Rebecca's Refusal

by Amanda Grange

  Joshua's face darkened at the mention of her name and he took a step forward menacingly. “I suggest you leave Miss Fossington out of this,” he said.

  “You're not in a position to suggest anything,” said Mr Willingham, but he took a step backwards all the same. He raised the gun intimidatingly.

  Rebecca's heart missed a beat. She could not bear to see Joshua in danger. But even so she noted the fact that Mr Willingham's step backwards had brought him closer to the curtains. Her mind, spurred by fear for Joshua, was working far more quickly than normal and she realized that if Mr Willingham would only take one more step backwards he would be within her reach.

  But what could she do against him, even if she could reach him? And without putting Joshua at risk?

  “Why, Willingham?” demanded Joshua. “It doesn't make sense. Why did you hire someone to paint a Luddite slogan on the mill wall? Why did you pay someone to start a fire, and to attack Miss Fossington? What can you possibly hope to gain?”

  That's right, Joshua, keep him talking, thought Rebecca, casting round for some way of helping him that would not get him killed: if she tried something and failed then the gun would go off and Joshua would be finished.

  “If you shoot me, it won't benefit you in any way,” Joshua was saying. “It won't get you cheaper cotton to use in your weaving mill. So what is the point?”

  “Cheaper cotton?” mocked Mr Willingham. “Are you really so short-sighted? Do you still not see? I don't want cheaper cotton — I want your mill. With your cotton mill and my weaving and dyeing mill, I will have control of the whole production process. That means a drop in costs, and a huge rise in profits.”

  “But killing me won't get you that,” said Joshua uncomprehendingly. “My share of the mill doesn't go to you if I die.”

  Mr Willingham smirked. “I know. It goes to the lovely Rebecca.”

  Rebecca had to bite back an angry exclamation. Even so, she began to see Mr Willingham's plan and she saw a similar gleam of understanding dawning on Joshua's face.

  “How the devil do you know that?” asked Joshua, taking a step forward.

  “I know which firm of London lawyers Jebadiah Marsden used. It wasn't difficult to bribe one of the clerks to tell me the terms of his will,” said Mr Willingham, taking a step back.

  Rebecca recalled the unctuous clerk who had let them into Mr Wesley's office. She had thought there was something shifty about him, and she was in no doubt that he was the clerk who had been bribed.

  “And he, I suppose, was responsible for the attacks on me in London.”

  Mr Willingham shook his head. “He would not have been capable of it — sneaking is his forte, not daring action — but it was another low-life in my pay.”

  “Another mystery explained,” said Joshua. “Even so... even though my share goes to Rebecca, I don't see how... ” And then his face changed. As understanding dawned his eyes burned with barely-concealed rage. “You mean to marry her,' he said. “Once you kill me, my share will go to her, and once you marry her it will pass to you, as part of her dowry. Giving you control of the mill. But you're mad if you think shell do it. Rebecca will never marry you.”

  Rebecca's heart soared as she heard the words. There was something in Joshua's expression that suggested he felt much more than the scorn he might have been expected to feel at Mr Willingham's expectation she would marry him. There was also a look of contempt that told her he respected her, as well as a flash of jealousy that made her wonder, against her better judgement, if his feelings for her had changed over the last few weeks, maturing from simple protection of his godfather's granddaughter, together with a strong physical attraction, into something deeper and more complex; feelings, in fact, which matched her feelings for him.

  Mr Willingham spoke dryly. “Rebecca won't get a choice. You can't seriously believe I intend to let her decide for herself? I shall propose, of course, next week, after she has dinner with my mother and myself —”

  “She won't accept you.”

  “No. I don't suppose she will. Which is why I intend to have a special licence in my pocket and a clergyman standing by. She will marry me before she leaves the house, or she will not leave it alive.”

