by Aileen Fish
She looked out the window at the village, where people strolled and scurried about in their ordinary lives. They all moved with a purpose. They had errands to run, jobs to do. She envied them in many ways. Visiting her father’s parishioners was all she had to keep her mind occupied most days.
Lifting her chin, she forced away any inkling of self-pity. “Perhaps I should go visit Aunt Cookson in Ebbw Vale.”
Father closed the book of sermons he was paging through. “What brought this on?”
“I bring too much shame on you. How can you preach to the parishioners about what God expects of them when you can’t even control your own daughter?” She continued before he could argue, knowing he would defend her even when she criticized herself. “I hear the whispers around town. If I’m not an embarrassment to you, I should be. I’m forever being caught in situations I shouldn’t be in.”
She never truly behaved improperly, it only appeared she did, if one imagined the worst in every situation. Since her horrid mistake seven years ago, they usually did. The young men of the parish would no longer speak with her at social assemblies. Of course, none of her mishaps had involved actually being compromised…she had never even been kissed. Nor had a young man reached for her hand while walking.
For that matter, she hadn’t gone walking with any young man who wasn’t a servant. If a situation could be misconstrued to have romantic implications, the widows gladly elaborated the degree of intimacy involved. They loved their romances and tried so hard to live one vicariously through Rebecca.
They just couldn’t find a young man willing to play the leading man.
Father steepled his index fingers and pressed them to his lips. “Why run now? Why this time, when the mishap is so minor?”
She had no answer for him. Was there something she had seen in Mr. Harrow that made her fear the widows would succeed in their matchmaking? Or perhaps she feared Lord Bridgethorpe would laugh at the suggestion that his nephew marry beneath him.
She knew better than that. The earl was a generous man with no airs about him. Lady Bridgethorpe had sent one of her own maids to help care for Mama when she took ill, and the girl had come daily over the course of the three months it took for Mama to slip away. They were kind people who watched over their neighbors.
Rebecca was only one more generation removed from a title than Mr. Harrow, since her grandfather had been a baron. Some might not consider her Lord Knightwick’s equal, but she was proud of her father’s choice to serve his God. She wouldn’t require her husband to be a man of the cloth, but wanted him to care about his fellow man as much as she did.
The sunlight outside the window called to her again. Run, it whispered. Run while you can.
Her life was about to change. Either by her own machinations or those of the widows, life could not go on as it had.
Father leaned both hands on his desk. “I will hear no more talk of you going away. If you did so, it would convince the widows you had something to hide.” He cleared his throat and lowered his gaze. “And if you stayed away too long, they’d assume your condition was becoming quite obvious, if you catch my meaning.”
Rebecca’s eyes widened and she gaped at him. “Father, they couldn’t believe that I—that Mr. Harrow—right there in the park?” She shivered, and ran her hands over her arms. Her eyes burned. How could anyone think that of her?
“No, the widows wouldn’t believe it of you, but others might. You know how some love to gossip and bring their betters down to their level. The best way of proving your innocence is to remain in the village and go about your calls to those in need just as you always do.”
She grew weary of the widows’ matchmaking efforts. For the first time in her twenty-four years, she wished there was even one man among her acquaintance whom she felt might make a suitable husband.
Chapter Three
The Earl of Bridgethorpe sat in the leather chair behind his massive cherry wood desk, his complexion more wan than the last time Neil had seen him. Clutching the arms of his chair, he seemed to be forcing himself to remain upright. Neil’s cousin Knightwick stood at his side like a royal guard, his hands clasped behind him.
Neil looked down at the scuffed toes of his boots, unable to meet Bridgethorpe’s eye. The last thing his uncle needed was a wayward nephew causing trouble. The idea his life plans could be foiled by his few moments in the village had his stomach burning. “I assure you, sir, there was nothing improper in my conversation with Miss Cookson this afternoon.”
