coming to an abrupt halt near the window, Sebastian had flicked a glance toward the young couple strolling in the garden. Then he’d turned to fix Rebecca with a reproachful glare. “How do we know she accepted his proposal because she truly cares for him and not just because she considers him a good catch.”
The question troubled Rebecca. If a man with a comfortable home and a good income ever asked for her hand, would she accept even if she felt no particular affection for him? Would it be such a terrible sin if she did, her practical nature demanded.
Stung by Sebastian’s tone and the conflicting feelings he’d stirred in her, Rebecca was sorely tempted to let fly with a scathing retort. Then she glimpsed the shadow in his eyes that had found its way into her drawing. She realized his question had not been meant to accuse or offend her. It sprang from his own private pain. Just as she could not fully comprehend the anguish of being deceived, Sebastian did not understand the pressures young women faced.
“I believe Hermione does love your brother.” Rebecca set down her pencil and stepped out from behind her easel. “You might see it too if you would look beyond your prejudice against her. I wish you could have heard her singing Mr. Stanhope’s praises just before you arrived.”
“But?” Sebastian voiced the word she had stifled.
Rebecca hesitated, torn between her loyal inclination to see Hermione well wed and reluctance to let an impetuous young couple make a mistake they might regret for the rest of their lives. “Hermione said she was not having second thoughts about her feelings for your brother.”
“She is having second thoughts, though?” Sebastian seized upon the damaging implication eagerly. “Did she tell you what aspect of the match troubles her?”
“No!” Rebecca wanted to clap a hand over her mouth, though she knew it was too late. Had she betrayed a confidence that Lord Benedict might use as a wedge between Hermione and Miss Stanhope? “But I can hazard a guess what it might be.”
“By all means,” Sebastian urged her, “hazard away.”
Could she make up for her earlier lapse or would she only compound it?
Either way, she could not keep silent. “Perhaps Hermione worries that proud people like you will look down on her because her fortune and connections are not as lofty as yours. Perhaps she fears they will make her feel unwelcome in their society. She may even wonder if they will seek to turn Mr. Stanhope against her and make him regret having married her.”
She had not meant to go on at such length or for her tone to grow so sharp. Sebastian was a fine man and she had come to like him very much. Lately she feared that liking had strayed into more dangerous territory. For all that, she was becoming impatient with his stubborn antipathy toward the girl she loved like a sister.
To her surprise, Sebastian seemed to recoil from her outburst. “By they I presume you mean me. Do you share these fears you attribute to Miss Leonard? Do you believe me capable of sowing discord between her and Claude if they wed?”
The shadow in his eyes darkened further. He seemed wounded that she could entertain such a notion about him. But why on earth should it matter what someone in her position thought of him?
Torn between her confused feelings for him and loyalty to Hermione, Rebecca was compelled to speak the truth—though she softened her tone in an effort to spare his feelings. “I do not want to believe you would ever do such a thing. But given your coldness toward Miss Leonard and the effort you have made to break the engagement, I cannot be certain what you might do if she and your brother wed against your wishes.”
Sebastian took a step toward her, bringing him closer than was proper for a gentleman to approach an unattached lady. Discretion warned Rebecca to put a more seemly distance between them. But she could not bring herself to back down when she was right. Besides, she liked being close to him, even when he bristled with annoyance.
“I am very disappointed that you could have formed such a vile opinion of me, Rebecca.” His slate-blue gaze bored into hers. “I thought you knew me better than that.”
His nostrils flared and his firm jaw clenched into even grimmer severity. Yet his whole aspect radiated more injury than anger.
Though Rebecca tried to resist, his response stirred her to the very core. She pressed her lips together, reluctant to speak, for fear she would relent out of sympathy for him, rather than because it was the right thing to do.
Sebastian must have taken that look as a sign she had hardened her heart against hi
m. “I swear I would never do any of the things you have suggested! I admit that before the knot is tied, I will do everything in my power to prevent it. But if my brother does wed Miss Leonard, I will do my utmost to insure their marriage is a success. You do believe me, don’t you?”
