Poor Miles! Twenty years old, in his first Season after finishing Oxford, he nearly falls victim to her sisters’ plot, then he loses his father and finds himself required to take on a role he didn’t feel ready for. Instead of joining the military and exploring the world as he wished to do, he had to remain at home and learn to deal with tenants and crops and politics, and more recently, his mother’s failing health.
Was it possible that Miles had conceived the idea of marrying her, not only to gratify his mother, but also to repay her sisters for their deceit? Surely not. The Miles she knew was not the sort to repay one bad turn with another. But did she know him—really know him? After only a few weeks’ acquaintance? She swallowed hard. She would have to find out. Because if his offer of marriage and avowals of love—she winced at that point as she realized he’d never actually said he loved her—were fabricated, she’d have to break off the engagement.
She stared down at the sapphire ring on her hand through teary eyes. It might not match her eyes, but she loved it because it was the symbol of their love for each other. If he didn’t reciprocate, it would only be a reminder of what could have been. She pulled it off and set it on the table next to her.
Alice’s hand went over her mouth and she looked as though she was going to cry. Mrs. MacPherson tried to protest, but was interrupted by Arabella.
“It’s best this way, Rebecca dear. I daresay you would never be happy as the wife of a duke—constantly under scrutiny by the highest sticklers of society, hosting balls and political dinners. I’ve always imagined you married to a vicar or solicitor or the like, growing stout and raising a large family in some quiet, rustic place.”
Noting the hostile glares of the others in the room, she flushed and continued in a raised voice. “Well, someone had to say it! Surely I can’t be the only one in this room who expected our little sister to wind up in some unremarkable place married to some kindly but unremarkable gentleman? I mean, the way she’s always preferred to hide away with her books and gardening… and after four Seasons too!”
She shrugged and gave an apologetic look at Rebecca. “I don’t mean to say there’s anything wrong with you, of course. You’ve just always preferred to be out of the limelight. Haven’t you?”
By this time, Rebecca’s nails were biting into her palms. How was it possible that she had not seen the spiteful side of Arabella’s character? Perhaps because she’d been twelve when they married and moved away, and she’d never got over the hero-worship stage. But by being preceded by such very celebrated sisters and finding it impossible to measure up to their success, she had convinced herself it was preferable to remain in the shadows and thus not invite unfavorable comparisons.
It was hardly surprising that her sisters—yes, even her mother—had believed her to be nothing but a mousy little wallflower who would never be anything but a pale shadow to her golden sisters!
Her father’s confidence in her had never wavered, she realized. Not one to be fooled by outer trappings, he had made a habit of reminding her of her superior qualities and attempting to build up her confidence. But it had mostly fallen on deaf ears. He was a man. A man could never understand the desire to be admired as a woman. Treasured.
As she believed Miles treasured her, now that her confidence in herself had been restored. Even if he were the type to hold grudges, he simply wasn’t capable of pulling off such a stunt. Look how he’d bumbled his proposal! He’d allowed his emotions to rule his head in that incident, and she had no doubt that something similar must have occurred to prevent him from talking to her about that long-ago prank. Because it was a prank. A malicious one played on a young man in his first Season, true, but he’d miraculously escaped and lived to become the strong, principled man he was now.
She sat up straight and contemplated the faces of first Arabella, then Alice, then her mother.
“Miles would never lower himself to use me to avenge himself upon you. I never should have doubted him. We shall marry and I shall become a duchess, but only because he is a duke, and what we make of our marriage is our concern, and only ours.”
And with that, she snatched up the ring and placed it on her left hand.
“I believe I shall retire to my room.” She rose from her chair and directed a stern look at the maid near the doorway. “I shall have my dinner on a tray.”
“Yes, mum.” Arabella’s maid didn’t hesitate to follow the orders of a guest in her mistress’s home. She bobbed her head and hastened to obey.
