by Mary Balogh
"Think I had better marry you," Mr. Carver said without further preamble. "No telling what will come of you if I don't."
"Thank you," Harriet said. "I am about to swoon at the honor you have done me, sir. When do you get to the part about giving me thrashings?"
"Hope it won't ever be necessary," Mr. Carver said, "but I'll do it if I have to, Harriet."
"Oh!" she said, clenching her fists and pounding them on the air at her sides. "You are a horrid man. Is he not a horrid man, Rebecca?"
Rebecca wisely said nothing. She was somewhat embarrassed, as Mr. Carver had predicted. But she would not have missed the scene for worlds.
"Can't marry you for at least a year," Mr. Carver said. "Wouldn't be respectful to your papa. But want us to be betrothed so that I can come here occasionally to keep an eye on you."
"An eye is about all you will ever have on me, sir," Harriet said.
"Sinclair and I have to leave early in the morning," Mr. Carver continued. "Must have your final answer now. No time for games and nonsense, Harriet. Yes or no?"
"Is that all the proposal I get?" Harriet asked, very red in the face. "Do you call this the way to offer for a lady, sir?"
"Think yourself fortunate not to be slung over m' shoulder and hauled off to the nearest parson," he said severely. "Yes or no, Harriet?"
"Ohhhh!" she wailed. "Yes, then. I see you will give me no peace until I consent. But you had better not ever try laying a violent hand on me, Lucas, or I'll, I'll-"
"May Miss Shaw leave now?" Mr. Carver asked. "She will be very mortified to have to stand there and watch me kiss you."
"You are not going to kiss me," Harriet said vehemently. "You stay there, Rebecca, if you please."
"Yes, I am," Mr. Carver said. "Man has a right to kiss his betrothed. You may leave, Miss Shaw."
Rebecca left.
A full ten minutes passed between the time when Rebecca returned to the group on the lawn and the arrival of Harriet and Mr. Carver. Harriet was looking very pink in the face as they approached.
"I know what you are all thinking," she sang out as soon as she could be heard, and she blushed a deeper shade of red, "and you are quite right. I have just consented to wed Lucas as soon as my year of mourning is over and I can leave off my blacks. I consider myself betrothed, though Lucas will have to call on Papa's cousin, of course, as he is now my guardian. Though why I should have to consult a man I have never even seen but once when Mama passed away, I do not know." Her face crumpled suddenly. "I wish Papa were here."
Christopher hastily rose to his feet. "I am more than delighted," he said. "I am sure you two will suit, though I cannot predict a tranquil relationship." He grinned. "One thing I can predict, though. Luke will be accepting the invitation that my mother has pressed on him to come back soon. Now I think it is time to leave."
He shook hands with Philip, Harriet, and Maude, and turned last to Rebecca. He had his back to the company as he held out his hand to her. He spoke for her ears only.
"Good-bye, Becky," he said, his eyes roaming her face. "1 can leave with an easier mind knowing that your uncle has left you an annuity that will keep you in moderate comfort. You will continue with the school?"
"Yes," she said. There was a raw ache in her throat.
He retained his hold on her hand. "Be happy," he said. His eyes were holding hers almost desperately.
"Yes," she said.
He removed his hand and turned abruptly away from her. "Are you ready, Luke?" he asked.
Mr. Carver patted Harriet's hand, which was still linked through his arm. "Yes," he said. He turned to Maude. "Thank you, ma'am, for the hospitality you have shown me during m'stay," he said. "And accept again my deepest sympathies."
He raised Harriet's hand to his lips and turned to leave. He and Christopher walked away toward the stables, to which a groom had taken their horses when they arrived. Harriet and Rebecca stood looking after them while Maude got to her feet and invited Philip to take tea with them in the drawing room.
"Horrid man," Harriet said. "Why would he choose to offer for me only on the day he must leave and when I need him so with Papa gone?"
Rebecca did not answer. It was doubtful that she even heard. She was engulfed by mingled panic and indecision, and by a terrible depression. She would never see him again. He would come riding out of the stable in a moment and disappear down the driveway, and she would never see him again. Ever.
When the two men appeared on horseback, Harriet sighed and waved her hand. Rebecca swayed on the spot for perhaps half a minute, and then she lifted her black skirts and flew across the lawn as fast as her feet would carry her. There was no conscious thought in her mind, no idea of what she would do if she could reach him in time.
