“We should return to the house,” he announced. In response, Ivy began crying louder. He watched Rebekah attempt to console the little girl, and in turn her brother’s lip began quivering. He knew he had to do something quick. He scooped up Ivy in his arms, dropping the umbrella, and began waltzing with her. Wulfe hummed a waltz as he exaggerated the steps in the rain and exited the graveyard. Thorn dipped the little girl, hearing a giggle bubble up and out of her. He then spun her around until she was squealing in delight.
“My turn, Uncle Thorn,” Zachary cried running up to him. Thorn took the little boy’s hands in his and began spinning, lifting the boy up so that his legs were in the air. Zach squealed in delight.
“Stop that this instant,” Rebekah demanded. “It is unseemly and improper,” she said stuffily.
“I think Aunt Rebekah is saying that she wants to laugh, too,” Thorn teased and began moving towards her.
“Do not touch me, Thorn,” Rebekah said, not backing down from her current stance.
He slipped behind her and grabbed her from behind, swinging her around. Thorn felt her squirming and almost dropped her before stopping and lowering her to her feet. He smiled at her as she spun around. Her hand arced through the air, coming in sharp, splintering contact with his cheek.
“I said, do not touch me. This is not behavior fitting a funeral. Come with me children, we have guests waiting at the house that we must see to.”
“He would have wanted them to be happy, to remember the happy times.”
“How would you know what he wanted? Where have you been the last few years to even know what your brother wanted?” Rebekah herded the children to the black lacquered coach.
“You sound very much like your father right now,” Thorn said to her retreating figure. He watched as she spun around, a look of anger in her eyes that he had never seen before. She approached him and he felt the sting of her palm once more.
“Don’t you ever, ever, say that again,” she bit out, a tremor to her voice. “Do you understand me, husband?”
“And if I do?” He taunted.
“It will be your funeral we are attending,” she promised before turning and joining the twins once more. She lifted them each into the coach before climbing in herself. She peeked through the open door and asked Thorn, “Are you coming?”
“I believe I will walk, thank you. I am not feeling very welcome at the moment.”
“Suit yourself,” she said before nodding at the footman to shut the door.
Thorn stood in the drizzle watching the coach lumber down the muddy track that doubled as a road. His cheek stung from the slaps his wife had landed. His wife. Her eyes had sparkled green and blue as she approached him after he had compared her to her father. Her face had become pale. He knew there was no love lost between the girls and their parents, especially their father, but he had not expected that kind of reaction. Thorn flipped the collar of his cape up so that the drizzle would not run down his neck, and pulled his hat down more firmly over his brow.
He walked back into the family cemetery and approached the area where his brother and sister-in-law lay. Aware that the men would be arriving shortly to fill in the grave, he looked at the ground. A feeling of loneliness swarmed him. Other than the twins, he was the only one left of his family.
“Teddy and Sarah, I will attempt to be the best guardian I can to your children. They are wonderful, you know. I will make damn certain that Zachary has a chance to be a child before the weight of being a duke settles upon his shoulders. And Ivy,” he paused, “she is going to be a beauty. I promise to only turn her over someday to the best man possible, a man that will love her. I don’t know what your plan was for me and Rebekah. I am fairly certain the woman hates me,” he said, rubbing his throbbing cheek. “There are things that I cannot and will not promise in a graveyard, but I will see that she has everything she needs to stay happy and healthy. She is a wonderful caregiver for the children. I will support her in every way that I possibly can. Rest well.”
Thorn turned and began walking towards the manor that could be seen in the distance, not far from the family graveyard. He would honor his brother’s wishes to the best of his ability, but he did not say he would enjoy his marriage.
***
Rebekah seethed when she thought about the way Thornton had behaved at the graveyard. Had anyone seen? What would they say? Would they run and tell her parents that they were unfit guardians? She worried her lower lip as questions tumbled through her mind.