The earl nodded—or was that just a tremor? “I believe you. But those old women you speak of, the widows. They are known to cause gossip where there is no foundation.”
“I thought I was doing the gentlemanly thing, offering to climb the ladder in her place. I never imagined how it could be misconstrued.” Neil rubbed a finger over the scratch on his cheek, where the skin still stung.
He hoped there was no gossip, nor any backlash from this silly mishap. Nothing was going to interfere with his bachelorhood, now that he was finally on his own. He planned to enjoy all-night card games, meals at all hours, and not answering to anyone regarding where he spent his days. Several of his school chums had been writing to him for several years of their escapades. Neil planned to make up for missed time.
Bridgethorpe spoke again in a thin voice. “I am pleased you’ve come to visit, in spite of the rough beginning. Your mother is well?”
“Quite well, thank you. Her hands are full with my sister being indisposed.”
His uncle smiled. “Yes, Lady Bridgethorpe read your mother’s latest letter to me. When is the grand event expected?”
“The baby should be here in July.” Neil planned to remain in London until at least August, if he came home at all. He was certain Mother would expect him to hold the squalling infant and coo over it as if it were the heir to the throne. He had no experience with babies, being the youngest of his siblings. And he planned to keep it that way for another few years. At the very least.
The earl seemed to sag ever so slightly, just enough for Neil to notice. It was time to end this conversation. Rising, Neil said, “I shall go find my aunt and cousins. Thank you for your time. I doubt anything will come of this misunderstanding, but wanted you to have the facts before any gossip reached you.”
“I’m pleased you did. Go and greet your cousins. I will see you at supper.”
Mother had mentioned the earl’s failing health, but Neil hadn’t realized how weak the man had become. Bridgethorpe was only a few years older than Neil’s mother, in his mid-fifties, yet he looked as frail as a ninety year old. His doctor could give no name to what ailed him, according to the letters Lady Bridgethorpe had written. How awful it must be for his family to watch the life slowly fade out of him.
Neil heard laughter and the shuffling of feet abovestairs in the billiards room and turned instead toward the library, where he hoped to find some solace. In spite of saying he would find his cousins, he wished to write his mother and suggest she come visit her brother before the baby came. Before it was too late. He doubted his aunt, in her way of making light of her worries, had stressed the actual severity of the earl’s illness, whatever it was he suffered from.
Neil was contemplating the closing of the letter when his cousin Hannah entered.
“There you are, Neil. David said you had come with him but I didn’t believe him. I am so pleased to see you. What brings you here?” She perched gracefully on a small chair near the table where Neil sat.
“Your brother invited me, as a matter of fact. I went to Fernleigh to enquire about some horses, and ended up with an invitation to a wedding.”
Her blue eyes rounded. “David put off finding a horse to come home instead? I’m all astonishment. I should have expected him to write Joanne and delay the event so he could stay at Fernleigh. Those horses are his life.”
Neil nodded. He’d been equally astonished by David’s distraction and could find no explanation to support it. “Apparently he has
room for another passion. What is she like, this Lady Joanna? Pretty, I imagine. And docile? Or is her head in the fashion plates, planning what to wear to the next ball?”
Hannah’s laughter was more schooled than he remembered. “You have the pretty part correct, but are far off with your other guesses. She is my dear friend now and you know I’d never be a friend of such a goosecap. You will be pleased when you meet her. Perhaps she’ll bring her friend Amelia to the wedding, and we can introduce you.”
He held up his hands to ward off such an idea. “Do not waste your time making matches for me. My rooms at the Albany would not accommodate a wife. I won’t be looking to marry for many years to come.”
“You are going to Town? Mother and I leave next month, after she recovers from the wedding.” Her features softened. “She can’t bear to think one of her children is leaving for good. David hasn’t lived at home in years, but he’s the first to marry, aside from cousin Stephen.”
“I think Knightwick has the right of it. He is still unmarried. I plan to emulate him. And what of you? Will you be following closely in David’s footsteps, now that you are out in Society?”