Rebecca longed to give him the assurance he seemed to crave, but could she? If only her mother’s family had taken the approach Sebastian vowed he would, how differently her life might have turned out. Instead, they’d borne a grudge that persisted even beyond the grave.
“I am certain you are capable of magnanimous behavior if you set your mind to it.” Her fingertips tingled with the yearning to reach up and give his cheek a reassuring caress, but she did not dare take such a liberty. “But I also know it is not as easy as you imagine to put aside the past and behave contrary to your previous inclinations.”
He leaned closer to her. Did he intend to whisper a secret in her ear? Rebecca knew what she wished he would do. Her lips ached with longing for one kiss from him, however meaningless, however fleeting.
The sound of approaching voices broke upon the shimmering intensity of that moment like a splash of cold water. With a guilty start, they both jumped back, leaving a discreet distance between them that gaped like an unbridgeable chasm.
An instant later, Hermione and her fiancé breezed in.
“How is the sketch coming?” Claude Stanhope strode toward Rebecca’s easel. “Done, I presume, if Miss Beaton is no longer working on it.”
“I still have some finishing touches to add.” Rebecca flew to intercept him. What if her sketch somehow betrayed her feelings for Sebastian? “But I can complete those later, without needing Lord Benedict on hand to pose.”
She was grateful the younger couple had interrupted before any greater intimacy developed between her and Sebastian. Yet in the wake of her relief came a chilling ripple of regret that spread in ever-widening circles through the still, deep waters of her heart.
Another minute and he would have kissed Rebecca.
That certainty haunted Sebastian over the next several days, making him avoid Avoncross like the plague, even though it meant letting his brother call on Miss Leonard, unaccompanied.
What troubled him, as much as his unmanageable feelings for Rebecca, was the fear that she believed him capable of trying to wreck Claude’s marriage, if he wed Miss Leonard. Sebastian would rather Rebecca’s sketch of him had turned into a grotesque caricature than fall short of her best judgment of him.
He hated to admit how much her opinion of him had come to matter. Her reluctant suspicions and gentle reproaches stung him worse than he’d been hurt in a long while. Sebastian had vowed he would never again allow a woman that kind of power over him. How had Rebecca Beaton breached all his defenses to strike so deep?
“There you are.” Claude strode into the library of Stanhope Court, where Sebastian had been pretending to read for the past two hours. “Miss Leonard and Miss Beaton send their regards and hope you are not indisposed. I assured them you are in the pink of health though rather vexed in spirit.”
“Indeed.” Sebastian scowled at his brother’s heartless levity.
“Oh yes.” Claude grinned as if he found Sebastian’s scowl more amusing than intimidating. “That is why I have brought something to show you. I hope it will improve your mood.”
From behind his back, he produced a large sheet of rolled paper, tied with a string. Undoing the latter, he let the paper unfurl to reveal Rebecca’s completed sketch of Hermione Leonard.
“Lovely isn’t it?” Clause beamed as if he’d drawn the picture himself. “Even you must admit that, Sebastian.”
“I have never questioned the lady’s good looks,” Sebastian snapped. “Nor am I surprised to find Miss Beaton has produced a flattering likeness of her.”
The sketch was more than that, he grudgingly admitted to himself. Rebecca had brought out a soft glow of sweetness in Hermione Leonard’s dark eyes. The depiction of her lips suggested patience and generosity. Sebastian felt as if he were looking at an entirely different woman. He could not help wondering which of them saw his brother’s fiancée more clearly.
“Miss Beaton now, is it?” Claude’s eyes danced with impudence. “No longer Rebecca? I thought the two of you would be on more familiar terms after the other day, not less.”
Sebastian bolstered his scowl with a frosty glare. Together, they did a better job of cowing his brother.
Claude ducked his head and began to roll the paper back up with infinite care. “I mean to take this to London tomorrow to have it framed properly. Miss Beaton has finished yours, too, whenever you choose to collect it. I would have brought it with me but I did not want to deprive you of an excuse to call on the lady.”
“I do not need an excuse to call on Miss Beaton.” Sebastian dropped his heavy book to the floor and surged up from his chair. “Nor do I want one. I am amazed you can tear yourself away from Miss Leonard long enough to go to London. Are you growing tired of her at last?”