  Rebecca, incensed at what she had just heard, found her imagination had wings. An idea occurred to her with such blinding clarity that she acted on it instantly, sweeping up the heaviest piece of porcelain that decorated the embrasure — a large jug — and leaping to her feet. Standing on the window seat she pulled back the curtain. The noise distracted Mr Willingham, who looked round, and Joshua, seeing his chance, lost only a fraction of a second in surprise before hurling himself at Mr Willingham. Mr Willingham, turning his attention back to Joshua, lifted the gun — and Rebecca brought the jug crashing down on his head. He stood for one moment, and Rebecca thought her efforts had been wasted — but then he swayed and fell, crumpling up in a heap on the floor.

  Joshua caught the gun as it dropped out of his hand and checked that Mr Willingham, now lying prone, was really out cold, and then turned to Rebecca, who was still standing on the window-seat.

  Now that it was all over Rebecca felt very peculiar. The strain of the last ten minutes, coupled with her cramped conditions — which had left her with pins and needles in her legs, so that they could barely hold her — made her begin to sway. Joshua held out his arms, and as she lost her balance he caught her in his strong embrace.

  “Becky,” he said, with such a look in his eyes that she felt herself melting.

  “Josh,” she said breathlessly, feeling the heat of his body against her own.

  He looked into her eyes for a long moment. Then, as if remembering she had been through something of an ordeal, he carried her over to one of the chairs and set her down gently in it before kneeling in front of her.

  “Your hands are cold,” he said. He began to chafe them.

  “It was cold in the window embrasure,” she said. “And I forgot my shawl. It's still in the ballroom.”

  He moved her chair closer to the fire.

  “But what were you doing behind the curtains in the first place?” he asked as he continued to chafe her hands.

  Briefly, she explained why she had taken refuge there.

  “It's a good thing you did. Otherwise I may well be —”

  “Don't, Josh,” she said, putting a finger to his lips. “Don't even say it.”

  He took her hand and kissed her fingers, then, turning it over, he kissed the palm and the inside of her wrist.

  Could his feelings have changed? she wondered again as the most intoxicating shiver washed over her. Could they have developed into something as deep and sincere as her own? For she was no longer in any doubt as to the nature of her own feelings for Joshua. She was in love with him.

  Oh, yes, she was in love with him, and no matter how hard she had tried to deny it, she knew that she had been so for a long time.

  To begin with, she had felt no more for him than physical attraction, but her feelings had soon begun to undergo a transformation. When she had been caught in the path of the charging horse in London and he had pushed her to safety she had been filled with a sense of security and safely that had warmed her through. His tenderness towards her following the incident had surprised her, revealing that there was a gentler side to his nature than the one he generally showed the world. His concern for her reputation had earned her esteem, and his obvious devotion to her beloved grandfather had earned her affection and her gratitude. His drive and ambition had struck a chord in her own nature — she was not Jebadiah's granddaughter for nothing! — and his ruthlessness, once she had realized it did not spill over into cruelty, had roused her respect; for she knew it would be impossible to succeed in his chosen sphere of business without it.

  And yet all these feelings, whilst explaining some of what she felt for him, did not explain it all, for she felt something she had never felt for any man before: that she wanted to join herself to him — in every way.

&n
bsp; She felt a warm tingling sensation spread through her as the realization hit her with full force.

  How strange. She had never thought, when she had first met him at The Nag's Head, that she would fall in love with him, but she had done so.

  And yet, did Joshua love her? Or was he still resolute in his determination never to offer her his hand again?

  “Rebecca,” he said, stroking his fingers over her palms in the most delicious way, “I asked you once before,” he said, his eyes glowing in the mixed fire-and-candlelight —

  A low groan interrupted him.

  “Damn!” he cursed.

  Dropping her hand he turned in the direction of the noise.

  Rebecca, too, turned her head, and saw that Mr Willingham was starting to stir. He had been knocked out when she had crashed the jug down on his head but that was all. And now he was coming round.