“I hope not.” Her face glowed with the good humor she couldn’t keep contained. “I am quite enjoying the balls and Venetian breakfasts, evenings at the theatre, and having so many friends to call upon. My life will seem so dull once I give all that up to marry.”
“Perhaps your husband will prefer to remain in London year-round. Of course, it would seem rather quiet there when most of the ton retires to their country homes.”
She leaned toward him and placed a hand on his arm. “We are getting ahead of ourselves talking of marriage for either of us. I shall send word when Mother and I arrive in Town, and you may join us in our calls. You will be on all the important guest lists, I’ll make sure of it.”
The very idea of being paraded before marriage-minded mamas had his chest tightening and the room closing in on him. His own mother hovered over him when he was at home, Neil, come here. Neil, go there. He felt like the three small terriers she kept garbed in ribbons and jeweled collars. He was tired of yapping on command. “I wish you wouldn’t. I plan to be at the club most nights. I’m not even certain which club—whichever will have me. I have no intention of signing anyone’s dance cards, nor squiring them about in my curricle. I plan to enjoy the bachelor life as long as I can.”
David strolled into the room. “In that case, you should avoid catching any young ladies falling out of trees.” He winked at Neil, and asked Hannah, “Did he tell you what he did? And with Miss Cookson, no less.”
Hannah gasped. “Rebecca? Neil, what were you thinking? Did you flirt with the vicar’s daughter?”
“You know me too well to think it. I did nothing like you are imagining, cousin.” Neil wiped his brow as warmth crept up his skin. Why was he embarrassed by what had happened? He did nothing wrong. “I am innocent of all charges, save being beneath the gel when she fell.”
Hannah’s jaw dropped and she burst out laughing, before raising a hand to cover her mouth. She continued to chuckle softly while Neil explained the mishap. When he reached the part about their being spied, she said, “Oh, no, not the Widow’s League.”
“I see you know of whom I speak. Are they notorious meddlers?”
“The worst,” David said. “I picked up Miss Cookson’s handkerchief once after church, and the widows had me on bended knee in their tales.”
Neil smiled, some of the tension leaving him at last. “I’m relieved to know I shall escape the fate they have planned for me. They looked quite determined.”
David nudged Neil’s arm. “I came to tell you I must check on a sick foal. Will you come along? I’ll show you the horse I had in mind for you.”
Quickly signing off on his letter, Neil rose and followed David outside. Once they were far enough from the house to not be overheard, he asked the question simmering in his thoughts. “What was it about Lady Joanna that made you certain you wished to marry her?”
David looked off in the distance where some horses grazed in the paddock. “I don’t know that I ever put it in words, or enumerated the pros and cons. I became rather attached to her over the course of a Season. We had a falling out over some dealings I had with her brother, and in her absence it became clear she was necessary for my happiness.”
“I see.” In truth, Neil was uncertain how to respond, in spite of his words. How did one recognize a person was responsible for one’s happiness? He enjoyed so many pastimes, alone and with others. He was rarely unhappy. There must be some difference in his makeup from that of his cousin. Neil didn’t require anyone else to be happy. That was why he was looking forward to arriving in London. His time and his thoughts would be his own, with no one to report to.
He planned to live the bachelor’s life to the fullest.
Chapter Four
The next week passed and Rebecca was delighted to see nothing of Mr. Harrow. She had slipped out the side door after the church service on Sunday to avoid greeting anyone. The only time she saw the widows was at the weekly sewing circle begun by Mama and continued by the ladies in the village after her death. No mention was made there of the young man, and no one looked askance at Rebecca, so she felt safe to assume the moment was in the past.
Her good fortune could not last forever, she discovered. As she made her way home from the Upjohns Wednesday afternoon, she spied members of the Lumley family walking at the crossroads. The twins, Lady Madeleine and Lady Patience, called out to her and rushed ahead of their brothers and Mr. Harrow. “Miss Cookson, how happy we are to see you.” Lady Patience, the slightly taller of the two, spoke with all the enthusiasm a young lady of fourteen could muster.
