Rebecca's Refusal

by Amanda Grange

  “Do let me!” Miss Quentin was saying laughingly, tugging at Joshua's hand. “It is such a pretty ring, and would look so lovely on my finger.”

  Rebecca realized with a sinking feeling that Miss Quentin wanted to try on Joshua's signet ring, the one that had been left to him by her grandfather.

  Joshua evidently shared her feelings on the subject, however, for his voice, deep and masculine, carried towards her across the room. “No.”

  Rebecca glanced in his direction and saw him put his hand down firmly by his side. Miss Quentin pouted, but he remained unmoved. “I will allow no one else to wear that particular ring,” he said.

  “Not even your future bride?” asked Miss Quentin, looking up at him with a sideways glance.

  Joshua laughed. “For my future bride I will make an exception,” he said. A moment later dashing her hopes by adding with a sardonic smile, “But not for you.”

  Miss Quentin pouted, but Joshua was impervious to her coquettish ways and making her a mocking bow he left her side.

  Rebecca hastily turned her attention back to Mr Willingham, who was exhorting her to choose a seat for the concert.

  As the music began, Rebecca thought that the one bright spot of the evening was that Louisa appeared to be having an enjoyable time. The gentle spinster's face glowed and she looked much younger than her five-and-forty years. Edward Sidders had noticed it, too, if the animation of his conversation was anything to go by, and Rebecca was glad. It was time Cousin Louisa had some fun.

  Then she gave her attention to the music. The lady harpist's fingers flew over the strings, and the time passed most agreeably until supper.

  “Ah! Here is Joshua,” said Louisa, as she and Edward joined Rebecca. “He has come to take you into supper.”

  Joshua had not come to do any such thing, of that Rebecca was sure. But Louisa's spontaneous words left him with no alternative and he murmured, “Delighted.”

  Mr Willingham, robbed of his chance to escort Rebecca, made his excuses and then left them, for which Rebecca would have been grateful if it had not meant that she had to go in to supper with Joshua.

  She had found his heat and passion difficult to cope with. She was finding his coldness far worse.

  “I told Rebecca we would see you here,” said Louisa happily. “I had hoped to see you sooner, but I dare say you have been busy with the mill.”

  Joshua responded warmly, and Rebecca was pleased to see that, although his attitude to her was distinctly cool, his manner with Louisa was friendly and unrestrained.

  And yet it made her realize that this was yet another feature of his personality which drew her to Joshua — his kindness to those so much weaker than himself.

  Her feelings were becoming confused again, she realized. Given that he had offered her his hand for the sake of her reputation she was not sorry she had refused it. But yet the thought of his never offering it to her again made her feel very low.

  It was all too difficult. She was not used to such conflicting emotions, and she found them most uncomfortable. But then, wasn't that what love was all about?

  Love! What nonsense. In love with Joshua? What an idea! She was perplexed by him. Angered. Confused. Provoked. But in love with him?

  Never.

  “But come!” said Louisa, rescuing Rebecca from her thoughts. “We must go into supper, and you can tell us all about it.”

  Joshua made Rebecca a stiff bow and offered her his arm. She placed her hand on it, letting her fingertips barely graze it, and they went into supper.

  “You must be delighted to be running the mill at last,” said Louisa. “I know how interested you were in it, and how you spent a great deal of time with Jebadiah whilst he taught you all about it. What a long time ago that seems.”

  “I am delighted,” Joshua agreed, scarcely looking at Rebecca as he took his place at the table.

  “Fancy Jebadiah leaving half of the mill to Rebecca! Stocks and bonds, these are what most people would have left, but not Jebadiah! He was an eccentric old man, to be sure. But Rebecca has always been so clever, and Jebadiah liked clever women. Our grandmother had a keen mind. So I suppose it is no wonder, after all.” She beamed at them both. “And when are you going to show her round the mill?” she asked.

  Rebecca glanced at Joshua. He glanced at her at the same moment and their eyes met. He looked away.