“Aunt Bekah,” Ivy said, taking her aunt’s gloved hand in her tiny one. “Please don’t be mad at Uncle Thorn. He was just trying to make us smile like Papa did.”
“I know, Sweet Pea,” she said, squeezing the girl close to her. “I’ve just been overset the last few days.”
“It’s all right,” Zachary spoke up. “Uncle Thorn and I will make certain that you don’t worry about anything.”
“Zach, you don’t have to take care of me,” Bekah softly replied.
“I’m the Duke of Wulfecrest now. It is my job.”
“Zachary, you are a boy. Your job is to be a child first,” she tried to explain, but the boy just puffed out his chest and crossed his arms.
“He’s going to be bossy now,” Ivy whispered to Bekah. “At least I’m older than he his,” she said with an arched brow and an almost evil-looking smile lurking about her lips. In that moment, she could almost have been mistaken for Rebekah’s child instead of her niece.
“I do think you will keep your brother well in line,” Rebekah told the little girl. The rest of the ride to the house was arduous because of the mired road. Rebekah found herself wishing that there were no guests to see to, that all the condolences had been paid. She found herself already hating the black that engulfed everything about them, a constant remembrance of what they had lost. She found herself despising the fact that she and the children had been left in the care of one of London’s most notorious rogues. How would she ever live down the embarrassment? How would they be able to fight her parents if they chose to try to take the children from them? Rebekah hated the uncertainty that felt like a noose about her neck as she waited for the executioner to make the floor fall away beneath her.
***
Rebekah and the children walked into a house full of people milling about, wanting to express their condolences. Most of all, they were nosy, wanting to see what the house of a duke looked like on the inside. They wanted to see how the family reacted to the prodigal son returning. Rebekah bent down and whispered something to the twins that the others could not hear. They children nodded in understanding, then turned and walked up the stairs. At the top, they paused a moment, holding hands. Slowly they turned and looked over the rail at the guests below.
“Thank you for coming today,” the new Duke of Wulfecrest announced. He nodded and imperceptibly squeezed his sister’s hand before they continued to the nursery. A hush fell over the crowd and a few of the women could be seen surreptitiously wiping tears from their eyes.
“He is quite the little man,” a masculine voice said at her ear.
“Yes, he is,” she replied, not bothering to turn and look at her husband. She still found it hard to believe that she was tied to that despicable man for the rest of her life.
“I should go upstairs and change into something dry and more suitable to receive guests. I will return momentarily.” He shook his head as he watched her walk towards a group of women. Wulfe found it difficult to believe that she harbored such anger and resentment towards him just because of the type of business that he ran. There had to be more to the situation, if he only knew what. He quickly changed, with the assistance of a footman, into dry clothes. Fighting with his cravat, a frantic pounding sounded on the door to his room. “Come in,” he called.
“My lord, I apologize for interrupting, but you are needed downstairs right away!”
“What is it?”
“Her ladyship’s parents have arrived and are demanding the chil
dren be delivered into their hands.”
“Bloody hell,” Thorn said, tying his cravat into a basic knot. When they had not arrived for the funeral, he had hoped they would be in London before the inevitable confrontation. He stood at the top of the stairs, looking for the couple, but unable to see them. Wulfe took a deep breath, straightened his superfine, then released his breath and began walking down the stairs. He followed the crowd of onlookers where they had gathered to better hear the raised voices.
“You will bring the children to us immediately,” the Reverend Hezekiah Johnson ordered, using the fire and brimstone voice he used with his parishioners.
“I will not,” Rebekah said, daring to stare the man down that stood in front of her.
“You dare look me in the eye, after the sins you have committed. You are an insult to not only me, but also the Lord above. You have not earned the right to look me in the eye, nor begged for my forgiveness.”
“And I never will. Not after what you did to me, what you stole from me,” she snarled.
