Oh, why had Louisa had to have a headache the night before? she asked herself. Chiding herself a moment later for the unkind thought. If it was as she suspected, then Joshua would speak to her that evening at the card party. And if not... No, she would not even think such a thing.
She went over to the mantelpiece and straightened the ormolu clock.
Fortunately — for there was nothing left to straighten! — Louisa bustled into the room at that moment, saying, “Oh, my dear, can you give me a hand? The servants are carrying the card tables into the sitting-room, but I cannot decide on the best arrangement.”
Rebecca was only too glad to offer her help, and before long the tables had been successfully organized. Then there was the greenery to be arranged — the two ladies would have liked to provide flowers, but the season unfortunately provided very little in this way — and the catering arrangements to be checked. There were the footmen to instruct, the wine to be seen to and the packs of cards to be placed on each table, so that all in all Rebecca was kept very busy.
By five o'clock everything was ready, and Rebecca and Louisa sat down to a light tea — a cup of the refreshing beverage, taken with a little seed cake — before retiring to their rooms to dress.
Joshua's fingers fumbled as he made a second attempt at tying his cravat.
I should be looking forward to this evening, he told himself. I'm about to offer Becky my hand and to make her my betrothed.
If she will have me.
That was the thought that plagued him as he made a mess of yet another cravat. He gave it up in disgust and, wrenching it from his neck, threw it to the floor, where it landed on top of his first discarded effort.
He took up another freshly starched piece of linen and tried again.
It did not matter how many times he told himself that of course she would have him. That she loved him, as he loved her.
And when had he realized that? he asked himself. He did not know. It had crept up on him gradually, but it had begun the first time he had set eyes on her in the inn.
He gave a wily smile as he remembered how she had stood up to him. Oh, yes, she had impressed him even then. She had made him take notice of her, and not just as an intriguing face and a voluptuous set of curves, but as a person. Their following encounters had done nothing to diminish this fact, but had rather accentuated it. Over and over again she had refused to fall in with his wishes, and yet every time she had been right. How he had admired her for her courage in standing up to him. And he had admired her in a different way for taking an interest in the world around her, and for becoming involved in the mill. It may not have been convenient for him — nothing about Rebecca was ever convenient! he thought with a wry smile — but she had taught him that men and women could be partners, something he had never realized before. He had thought of women as inferiors — he hated to admit it, but it was true, that was exactly how he had seen them — but Rebecca had taught him they were nothing of the kind.
In her he had found his equal.
But when had these feelings turned to love? He did not know. That had been more subtle. But love it had become. He wanted her, needed her, in every way. He wanted to see her there beside him when he woke up in the morning; to take breakfast with her; to be tormented by her, delighted by her, and enraptured by her for the rest of his life. And all this would be his... if only she said yes.
Memories of her previous refusals returned to haunt him, but he resolutely put all such thoughts out of his mind and concentrated on his cravat.
Damn Brummell for making the wretched things fashionable! he thought unreasonably as his fingers, made clumsy with anticipation of the evening to come, refused to tie the required knot and a third cravat followed the first two onto the floor.
He almost gave into a temptation to ring the bell for his valet, but he fought it. He did not like being dressed by someone else, and although he kept a valet, the man was there to keep his clothes clean and boots polished, and nothing more. He took a deep breath, then began again. Abandoning all attempts to tie anything complicated, he settled for a simple barrel knot. Finally his fingers did what he wanted them to do, and the cravat was successfully tied.
Having succeeded with the most difficult part of his dress, he put on his waistcoat and shrugged on his tailcoat before inspecting himself in the cheval glass. He frowned. The one thing missing was his signet ring.
He could not think how he had come to lose it. No matter. He had set Odgers to looking for it. He had more important things to think of tonight.
Running his hands through his wild mane of hair, he picked up his greatcoat and went out to the waiting carriage.
* * *
“Oh, my dear, you do look nice,” said Louisa appreciatively as the two ladies waited for their guests to arrive. Rebecca was dressed in an exquisitely simple high-waisted gown. Its skirt was of white satin and its bodice was of dark red. Dark red sleeves, decorated with a white ribbon, set it off to perfection. As a finishing touch, a dark red ribbon was threaded through Rebecca's ebony hair.
“Thanks to Susan's ministrations and Madame Dubois's hard work,” replied Rebecca with a smile. “And you are looking radiant.”
“Do you think so?” asked Louisa, eyes shining. Her dress, an amber satin, had a double row of flounces round the hem, matched by a frill round the discreet neckline. “You don't think it too fussy?”
“Not at all,” said Rebecca.
Louisa gave a sigh of relief. “I do so like the frills — they are so pretty — but I was worried they might not be quite the thing. But you have set my mind at rest.”
“I'm sure Edward will find them delightful.”
“Oh, my dear, I am so happy!” said Louisa. “I only hope I may soon see you as happy as I am.”
Rebecca flushed. Far from being happy, she was in an agony of suspense. Was it possible that her own love would have such a happy outcome? she wondered. Or had she read too much into Joshua's look, and made too much of his enigmatic words?
She did not know. And until she did, she could not be easy.