  Rebecca had a momentary wish that she had never expressed an interest in the mill; that she had said from the outset that she wanted nothing to do with it; because becoming involved in the mill would mean spending time with Joshua, and despite the fact that she did not love him — as she firmly told herself — she felt a strange connection to him which was making it difficult for her to be in his company.

  A moment later she chided herself for cowardice.

  Of course she must take an interest in the mill. She owed it to her grandfather. And besides, she was interested, and felt she had a part to play. If she found it difficult to be in Joshua's company, that was simply a misfortune she would have to bear.

  “Perhaps we can set a date for my visit to the mill tonight,” she said, as they sat down to a varied selection of appetizing food. “Now that I am in Manchester I would like to see round it as soon as possible.”

  He replied politely but coolly. “Of course.”

  “I thought perhaps Friday,” went on Rebecca. “If you do not have time to show me round yourself, perhaps the manager can do so,” she said, her courage suddenly faltering.

  “Of course Joshua will have time to show you round!” exclaimed Louisa.

  “I would be delighted to be of service to you,” he said formally. Though whether he would have said it if not for Louisa's exclamation Rebecca had no way of knowing. “Shall we say, two o'clock?”

  “Two o'clock,” Rebecca agreed.

  She took a sip of wine.

  “And I suppose I must go with you as your chaperon,” said Louisa doubtfully.

  “You must do no such thing,” said Rebecca. She knew how timid Louisa was, and knew she would not like to visit the mill. “Betsy will come with me.”

  “Well, dear, if you're sure,” said Louisa. She tried to appear unconcerned, but there was a note of relief in her voice.

  “Perfectly sure,” said Rebecca reassuringly.

  Feeling Joshua's eyes on her she turned just in time to see a hint of warmth in his eyes before he turned away again: he, too, had known how little Louisa would like a visit to the mill, and was pleased Rebecca had spared her the ordeal.

  But the warmth was quickly quelled, and later that night, as she readied herself for bed, Rebecca found herself wondering whether it had really been there, or whether she had imagined it.

  * * *

  Miss Serena Quentin's beautiful face wore a scowl as she sat before her dressing table whilst her maid unpinned her hair. The evening had not been a success. Bored of the young men who habitually frequented Manchester's social gatherings she had turned her attention to the harshly attractive Joshua Kelling, only to have him dismiss her as casually as if she had been an elderly dowager, instead of worshiping her as the beautiful and alluring young woman she was. It was bad enough that he had walked away from her — Serena walked away from gentlemen; they never walked away from her — but the fact that he had been seen doing so by Miss Lavinia Madely had made it a hundred times worse.

  Serena's scowl deepened as she thought of Lavinia Madely, her only serious challenger for the position of Manchester's greatest beauty. The two had been rivals ever since they had come out.

  Lavinia's flaxen hair contrasted with the beauty of Serena's guinea-gold curls. Each had their own court of admirers, but Mr Kelling did not seem to want to belong to either set.

  “You're losing your touch,” Lavinia had smirked when Joshua had walked away from her.

  To which she had replied, seriously angry, “I can soon bring him to heel.”

  Lavinia had lifted one beautifully arched eyebrow. “A wager?” she had as
ked. “To make it more interesting. Ten guineas declares you cannot bring him to propose.”

  Fired up by Lavinia's taunting, Serena had accepted. And she had done it with style!

  “Ten guineas?” she had asked disdainfully. “It's hardly worth my while. Let's make it twenty.”

  On which sum they had agreed.

  Twenty guineas if Mr Kelling proposed.

  And humiliation if he did not.

  It would have been a rash wager, even for Serena, if not for one thing.

  Dismissing her maid she crossed to her escritoire and took out a folder in which she kept her correspondence. Her female correspondence, that was. Her letters from gentlemen were kept in quite a separate place. But her innocent letters, from relatives and the like, were kept in plain view. She took out a recent missive from her cousin and, climbing into bed, read it through again.