“Reverend Johnson, I believe that is enough,” Thorn interrupted. “Ladies and gentlemen, my family and I appreciate you coming to pay your respects on this extremely sad occasion. I know that you will support young Zachary as he learns the requirements of the role he has been forced into. Unfortunately, it appears we have some family business best taken care of in private. I do hope that you all will understand.” A murmur rippled through the crowd and footmen and maids began delivering umbrellas, hats, and capes to the people gathered. Carriages lined up at the door ready to return the mourners to their homes. When the last person had left, the butler closed the door and quietly signaled the staff to follow him into the bowels of the house.
Thorn studied the three other people standing in the parlor. Reverend Hezekiah Johnson stood a few inches shorter than himself. The man had a wiry build, but there seemed to be a strength about him he had never noticed before. His hair had turned to a pepper gray over the years. His eyes were a bright blue. Edith Johnson, came to his mid-chest, and could be considered tiny. She had rich, brown hair, but nothing else could be said about it because of the tight bun she wore it in. The woman looked as if she seldom, if ever, smiled. Wrinkles etched her face and she never looked up, instead staring down at her hands as she clutched them furtively together.
“Mrs. Johnson, stop fidgeting,” the Reverend barked the order to his wife.
“Yes, Reverend Johnson,” she said, dropping her hands to her side, but never raising her head. He could not even tell the color of the woman’s eyes.
Thorn studied Rebekah. He could see her jaw working pensively and her hands fisted at her sides. Her eyes sparkled green and blue in her anger. Dark smudges underlined them, showing that she had been losing sleep. She had put her silky straight brown hair up in a knot this morning, but it had slowly begun to work loose. Now stray tendrils clung to her neck and face. How have I missed how beautiful she is? he thought. Her skin looked different from so many women of the ton, having a warm, honeyed tone. She also had generous, womanly curves belying the fact that she did expel energy quite often chasing after two rambunctious children. He found himself having to shift slightly at the physical reaction to his wife. Rebekah sort of favors Aimée, he thought and then immediately chastised himself for comparing his wife to his mistress. I don’t have time for any of this, he argued with himself.
“Reverend and Mrs. Johnson, thank you for coming to offer your condolences about my brother. That was most generous of you.”
“We came for the children,” the Reverend barked.
“There must be some misunderstanding, Reverend. You see, my brother and Sarah left the children in our care, not yours,” Thorn said, indicating Rebekah and himself. He moved closer to the young woman and took one of her fisted hands in his. Surprisingly, she clasped his hand, interlocking their fingers, and squeezing as if he were her lifeline.
“There is no misunderstanding. Do you really believe we would leave the Duke of Wulfecrest in the care of a scoundrel such as yourself and a harlot like her?” he asked, indicating his daughter.
“Sir, I could not care less what you say or think about me, but I will not allow you to belittle your own daughter in my presence, especially an innocent.”
“That woman is no longer my daughter and has not been for the last six years. She is as innocent as Queen Jezebel. I will not have my grandchildren raised in a house that condones such actions as hers and your own.”
“Leave.”
“Pardon?” The Reverend Johnson queried.
“You heard me,” Rebekah said. “You kicked me out of your house ten years ago. Now I am kicking you out of mine. You are not welcome back here, ever,” she ordered.
“This is not your house, this house belongs to the Duke of Wulfecrest.”
“Leave,” a small voice said from the staircase.
Thorn felt the loss of contact with Rebekah as she rushed to the two children that stood on the stairs. She stood in front of the twins, facing the older couple, as if she were the children’s only defense. Thorn walked across the room and joined the trio. He draped his arm across Rebekah’s shoulders, hoping to show a united front. He heard the older woman gasp and turned to look at her. For the first time, he could see that her eyes looked very similar to his wife’s, having sparkles of both blue and green in them.
“They look so much like the girls,” the older woman said in awe, her voice growing wobbly.
“That’s enough, Mrs. Johnson. It is clear we are not welcome.” He grabbed the woman’s arm and jerked her close.