Her attention was fortunately soon taken up with receiving the guests for the card party, who slowly began to arrive. There was no Mr Willingham, despite the fact that he had been invited — by now, Rebecca hoped, he would be safely handed over to the local magistrate.
There was also no Joshua. As the time ticked by, Rebecca was seized by a feeling of uncertainty. Surely he meant to come?
But of course he meant to come, she reassured herself. He must simply have been delayed — by business, perhaps, or by affairs connected with Mr Willingham's arrest. She must give her attention to her other guests until he arrived.
Having seen everyone settled round their card tables, amply supplied with refreshments, she slipped out of the room, meaning to give an order for more wine to be brought up: the party had got under way very quickly, and she did not want the supply to run low. But she was stopped short by the sight of Miss Serena Quentin talking to Miss Lavinia Madely, for Miss Quentin was proudly displaying a ring.
Surely she had seen that ring before? thought Rebecca with a lurch beneath her breast. The gold flashed in the glow of the candles, and the letter "J" caught the light. Rebecca closed her eyes, before opening them again and steeling her nerve. For it was Joshua's ring that Miss Quentin was wearing.
At that moment, Miss Quentin turned round, and with an arch smile, said, “Miss Fossington! What a surprise you gave me! I did not see you there. But it is a good thing you are here, for you may be one of the first to congratulate me! I am not meant to say anything at present, but I cannot resist. Mr Kelling and I are to be married!”
Rebecca felt as though she had been stabbed with a knife. “Married?” she asked. Her voice came out as a whisper.
“Yes,” crowed Serena. “Is it not splendid news? I am so happy I could cry!”
“It doesn't look much like a betrothal ring,” put in Miss Lavinia Madely spitefully. Her mouth was pursed and she loo
ked severely displeased.
“Of course not,” said Miss Quentin, her air of triumph unshaken. “That will come later. Diamonds, I think, or possibly emeralds, to match my "heavenly green eyes" — for that is what Mr Kelling calls them,” she said, not even flinching at the bare-faced lie. “But he wanted to give me something to be going on with, and what better than his beloved signet ring? I do declare, it seems like only yesterday he was forbidding me to take it from his finger, and saying that only his future wife would be permitted to do such a thing. And now I am his future wife, and I am wearing his ring!” She looked at Rebecca archly. “Well, Miss Fossington? Are you not going to congratulate me?”
“Of ... of course,” said Rebecca. She had to acknowledge the meaning of the ring, but her mind cried out against it. Joshua? Betrothed to Miss Quentin? It couldn't be.
And yet, why not? Miss Quentin was extremely handsome. Joshua had often been in her company. They were both ruthless. Why should he not have offered her his hand?
Because she had thought...
But she had been mistaken, she told herself harshly.
She had hoped he was in love with her — hoped he had been about to offer her his hand — but the hope had proved false.
There was a rushing sound in her ears, and she felt tears stinging the back of her eyes. “If you will excuse me,” she said, “I need to instruct the butler.”
And drawing herself up to her full height she continued on her way with her head held high.
Once out of sight of the two young ladies, however, her shoulders slumped as she took in the full enormity of the situation. Joshua was betrothed to Miss Quentin. She would not have believed it possible. And yet Miss Quentin had been wearing his ring.
Her head was throbbing; her heart aching; and she wanted nothing more than to retire to her room, to lay down on her bed, and to shut out the nightmare. But it could not be. She could not retire. She and Louisa had a house full of guests, and she must see to their needs, entertain them with light-hearted conversation, and appear to be cheerful and perfectly at ease.
Her heart shrivelled at the thought of it, but it could not be helped. Louisa had been looking forward to the card party since it had first been decided upon, and Rebecca did not want to spoil the evening for her, particularly as Louisa was so radiant. No. She must put on a bright smile and behave as though nothing was wrong.
The one comfort was that Joshua had not attended the party, and Rebecca fervently hoped that he would not now arrive. To congratulate him on his betrothal would be more than she could bear. If fortune favoured her his business would keep him away from the party, and it would not be long then before she returned to Cheshire. Once there she would have no call to see him — she could simply declare that she had seen all she needed to at the mill and that she had decided to conduct her future business with Joshua by post. And then she would be able to recover in the safety and seclusion of her country house.
Or at least, she would be able to try. For she could not conceal from herself that it would be impossible to recover from such a blow. On the outside, perhaps. But on the inside? Never.
She shook her head in an effort to drive away such hopeless thoughts. Allowing herself a few minutes in an ante-room to collect herself, she went on to instruct the butler before returning to the sitting-room, where the card tables were in full swing.
“Ah! There you are,” beamed Louisa. Then her smile faded and she said in concern, “My dear. What is it? Are you ill? You don't look quite the thing.”
“It's nothing,” said Rebecca. She tried to speak reassuringly, but her voice came out shakily.
“It is the excitement,” said Louisa in concern. “All these parties are delightful, but they are tiring nonetheless.”
Rebecca did not correct Louisa. That worthy lady would discover the reason for her unhappiness soon enough, but until that time she did not want to cause Louisa distress. Nor, she was forced to admit, did she want to cause herself distress. For if Louisa knew that Joshua was betrothed to Miss Quentin, she would undoubtedly offer sympathy, and that was something Rebecca could not bear.