  Rising from his knees, Joshua crossed the room to Mr Willingham. Untying his cravat he quickly bound Willingham's hands and feet, roping them together with the voluminous material so that Mr Willingham was held fast.

  “Odgers is in the ballroom,” he said to Rebecca.

  “Odgers?” she asked in surprise.

  Joshua gave a wide smile. “He is dressed in some of my old clothes, and though he's undoubtedly an ugly customer he is just about able to pass for a guest!”

  Rebecca felt her own mouth twitch. The sight of Odgers as a guest at the ball must be a sight indeed.

  “Bring him here, whilst I keep an eye on Willingham,” said Joshua. “He can help me take him out to the carriage.”

  “It will cause a stir,” said Rebecca with a frown. “Can you not think of another way of getting him out of the house, without embarrassing Mrs Renwick in her own home?”

  “There won't be any embarrassment,” Joshua reassured her. “Once Odgers joins me I’ll unbind Willingham and together we can help him out to the carriage — he's still groggy and is not likely to offer any resistance. If anyone sees us they will simply assume we are helping our friend, who has taken too much to drink.”

  Rebecca nodded. He was right. Young men being carried out to their carriages befuddled with wine was such a normal sight that no one would worry about it. “I fetch Odgers at once.”

  She slipped out of the room and into the ballroom. There was no sign of Odgers. But a glance into the supper room showed him helping himself to a large plate of oyster patties and a couple of veal and ham pies.

  Going unobtrusively over to his side, Rebecca said, “You are wanted in the library.”

  Without turning a hair Odgers put down his plate and made a discreet exit.

  Rebecca was just about to follow him when she was joined by Louisa.

  “There you are, my dear. I thought I had lost you! It is such a crush I thought I would never find you again. And I did so want to see you. I have some wonderful news!”

  Rebecca's sprits sank. Fond as she was of her cousin she did not want to be distracted, particularly not now. But she had no choice. She could not ignore Louisa, and so instead she made an effort to concentrate on what her cousin was saying.

  “Would you believe it?” said Louisa, hands clasped and eyes shining. “Edward has just asked me to marry him.”

  “Oh, Louisa, that's wonderful!” said Rebecca. She was genuinely happy for her cousin, and her enthusiasm was real.

  “I can hardly believe it,” said Louisa. “It has all been so sudden. But it is wonderful nonetheless.”

  “Have you told Emily yet?”

  “No. I am leaving it to Edward to break the news — although he says she already suspects. Oh! It has all been so exciting! But do you know, my dear, I feel ever so tired, and I believe I have a headache coming on. Would you mind if I called for the carriage? I think I am in need of a long lie down.”

  Rebecca's spirits sank. She wanted to find out whether Willingham had been put safely in a carriage, and even more than that she wanted to know what Joshua had been about to say to her when Willingham had groaned.

  I asked you once... he had begun, but what had he been about to say?

  She hardly dared hope he had been about to renew his proposal. Surely a man as ruthless as Joshua would not, after declaring he would never offer her his hand again, change his mind? But even so, she could not help hoping...

  There was nothing for it, however. If Louisa was feeling ill, they must leave.

  Besides, she comforted herself, Joshua would be attending their card party on the following evening. It would not be long before she saw him again.

  But despite her reasonable comfortings, she found that the following evening seemed a lifetime away.

  Nevertheless, it could not be helped.

  “Of course I don't mind,” she said, with more tact than truthfulness. “We will call for the carriage to be brought round right away.”

  Together she and Louisa went out into the hall.

  She had thought they might see Joshua half-carrying, half-supporting Mr Willingham out to the carriage, but there was no sign of him in the hall. Either he and Odgers had already gone, or they had not yet had a chance to leave the library. Well, whichever it was, they would soon be on their way, putting Willingham where he could do no more harm.

  The Marsden carriage was brought round, and before long she and Louisa were in the carriage as it rattled through the streets, back to their rented Manchester home.