Thorn noticed the wince that the woman could not hide, and hated Hezekiah Johnson even more at that moment. What had Rebekah’s mother endured at his hands? What had his wife suffered? And Sarah? His body would be cold in the grave before this man got his hands on Theodore’s children.
“Do not think this is the end, young man. I have connections, and will have those children in my care before you know what happened.”
“I will enjoy the fight, Reverend, but I think you will be surprised at the outcome.”
“Come, Mrs. Johnson,” the Reverend jerked his wife’s arm, forcing her to follow him.
Edith Johnson looked at her daughter and mouthed two words to her, Fight him. Surprised, all Rebekah could do was nod. Her mother gave her a quick smile before allowing herself to be escorted out of Wulfecrest Manor. Thorn pulled away from Rebekah, walked to the door and shut it. He left his hand on the solid wood before turning to look at his wife and wards.
“Zachary, Ivy, give your Aunt Rebekah a hug and go up to the nursery. You two have been through a lot today and should take a nap.”
“But…” Ivy started to argue.
“Do not argue with your uncle, young lady,” Rebekah said. “I’ll go up with you. It wouldn’t hurt for me to take a nap either.”
“I had hoped that we could discuss what just occurred.”
“Not now,” Rebekah waved him away.
“When?”
She answered by shrugging her shoulders and ascending the stairs, taking a hand of each child as she went.
“You are going to have to talk to me sometime.”
She kept walking up the stairs with the children in tow.
“Stubborn woman,” he muttered, mussing his hair in frustration. He walked to the study, grabbed the bottle of whisky, a tumbler, and sat at his brother’s desk. Knowing that they would soon be returning to London, he began meticulously going through all the records his brother had kept since taking over the Dukedom roughly six years ago. Six years ago. Hadn’t Reverend Johnson said something about Rebekah and six years ago? Ah yes, she had stopped being his daughter then, evidently not by her choice. He steepled his fingers and thought on the matter for several minutes. He would not find any answers without talking to Rebekah. He turned back to the journals spread before him and lost himself in the business of running an estate.
Chapter 4
In the early hours of morning,
Rebekah woke to a pounding head, stiff muscles, and scratchy eyes. Once she had made certain the twins had gone to sleep, she had made her way to her bedroom, locking the door behind her. Halfway through shedding her mourning clothes, she had collapsed to her knees as sobs wracked through her body. She had promised herself she would never cry over her parents again, and she wouldn’t have if her mother had not smiled at her. With that one secret look, the walls of hate Rebekah had erected around her heart had collapsed. Her mother was not the one to be hated in this situation. She had merely been a pawn played by her father as Sarah and herself had. Sometime during the night, she had fallen asleep, not even making it to her bed.
Rebekah pushed herself into a sitting position. She stretched, trying to ease the aches that had set in after a night of sleeping on the hard floor. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and gasped at the sight that greeted her. The dress she wore to the funeral lay about her in a heap, still tight about her waist. Her hair had fallen from its knot on her head and lay about her shoulders in a straight brown waterfall. Her hazel eyes were red from crying, and her face looked splotchy. She stumbled to her feet and walked to the pitcher and wash basin and poured cool water into the basin. She skimmed the dress over her hips and pushed it to the ground until she stood in her shift only. Grabbing a washcloth, she dipped it in the water and wrung it out.
She walked to the bed and collapsed on top of the covers, draping the cloth over her irritated eyes. Rebekah attempted to hold back the memories, of not just the past few days, but also years. They crashed through her like a wave breaking on the beach. They pounded through her until she wanted to beg for mercy. She heard the doorknob rattle then a timid knock.
“Aunt Bekah,” she heard a soft, feminine voice say.
Unable to ignore the little girl on the other side of the door. She pushed herself off the bed and made her way across the bedchamber. After flipping the key in the lock, Rebekah turned the knob and opened the door. On the other side stood Ivy, still in her nightclothes, her blonde hair a tousled mess.
Taming the Wicked Wulfe (The Rogue Agents) Page 4