“The one disappointment is that Joshua is not here,” went on Louisa. “Still, I expect — oh, but I was wrong. Here is Joshua now.”
Rebecca felt her heart give a lurch and felt a flush spreading over her cheeks. She turned away in confusion, knowing she was not equal to seeing him, to greeting him. So, making an excuse she crossed the card room with as much unconcern as she could muster and went out of the door at the far end.
Her escape, however, was short lived, for no sooner had she closed the door behind her than it opened again, and Joshua came through.
Why did he have to look so devastatingly attractive? thought Rebecca in an agony of feeling. And why did he have to look at her in that intimate way, with his eyes dancing and his mouth curving into a tantalizing smile? Why could he not have looked at her remotely? Why could he not have been austere? But that had never been Joshua's way. And it was not his way now, not even when he was betrothed to Miss Quentin.
“Running away from me, Rebecca?” he asked teasingly, catching hold of her hands and turning her to face him.
“No. Of course not,” she said brightly; nevertheless reclaiming her hands and putting them resolutely down at her side. To have Joshua touching her was too painful, now that she knew he was betrothed to someone else.
She had hoped to avoid speaking to him about his betrothal, knowing how painful she would find it. But the terrible tension that had gripped her since Joshua had walked into the card room must have some release, and she realized it could only be accomplished by congratulating him.
How she could bring herself to do it she did not know, but she knew that if she did not speak the tension would become unbearable. She must do what had to be done; get it over with; so that she could put it behind her, instead of having it looming endlessly in front of her.
“I am glad you are here,” she began. She stopped, clenching her hands into fists at her sides, curling them so tightly that her nails bit into her palms. “I want to be the first to congratulate you.”
He looked surprised. “Congratulate me?” he asked.
“Yes.” She smiled, hoping the smile did not look as brittle as it felt. It had cost her an enormous effort, and she prayed that the effort had not been in vain. “On your betrothal.”
“My betrothal?” He sounded even more surprised.
“To Miss Quentin,” said Rebecca.
There. The words were out. She had said them.
But far from releasing the tension that had built up inside her, they seemed to make it worse.
To her surprise, Joshua did not thank her for her kind words. Instead his face darkened, and she realized he was angry.
But of course. Miss Quentin had said she was not meant to speak of the betrothal. Joshua, presumably, had wanted to tell her of it himself.
“Don't be angry with her,” she said. “I know she was not meant to speak of it yet, but she was so overjoyed she could not help herself.” Rebecca felt her courage sinking rapidly, and her legs felt as though they wanted to fold under her. But she could not give way. Summoning all her pride and dignity to her aid, she said, “I am delighted for you.”
As she spoke the words she felt as though a part of her was dying.
But she must concentrate. Joshua was speaking. And yet they were not the words she had expected to hear.
“I am betrothed to Miss Quentin, and you are delighted?” he asked, his eyes searching her face.
His voice was surprisingly hollow, and on his face she saw what seemed to be a look of devastation. But of course it could not be that. She must be misreading him. After all, it would not be the first time she had done so. She had thought he was in love with her, and she had been wrong then. She must be wrong about this as well.
She made a supreme effort. “Yes,” she said with her brightest smile. “I am.”
What looked like a wave of utter desolatio
n swept over his face, and for one moment she wondered if there had been a ghastly mistake.
But no. How could there have been? If there had been a mistake he would have told her so. He would have said, You are wrong. I am not betrothed to Miss Quentin. It's you I love, Becky. But he said nothing of the kind.
His voice, when at last he spoke, was unemotional to the point of deadness. “In that case, there is no more to be said.”
And turning on his heel he went back into the card room, closing the door behind him.
All the tension that had held Rebecca rigidly upright throughout the encounter suddenly flooded out of her, and her legs folded beneath her. She could do nothing about it and, worn out by her struggles, she collapsed into a Hepplewhite chair.
She was completely drained. Congratulating Joshua had taken her last ounce of strength and her last grain of courage. Still, she consoled herself, it was over. The worst was behind her. She had managed to congratulate Joshua on his betrothal. She would not need to do so again.
She sat there for some minutes before realizing she must stir herself. She should go back into the card room and attend to her guests.
With difficulty she roused herself. Standing up, she smoothed her skirt, lifted her chin, and pinched her cheeks to put a little colour into them. Then she returned to her guests. As she passed between the tables at the card party, smiling and talking, no one would have guessed from her manner that she was concealing a great hurt. But it was there inside her, making every word an effort and every smile a source of the most unbearable pain.
* * *
Joshua strode back through the card room neither seeing nor hearing anything that was going on around him. All he could see, in his mind's eye, was Rebecca's smile when she had congratulated him on his betrothal to Miss Quentin.
Miss Quentin, of all people! That hard, spoilt, calculating bitch! He would not have married Miss Quentin if she had been the last woman on earth. How could Rebecca have believed it? Did she not know that he was in love with her? Obviously not. And equally obviously she did not care.
Rebecca's Refusal Page 19