Rebecca gave a brief nod to her mother and sisters and followed left the room, every bit the imperious duchess she would soon become.
She was at ease with herself and the world once again, but oh, how she wished Miles were here so she could tell him everything she had learned! It seemed so wrong to be apart from him.
~*~
The previous day
York Street
Bath, Somerset
Miles paused outside the entrance of the Abbey and reflected, as he always did, on the moment he’d felt Rebecca’s backside fall into his lap. Perhaps not the most auspicious beginning—or a romantic one—but he would always remember it fondly as the day he finally came to grips with his identity.
He’d always seen his future wife as a nameless, faceless beauty who would add even more responsibilities to the already overwhelming list of encumbrances preventing him from living the life he’d always dreamed. But it was always such a solitary life. And now that he had Rebecca, he became aware of how seeing the world with her would make it truly meaningful. That being with her anywhere would be infinitely more delightful than being alone.
If only he could tell her that, he thought forlornly. She had read his letter by now and understood why he hadn’t said anything earlier about the misadventure with her sisters, but oh how he wished he could take her in his arms and tell her how much he loved her and couldn’t imagine his life without her. And that for her sake, for the sake of family unity, he would make a herculean effort to like her older sisters.
“Hey Aylesbury! Is that you? It’s been an age since those days at Eton!”
Miles wheeled around. Hartley. Malcolm Hartley. They hadn’t been all that close, not with Hartley being younger and in the lower forms, but they had become acquainted on sports days and other such events.
“Must be at least eleven or twelve years at least. Fancy meeting you in Bath!”
Hartley shrugged. “Just got engaged. Girl’s family lives here. Viscount Eldridge’s daughter. Good blood and pots of money. Not bad looking, either.”
Miles raised his eyebrows. “Have you set a date?”
“A date?”
“For the wedding, of course.”
Hartley threw back his head and laughed. “I leave all that to the ladies. Not for a year or more, though. I’m setting off to depart jolly old England for the nonce. Joining old Winky for a tour of the Greek islands. Shan’t be back for several months at least.”
Miles furrowed his brow. “And this is acceptable to your affianced wife?”
Hartley waved a hand in dismissal. “Why should it not be? Ladies adore planning weddings and ordering gowns and fripperies. I daresay she will have quite as much fun as I shall ogling Greek beauties and dancing over swords.”
Miles stared in disbelief, unable to contemplate the thought of leaving his Rebecca alone for months while he caroused on some Greek island. What if some other man were to snap her up in his absence? He couldn’t bear the thought.
Hartley’s eyes lit up. “What ho, I just had a splendid idea. You and Winky were always thick as thieves. Why don’t you join us? Ship’s leaving Portsmouth in a fortnight. We could kick up all sorts of larks on the journey over, and Winky… well, he’s always good for a laugh.”
Miles snorted and shook his head. “Not on your life,” he said firmly. “I’m to be married as well—next month as a matter of fact. I’m damned lucky to have found her—she’s no silly chit, you know—and only a fool would abandon her to frolic
with trollops, in Greece or anywhere.”
He clapped a hand on Hartley’s shoulder. “I’m no fool.”
Grasping the open-mouthed young man’s hand, he shook it and went on his way, feeling at ease with himself and the world.
But he needed to explain that to Rebecca. In person.
Chapter 9
2 August 1817
Kent
After plodding along on horseback through a heavy rainstorm and the subsequent muddy road for what seemed like hours, Miles rubbed the back of his neck and wished for the umpteenth time he had thought to bring a change of clothing with him instead of having his baggage sent by coach, along with his valet. But it had taken him so long to find a reliable nurse-companion that he felt he could trust with his mother’s care that he could not fathom wasting even a few hours’ time packing for the trip.
He was impatient to see Rebecca, touch her to make sure she truly existed and was not merely a dream, that she had forgiven him for neglecting to tell her about the past, that she cared for him, perhaps even loved him. Even more, he yearned to tell her that he loved her, that it was she who was the true treasure of the MacPherson sisters, and if she would allow him, he would spend the rest of his life convincing her of it.