  The letter had been sent from London, where her cousin Sarah was staying with an aunt. Serena, too, had been invited, but she did not like London out of Season, and so she had refused. But Sarah's letter had made interesting reading. Especially the bit about Lady Cranston's ball.

  Serena found the right page and read it through.

  “You'll never guess who I saw last night, at Lady Cranston's ball. Mr Kelling! Though what he is doing in London I don't know. I thought he was still in Manchester, running Marsden mill. He is looking more devilishly handsome than ever. But that is not what I want to tell you. Miss Fossington is here too! And what do you think? I just happened to be passing the door of the morning-room, quite by chance —”

  Sneaked out of the ballroom after Mr Kelling, and put her ear to the keyhole more likely, thought Serena spitefully —

  “—and what do you think I heard? A conversation, revealing Mr Kelling had compromised Miss Fossington! I didn't hear all the details, for some clumsy person knocked over a chair and the sound disturbed them —”

  Really, Sarah, you must be more careful when you are eavesdropping, thought Serena with contempt, realizing at once what must have happened —

  “but that is not the end of it, for I happened to see them together at Frost Fair the following day, and as I was skating past —”

  Sarah is becoming an accomplished spy, thought Serena —

  “I accidentally overheard Mr Kelling proposing to her in order to save her reputation. But what do you think? Miss Fossington refused him!”

  Serena scanned the letter again and then folded it thoughtfully, putting it back in her satin folder.

  It was this letter which had decided her not only to accept Lavinia's wager, but to double it, for it told her that Joshua Kelling, for all his wild appearance, was in fact a gentleman, and that he would, if he could be manoeuvred into compromising her, propose. That being so she would win her wager and give Lavinia Madely the biggest set-down of her life.

  Whether she would actually marry Mr Kelling once she had trapped him into proposing to her Serena did not know. Something about his wildness alarmed her, and she had a feeling that, although she might be able to force him to offer her his hand, she would not be able to control him if they wed.

  Still, she did not have to many him. All she had to do was get him to propose. After that her wager would be won and the betrothal could be broken off at any time.

  Putting her letter folder back in her escritoire she climbed back into bed, and with her head full of plans for trapping Mr Kelling she finally fell asleep.

  Chapter Seven

  “Oh, what an enjoyable evening we had yesterday,” said Louisa the following morning over the breakfast table. “I don't remember the last time I enjoyed myself so much.”

  “You looked to be getting on famously with Mr Sidders,” said Rebecca with a smile.

  “Do you know, seeing him again took me right back to my girlhood? For of course I saw quite a lot of him as Emily and I were friends. I had forgotten just what good company he could be. I have been thinking, Rebecca, that we must host an entertainment of our own. Nothing so grand as a soirée, but a small supper party, or perhaps an evening of cards. It will not do for us to go about like this and offer nothing in return.”

  Rebecca sipped her hot chocolate thoughtfully. “Yes, I agree.”

  Not only would a small entertainment enable them to repay their friends' hospitality, but making plans would help to take her mind off Joshua, for despite her best intentions she had dreamt of him again last night. Which did not bode well for Friday, and her visit to the mill. . .

  * * *

  It was with mixed feelings that Rebecca prepared to set out for Marsden mill. Although a part of her was looking forward to learning about her inheritance another part of her was apprehensive about spending the afternoon with Joshua. His attitude towards her had been distant since leaving London, but there had been moments when she had been uncomfortably aware that he remembered their tense encounters just as clearly as she did. What was more, she had to admit that she missed them, as she missed the fire of his presence and the way he made her feel inside.

  However, a cool manner would be much more appropriate this afternoon, and Rebecca determined to be business-like about the mill.

  “You will not be lonely whilst I am gone?” she asked Louisa as she put on her bonnet.

  “No, my dear,” said Louisa. “To tell you the truth, I will be pleased to have a day of rest. I have enjoyed our expeditions and our shopping trips, but I am not as young as I was and my joints still trouble me from time to time. Besides,” Louisa added casually, “Mr Sidders may, perhaps, look in.”