Christopher saw her coming and pulled his horse to a stop. He bent from the saddle as she got closer and reached out a hand for her. Even his movements seemed to be involuntary. "What is it, Becky?" he asked, searching her wild expression with concerned eyes. "What is it, love?"
She put her hand in his, but when she stood staring up at him, words would not come.
He let go of her hand, dismounted from his horse, and handed the reins to an interested Mr. Carver. "Take him back to the stable, will you, Luke?" he asked. "You might wish to take tea unless you would prefer to go home ahead of me."
Mr. Carver did as he was bidden, and Rebecca was aware with one part of her mind that Harriet was hurrying across the lawn toward the stable. She stared numbly at Christopher.
He tucked her hand through his arm and began to walk with her toward the driveway. "What is it, love?" he asked. "What can I do for you?"
"I have to tell you," she said. "I cannot let you go without telling you that I lied. I do love you, I do, Christopher, and at this moment I do not care what you did to me in the past. I can't let you go. Don't leave me. If you truly love me, as you said you did a week ago, don't leave me. I have no pride left. I love you."
She did not know what she expected. She had not planned this scene and had had no chance to form any expectations. But she began to turn cold when his only reaction was to walk steadily on without a word. They were well along the driveway, out of sight of the house, when he finally spoke.
"I cannot see any solution, Becky," he said. His voice was quite toneless. "We love each other. I would give my life for you. But we cannot marry, love. At the moment, perhaps, you do not care. But you would some time in the future, probably quite soon. You would remember that I once put my family before my love for you, and you would be bitter again. And I would not be able to defend myself, because I know you have every right to despise me. You were my betrothed. I had offered myself to you. And then I married someone else."
"What do you mean when you say you put your family before me?" Rebecca asked. "What did your family have to do with what you did?"
He looked down at her. "Is it possible that you never heard the real story?" he asked. "I would have thought the truth would have come out long ago, though at the time I chose to give you no reason for my actions. I preferred to have you think me a fortune hunter than to know the truth."
"I know nothing," Rebecca said, looking up at him wide-eyed, "beyond what you told me in the churchyard when you came home."
He took a deep breath. "I had to do it, Becky," he said. "There was no alternative except the ruin of my family. I had known for many years that my parents found it difficult to keep going, but I had not realized how desperate things really were until shortly before I went away to London. Papa was in so much debt that there seemed no way out at all, except to sell everything. Even then, he would barely have been able to pay his debts. I thought of everything, Becky. I thought of all the employment I could get and of taking my family to live with me. And at the same time I wanted to marry you and to start raising my own family. Nothing would answer. It could just not be done. I could not possibly have supported everyone on the salary of a schoolmaster or physician or clerk."
Rebecca stared a
t him. "You said nothing," she said.
"I could not worry you with my problems," he said. "It would not have been fair. And I wanted so much to be able to set the world at your feet."
"I never wanted anything but you," she almost whispered.
He covered her hand with his briefly. "I know that, love," he said. "But I did not even seem to have the freedom to offer you that much. I should have been hanged for all the promises I made you, especially at Cenross. I think I must have been trying to force my own hand, making it almost impossible for myself to give you up." He laughed harshly. "So I ended up doing everything wrong. I promised you the world and I left you."
"You could have told me," Rebecca cried. "I could have helped you, Christopher. I could have worked too as a teacher or a governess. Why did you not tell me?"
He gave her a grimace of a smile. "I chose not to," he said. "I went to London to find what prospects there were of employment. And I discovered a gold mine!" His voice had become harsh. "I met Angela and her father, and for some reason her father made it very obvious to me that she was available. He was a man with one ambition in life: to reach the top of the social ladder by any means possible. He did not need a wealthy man-he had enough money for an army. He wanted a man of genteel birth. So I married her.''
He looked down at Rebecca, but she kept her head lowered.
"I would not have done it for myself, Becky," he said. "Surely you will believe that. I do not think that I would even have done it for my parents. After all, it was Papa's compulsive gambling habits that had got them into the fix. But I looked at Julian and the girls, so young still, so oblivious to the ruin that was facing them, and I could not deny them the future when it was in my power to do something about it.
"Things have improved now. My actions jolted Papa back to a sense of his responsibilities, I believe. He has recovered well enough that he no longer needs my constant support. But at the time that marriage seemed absolutely necessary. I had to choose, Becky, between you and my family. And I chose my family, leaving you an abandoned woman. You see now why I cannot marry you? I would never be able to rid myself of the shame of my past. And you would not be able to forget, either."