“How far to Headley Hall?” he inquired of an ostler as he dismounted his horse at the Slippery Pig Inn at Rochester.
“About a mile as the crow flies, closer ta two if ye take the roads,” the man replied. “Are ye plannin’ ta go like that?” He nodded at Miles’s drenched cloak.
Miles ignored the comment. “Oats and water for the horse, and a rubdown if you can make it quick. I’ll be be leaving again in a quarter hour.”
The innkeeper was eager to provide him with two rooms—one for the valet—and send up washing water, soap and towels so that he could make himself as presentable as possible. Without a change of clothing, however, there wasn’t much he could do about the dampness. Flinching at his reflection in the mirror, he wished he had time for a clean shave when he saw Rebecca once more, but then again, he didn’t really want to wait that long.
By the time he reached the long driveway leading to Headley Hall, the sun was peeking out from behind the clouds and he was beginning to feel more upbeat. The Earl of Headley’s family home was a grand Palladian mansion surrounded by sweeping fields of green with patches of colorful flowers and fountains, and he even thought he could see a lake with a bridge across it in the distance. Arabella’s husband had given her a lovely home, Miles conceded, but he rather thought Aylesbury Manor compared favorably, originally designed by William Kent and improved upon by his father, and more recently, himself.
“The Duke of Aylesbury,” he told the butler who answered his knock on the door, “come to call on Miss MacPherson.”
The butler’s eyes widened at the state of his clothing and leaned in for a sniff before he reluctantly allowed him inside, and after handing over his hat and coat rather daintily to a footman, led him into a large, elegant drawing room, done in green and gold, the striped wallpaper punctuated with gilt-framed paintings and velvet-draped windows.
The elegant lady who strolled in to greet him was not Rebecca, however. By her statuesque height and golden hair, he knew it could only be one of the Golden Twins. By the slenderness of her figure, he knew it could not be Arabella, the soon-to-be mother. She had to be the other sister, Alice, Lady Strathmore.
“Lord Aylesbury!” she exclaimed. “What a pleasure to see you again! I was so hoping you would come. Rebecca and our mother have spoken of little else but you and your delightful mother since they arrived here.”
She sent a footman for tea and waved toward an armchair. “I hope your mother is well?” she inquired as they both seated themselves.
After Miles had assured her that Her Grace was recuperating satisfactorily, she informed him that Rebecca was out on the grounds with two of her nephews.
“She is so good with the children, you know. So natural and enthusiastic—she’s like a child herself, in many ways. I love my son and daughter, of course, but I draw the line at baiting fishing lines and climbing trees. Aunt Rebecca is open to anything.”
“Rebecca will undoubtedly be an excellent mother,” said Miles politely. “I hope we are blessed with many children.”
Lady Strathmore smiled. “We are all delighted to hear that dear Rebecca has made a love match. I know the two of you will be very happy.”
She leaned in and spoke in soft tones. “I’m glad to have the chance to speak with you before you see her. Because, you see, Arabella and I have never apologized for the loathsome trick we played on you so many years ago, and we hope that it will not be a hindrance to our impending family relationship.”
“Certainly not,” Miles began, but was interrupted by the arrival of the tea trolley.
Lady Strathmore rose, poured the tea, and handed him his before returning to her seat.
“I am so glad you can say that,” she said after taking a quick sip, “because it was a silly prank and if our mother had known of it—well, she was fit to be tied when she learned of it just last evening—I daresay if she had known then we should have been packed off to County Durham in a trice.”
Miles cleared his throat. “As to that, my lady, I am quite anxious to speak with Rebecca, to assure her that I meant to apprise her of it before she left Bath and that I consider it of no consequence after so many years have passed.” He narrowed his eyes. “She did receive my letter, did she not?”