  “Edward?” asked Rebecca, not noticing that Louisa's air of indifference was studied.

  “Yes.” Louisa coloured slightly. “He has business near here, and he said he might call if he is passing.”

  “The very thing,” said Rebecca. “He will keep you amused whilst I am out without overtaxing your strength.”

  The door opened and Betsy came in. “The carriage is here, Miss Rebecca,” she said.

  “Thank you, Betsy,” said Rebecca.

  She donned her pelisse, a simple brown kerseymere which she felt would be suitable for the business-like nature of her visit to the mill. Then, taking her place in the carriage with Betsy beside her, she set off.

  To begin with the carriage rolled past the grand houses that had been built in recent years for the mill owners whose fortunes had been made in the city, but as it approached the canal, on whose banks the mill was built, the scene began to change. Run-down buildings sprawled behind the splendid houses of the rich. They were dirty, grimy dwellings, and an unpleasant smell filled the air. Betsy wrinkled her nose, and Rebecca did likewise, but even as she did it she felt a growing determination to make sure that the people who worked for Marsden mill were never subjected to the inhuman conditions of workers in other mills.

  Feeling glad she had decided to take an active interest in her inheritance she stepped out of the carriage when it finally came to a halt beside the gates of the mill. There, right next to it, was the Bridgewater Canal, which linked Manchester to Liverpool. Rebecca remembered her grandfather's pride as he had told her about his choice of site for the mill. “Right next to the canal, Becky,” he'd said. “That way we can get all the coal we need quickly and cheaply, and the raw materials, too!”

  Rebecca looked at the canal with interest. She saw the sense of setting the mill next to the canal, and thought with pride of her grandfather's abilities, which had allowed him to take advantage of the new era in manufacturing and rise from being the poor son of a cobbler to being a wealthy and well-respected man.

  Then she looked up at the mill itself. It was a large building, and her grandfather had been very proud of its four storeys. Rebecca had to admit she found it ugly but she, too, felt a sense of pride in it, as it was one of her beloved grandfather's greatest achievements. As she looked at the large letters that spelled out the name, MARSDEN MILL, she felt she was a little closer to her grandfather, and she felt a quickening of her interest as to what lay in
side.

  She was just about to go through the gates when she saw Joshua walking across the mill yard towards her. He seemed very much in charge there, as though he had been the owner of the mill since its beginning instead of for only a few weeks. But then he had been actively involved in the mill during her grandfather's lifetime.

  “Well, Rebecca,” he said, after greeting both her and Betsy, “What do you think of your inheritance?”

  “It's much bigger than I expected it to be.” They went through the gates, which were closed behind them by the gatekeeper.

  “And uglier?” he asked, lifting one eyebrow.

  She laughed. It was no use trying to keep anything from Joshua. Despite their differences he seemed to have an innate understanding of her, and of the way she thought.

  “And uglier. But I am still proud of it, and I am looking forward to seeing inside.”

  “You should prepare yourself. Cotton mills are hot and noisy places. Come and have a look round.”

  She was pleased to find that his manner was welcoming, and she felt on safe ground, knowing that for this afternoon at least they could converse easily on the neutral topic of the mill.

  They went into the large building, with Betsy following behind.

  “This is the first stage of what goes on here,” said Joshua. He took Rebecca into a long, low room and encouraged her to look round. “The bales of cotton have to be opened and the impurities removed, ready for carding. Not long ago, it used to be done by hand. The cotton had to be spread out on a mesh and beaten with long sticks to remove the impurities. I can still remember watching the men and women doing it. But now we use a scutcher.”

  “What on earth is a scutcher?” asked Rebecca.

  “That,” said Joshua, pointing to a large machine, “is a scutcher.”

  The machine looked fearsome to Rebecca. As she watched, she saw how it worked. Men loaded the raw cotton into a spiked drum; the drum spun around very quickly; and a fan blew away the dust and the dirt, the twigs and the impurities, leaving the cotton very clean.