“Not in the least.” Claude did not look up as he retied the rolled-up sketch. “Hermione and her father are going to pay a short visit to an aunt of hers. I thought I might as well go to London as mope around here until she returns.”
“Whereabouts is this aunt located?” Sebastian demanded. “I suppose Miss Beaton will accompany them.”
He tried to sound barely interested, though that was far from true. Even while he had gone out of his way to avoid Rebecca of late, there had been something comforting about the knowledge that she was not far away if he chose to call on her.
Claude shook his head. “There wasn’t room to take both Hermione’s maid and Miss Beaton, so she has stayed behind at Rose Grange. I believe she means to use the time to make inquiries about a new position. Do we know anyone who might need a governess? Lord and Lady Rayleigh have daughters, don’t they?”
“A pack of young hoydens.” Sebastian shuddered. “They need a wild animal tamer more than a governess.”
He had no doubt Rebecca would be equal to the challenge of civilizing the Rayleigh girls if she put her mind to it. But it grieved him to think what an uphill battle it would be for her. Not to mention the Rayleighs’ estate was off in the northern wilds of Cumberland. It would be quite a change from the Cotswolds, especially for Rebecca, who cherished familiarity.
“A companion, then?” suggested Claude. “Perhaps to the Dowager Lady Stevenage?”
“That sour-tempered, cheese-paring harridan?” Sebastian strode away. “Not if I have any say in the matter!”
“You don’t have any say in the matter,” Claude called after him. “Why on earth should you?”
Why on earth, indeed? Sebastian’s reason demanded as he marched off to the stables. Rebecca’s future employment was none of his concern. Then why did he feel so desperately anxious about it, his heart countered, and about her well-being in general?
Perhaps it was the same reason that put him in good spirits when he was with her and made him restless when he was not. He had tried to ignore it and even now he could not bear to give that complicated jumble of feelings its true name.
The moment his horse was saddled Sebastian set off for Rose Grange at the break-neck pace his brother might have ridden. He tried to convince himself he was only going to take possession of the sketch he’d commissioned. But he knew better than to believe such a lame excuse. What he really wanted was to talk to Rebecca again to convince her he was not as heartless and vengeful as she’d implied.
Even that was only part of the truth, he conceded at last. He simply needed to see her again, to hear her voice. If he was very fortunate, he might catch a glimpse of her smile or hear the mellow rustle of her laughter.
Rebecca did not smile when she entered the sitting room where Sebastian had been asked to wait for her. Instead, she appeared surprised by his unexpected visit—even a bit wary. “If you have come looking for your brother, he left some time ago. The Leonards departed not long after. They have gone�
�”
“To visit her aunt.” A sense of peace stole over Sebastian the moment he laid eyes on Rebecca again. “Claude informed me when he returned home. It is you I have come to see... about my portrait.”
He hoped Rebecca would believe that excuse more than he had.
“Then why did you not accompany your brother when he collected the sketch of Hermione?” Her direct gaze demanded the truth.
“Because... I wasn’t certain I could face you, knowing what you think of me.” Sebastian could scarcely believe he had made such a frank admission of weakness.
Rebecca seemed taken aback as well. “I thought you did not give a fig for anyone’s opinion. You seem to take pride in being considered stubborn, arrogant and ruthless.”
“In a good cause,” he reminded her.
“Ah.” She began walking toward the easel. “And you realize that trying to break your brother’s engagement is not such a good cause after all?”
“No.” The denial rose to his lips instinctively, before he had an opportunity to give it much thought. “But I am certain meddling in his marriage would be. It grieves me that you believe I would do such a thing.”
“I do not wish to grieve you. Quite the contrary, in fact.” Rebecca caught her full lower lip between her teeth, as if to prevent herself from saying any more on the subject. After a long pause, she turned to a safer subject. “Since you are here and my sketch of you is finished, you might as well take it, if it meets with your approval.”
Sebastian moved toward the easel, as much because he welcomed any excuse to draw nearer to Rebecca as any eagerness to see his portrait. Indeed, now that the moment was at hand, he found himself a trifle nervous to see how she had depicted him.
Steeling himself, he glanced at the paper. A breath of relief gusted out of him.