Lady Strathmore swallowed. “Well, yes, she did receive it—but not until this morning, when Mother found it in her bandbox.”
Miles’s head jerked back and his cup rattled shakily on the saucer. “What?”
She put her cup down and put her hand to her forehead. “How it got there, we can’t be certain. But I can assure you that even before she had your explanation, she—after the initial shock, at least—defended your character and refused to believe that your courtship of her might be motivated by any sense of revenge on Arabella and me.”
After the initial shock?
Miles put his cup down and rose from his seat. “Take me to Rebecca,” he demanded. “I need to speak with her. Now. If you please,” he added. No doubt Lady Strathmore was correct in her assertions, but he didn’t want to wait a moment longer to hear it from Rebecca herself.
Lady Strathmore jumped to her feet. “Yes, of course. I’ll take you myself. Phelps, fetch His Grace’s hat and coat. Mary, I’ll need my new straw hat and the green shawl. Does anyone know where Miss Rebecca took the boys this morning?”
“I believe the lake was mentioned,” a footman replied. “Master Anthony is that keen on frogs, you know.”
Miles’s tension relaxed slightly as he envisioned Rebecca engaged in the decidedly unladylike activity of the capturing of frogs. Lady Strathmore didn’t look so enthusiastic, however.
“I do hope my David hasn’t been trifling with such dreadful creatures,” she mumbled as she led him out the door to the grounds. “I shan’t touch either of them until they’ve been thoroughly bathed.”
The lake was a fair distance, and Miles had all he could do to keep from running, so eager was he to see Rebecca. Fortunately, Lady Strathmore had a fairly long stride herself and managed to keep up with him. The vigorous pace did keep her from talking too much, though, which was a good thing, since being sociable with his future sister-in-law wasn’t of great interest to him at the moment.
They found Rebecca and the boys wading in the shallow waters of the lake, as expected, chasing after frogs. When she caught a glimpse of him, Rebecca dropped her skirts in surprise and rushed toward him, seemingly unaware of her bare feet and wet garment, at least until she ran abruptly into his arms and his own soggy self.
“Oh, I’m getting you wet,” she said, pushing against his chest in contrition.
“No, you’re not,” he assured her, clasping her firmly against him. “I’m as drenched as you are. Caught in a downpour,” he explained before bending hi
s head down to kiss her.
“Mama, that man is kissing Auntie Rebecca!”
“Don’t look, either of you,” his mother ordered. “It’s rude. That man is your future uncle, the Duke of Aylesbury. Come away with me, and Nurse will give you both baths. You haven’t been touching frogs, have you?”
“Of course not, Mama!”
Rebecca giggled as the kiss ended and she peered up at Miles, her face glowing with happiness.
“What’s the joke?” he asked, feeling as though a world of weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “I love you. I just wanted to make sure you knew.”
Her eyes danced as she smiled up at him. “I know you do. I knew even before I read your letter. And I love you too, in case I haven’t mentioned it before.”
In spite of their mutual dampness, a sudden sensation of warmth flooded through Miles as he held his beloved in his arms.
“Until I spoke with your sister—Lady Strathmore—I was terribly afraid your sisters might turn you against me when they told you their version of what happened that year, just before my father died.”
“Well it was a bit of a shock,” she admitted. “It never occurred to me before that they were capable of contriving such a mean trick. I don’t believe I ever saw that side of them before.”
She wound her arms around his left one and began pulling him toward the house.
“It was fortunate for both of us that you were not forced to marry my sister Arabella,” she said confidently. “She is so cross and out-of-sorts when she is increasing that nobody—not even Mother—can bear to be around her.”
She grinned. “Even little Tony worries about her, which is why he has a special gift for her in his pocket. To cheer her up.”
Miles tipped his head to the side. “Don’t tell me,” he said with a grin, “A frog.”
She nodded and they both erupted into gales of laughter.
Chapter 10
Sweet Summer Kisses Page 66