“Yes, we have wanted to speak to you.” Lady Madeleine glanced back at the young men before leaning closer and whispering, “Is it true our cousin kissed you?”
Lady Patience giggled and nodded, the curly blond fringe around her face bobbing.
Rebecca felt the blood leave her face and said a prayer for civility before answering. She continued walking, keeping her voice low, even though the footsteps behind them didn’t draw any nearer. “He did no such thing. Who is spreading this vicious tale?”
“Why, all the servants have been whispering about it. They say he caught you unawares behind the wisteria bush and stole a quick kiss before jumping back into the coach on his way to the Manor.” Lady Patience was breathless in her telling.
“No, that wasn’t it at all,” Lady Madeleine argued. “It was the old oak in the town square, and he kissed her for an entire minute.”
“He did no such thing, I assure you. There was no kiss. The servants are telling Banbury tales.” Rebecca wished she could run home, but she stood her ground and held herself to a walk. She’d been afraid this would stir up the old stories about her, so she was prepared to face whatever came this time.
“Well, I for one am disappointed,” Lady Patience said with a sigh. “I was hoping you had found a grand love.”
Rebecca adjusted the basket on her arm. She often talked of romance and handsome young men with the twins and their older sister, but never with the object of their discussion so close by. “I do not seek a grand love. Save your sadness. When the gentleman God has intended for me arrives, I shall be quite happy to marry him. Your sister is more deserving of your pity. The poor girl spent an entire Season in London without finding a beau.”
As she hoped, her words sent the twins into an effervescent flurry of words, none of which had to do with Rebecca or Mr. Harrow. The girls were never mean-spirited, but their lives revolved around the heroes in their books and their imaginations. They wished to see everyone happily wed. In that way, she supposed, they were much like the Widows League.
“Miss Cookson?” The soft-spoken voice behind her had to be that of Mr. Harrow. He’d approached so quietly she hadn’t noticed him above the twins’ laughter.
She glanced back, composing her features into a polite mask. “Goo
d day, Mr. Harrow. It’s a fine day for a walk, isn’t it?”
“Quite fine.” He studied her eyes. “I was hoping to see you today. I wished to apologize.”
Slowing her pace slightly to let the girls get ahead of them, Rebecca fell into step with Mr. Harrow. “There is no need for apologies. The matter is behind us. I do not accuse you of anything the gossips would have us doing.”
His hat brim shaded his face, but his blue eyes were bright with some emotion she couldn’t name. She couldn’t look away; they held her trapped. She almost missed his next words.
He broke their gaze, ducking his head slightly before lifting it with a determined thrust of his chin. “I feel as though I should have done something more to put an end to the talk.”
“Anything you would have done would only encourage them. You did well to keep your tongue.”
“How is your father taking it?”
“Really, Mr. Harrow, you make too much of an innocent accident.” Rebecca adjusted her shawl. “It is best forgotten.”
His smile relaxed, becoming more natural. More devilishly handsome, if that was possible. She wished he were a plain man. It would have been easier to continue to dislike him. As it was, he wouldn’t be visiting long enough to get to know him well, which might be a good thing. She’d never pined for a gentleman before and had no intention of learning how.
“I see your basket is empty, and you are walking toward the village, not away from it. You’ve been calling on parishioners?”
“Yes. Mrs. Upjohn is just now getting her strength back.” They had reached the Benjamin house on the outskirts of the village. Rebecca hoped the widow wasn’t at home.
Lady Patience turned to speak to her cousin. “Madeleine and I wish to call on Mary Kingston. Will you and the boys find us there when you are ready to return home?”
“Of course,” Mr. Harrow replied.
The twins left their group. Rebecca needed to separate herself from the young men before the entire village saw her. “I must hurry back. Father will be wondering where I am.”