  I asked you once... she thought, looking out of the window at the darkened streets as she recalled Joshua's words.

  Yes. He had asked her once.

  The question was, would he ask her again?

  * * *

  Serena Quentin's handsome face was marred by a scowl. Despite her best endeavours she had been unable to force Mr Kelling into a compromising position. He had managed to avoid every trap she had laid for him during the course of the evening, and what was worse, he had done it with a mocking smile on his lips — as though he saw through all her subterfuges and meant to thwart her, she thought angrily.

  What right did he have to resist her charms? And, more importantly, what right did he have to turn her into a laughing stock? For if she did not manage to bring him to heel she would be just that: a laughing stock. Lavinia Madely would see to that.

  Catching sight of Lavinia at that moment, her anger was fuelled by the scorn in Lavinia's eye. Throwing back her shoulders she decided bold action was necessary and, walking defiantly out of the room, she went in search of Joshua.

  She did not have far to go. No sooner had she reached the hall than she heard a door opening and, to her surprise, she saw Joshua emerging from the library. But it was not that which surprised her, it was the fact that, instead of walking out of the room in a natural fashion, he was half-supporting, half-carrying someone else.

  Mr Willingham! she thought with a sudden shock.

  Mr Willingham, who scarcely ever drank, and certainly never drank enough to render him incapable.

  Her curiosity rose.

  What was the meaning of it? And who was the second gentleman — if such a rough looking creature could be given that description — supporting Mr Willingham at the other side?

  She shrank back as Joshua half-supported, half-carried Mr Willingham through the hall and out of the house.

  And then fate played into her hands, for Mr Willingham suddenly rallied and made an effort to break away from his captors. As he did so he slipped on the highly-polished floor. He clutched at Joshua, trying to regain his footing, but it was no use. He was seized again and carried bodily out of the front door. At the same moment there was a slight clinking sound, and a flash of gold caught Serena's eye. Something had fallen from Joshua's hand.

  His gold signet ring! Mr Willingham must have dislodged the precious item during his struggle. A plan already forming in her mind, she picked it up and examined it. It was the ring his godfather had given him: she remembered him telling her all about it when, on seeing the initial engraved on it, she had teasingly enquired who the lady mi
ght be. He had told her there was no lady in the case, and when she had playfully tried to take it from his finger he had resisted, saying the only lady he would ever permit to try on that ring was his future wife.

  His future wife. He had said those very words. And what's more, Lavinia Madely had heard him.

  A triumphant smile crossed her face. What did it matter if she had not been able to force Joshua into a compromising situation? She had been able to do something far better: avail herself of his signet ring.

  She slipped it onto her long white finger. It was rather large, but never mind. It could be made to serve her purpose, and that was all she cared about.

  Exultantly she swept back into the ballroom — only to discover, after much fruitless searching, that Miss Lavinia Madely had already left.

  But no matter. Lavinia was due to attend Rebecca Fossington's card party the following evening.

  Serena, in triumphant mood, was prepared to wait.

  Chapter Eleven

  The following afternoon, Rebecca was sitting in the drawing-room laying to read. But it was no use. Her novel, entertaining though it was, could not hold her attention, and with a sigh she put it down before pacing restlessly across the room. Arriving at the fireplace she straightened the porcelain figurines on the mantelpiece before crossing the room again to straighten the cushions on the sofa. She moved restlessly from the sofa to the piano, where she straightened the music on the stand. And all the time her thoughts were filled with the events of the night before.

  She remembered it all so clearly. Mr Willingham's treachery, her own prompt actions, Joshua's mastery of the situation, and then the aftermath: Joshua's tender looks, the way he had taken her hands, his impassioned words. Could it be possible? Could his feelings towards her have changed? Could he now see her as something more then Jebadiah's grand-daughter? Could he love her as much as she loved him? She hardly dared to hope it. And yet why else would he have stroked her hands so tenderly? Why else spoken those impassioned words?