"I would not want to forget," Rebecca said quietly but very firmly. "I want to remember always what you did, Christopher Sinclair. But why did you not tell me at the time? How could you have imagined that it would be worse for me to know the truth? Had I known, I would have urged you to do exactly what you did. You must know that. You do not imagine, do you, that I would have been selfish enough to keep you for myself when a whole family would have suffered as a result? I thought you knew me better."
Christopher jerked to a halt and pulled her roughly into his arms. "God, Becky," he said against her hair, "you cannot know how filled with self-loathing I was for those five years of my marriage. I had to forget you, force you from my thoughts and my heart. I could not have stayed sane else. And besides, it seemed only fair that I marry Angela with the intention of making a proper marriage of it. I wanted to be able to give her all of myself. I tried. And I was never unfaithful to her, even when I realized that I had married a fiend and a slut."
Rebecca shuddered within his arms.
"I was justly served," he said. "She had married me too merely for convenience. She wanted respectability and easy access to the most exclusive of bedrooms. I discovered so many of her affairs that I eventually lost count. After the first few months ours was a marriage only in name. She had no attachment to anyone except perhaps to that scoundrel Bartlett, who I think had had hopes of marrying her himself, but who hung around even afterward because she lavished money on him. She seemed to believe it was his child she died bearing."
"Oh, Christopher," Rebecca said, looking urgently up into his face, her arms clasped around his neck. "And I thought I had suffered! Oh, my love, I wish I had known. No, I do not mean that, of course. I would have died, I think, if I had known the whole truth. But if I had just known why you left me. The worst part of these years has been thinking that all my life I had been deceived in your character. But you are far more wonderful than I ever dreamed."
"Oh, no, Becky," he said with a shaky laugh, burying his face against her neck, "no, do not put me on a pedestal, love. I will never be able to forgive myself for encouraging you to trust my love in the full knowledge that I might have to give you up."
"Christopher, I love you," she whispered into his ear. "You will not leave me, will you? Please say you will not leave me. We can still have a life together. We are not so very old. I can still have a child or two."
He laughed and lifted his head to look down into her earnest face. "Becky," he said, "are you offering for me, love? Are you going to visit Papa and ask for my hand?"
She laughed uncertainly back at him. "If that is the only way to have you," she said, "then I shall do so. I shall even go down on my knees to you and ask formally, if you wish."
He chuckled and caught her to him in such a tight hug that she felt as if all the air had been squeezed from her lungs. "Becky," he said, his cheek against the top of her head, "is it really possible that you can love me enough to forgive me? Will you have regrets later, love? I do not think I could bear that. Are you willing to marry me?"
"You have to marry me," she said into his neckcloth. "You have been alone with me, without a chaperon, for all of fifteen minutes. My virtue is hopelessly compromised."
He turned her face up to him with one finger beneath her chin. His face was very serious. "I love you, Becky," he said, "and I could think of no more fitting sentence for my wrongs than to be allowed to spend the rest of my days trying to make you happy. Will you marry me, my love?"
"Yes Christopher," she said, "Oh, yes."
His mouth on hers prevented any further talk for several minutes. And Rebecca's heart sang. This was not a sad or desperate kiss like the others they had shared since his homecoming. This was a kiss of love and affection, of promise, and-of passion. They broke away from each other, breathless.
"Ah," he said, "that brings back memories. I suppose I shall have to wait for you a deuced long time?"
"Not a full year," she said quickly. "Not that long, Christopher. Uncle Humphrey was not my father or my husband. I won't have to wait a year for an uncle, will I?"
"I shall take you to London at Christmas time," he said, "and we will wed quietly. I don't believe that will be unseemly, Becky."
"Christmas time," she said and they smiled warmly into each other's eyes.
"That's an eternity!" they both said together, and they touched foreheads and laughed.
"A compromised woman you may be, my love," Christopher said, "but I will not have you a fallen woman. And you are in grave danger, believe me. Let us walk back to the house. Do you think the tea will still be warm in the pot?"
"We can find out," Rebecca said. "And I am just bursting to tell someone. The whole world, if possible."
He took her hand in a warm grip and turned her back in the direction of the house. "Let us go and tell the world," he said, smiling at her. But he did not immediately move. "But before the world is let in on the secret, love, one more kiss?"
Rebecca smiled and lifted her mouth to his.
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