Now that Sarah was a widow, she just wanted her daughters to be married so that she could have the quiet life she desired. With Rebecca, it would happen; with Susanne, who knew?
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Susanne woke very late in the morning, her stomach churning from the hangover. She didn’t remember much about the ride home except for Rebecca’s silence. Everyone had been so excited that Mr. Edderle appeared to be courting Rebecca. Now Susanne had a vague memory of Rebecca’s shocked face as she stood next to Mr. Edderle while Susanne adjusted her cleavage. What had she done?
But when she finally dressed and came downstairs, no one spoke of the night before. She tried to hide in her embroidery. There was much ado about something that much she could tell, but no one bothered to fill in the details. Then, after lunch, a carriage pulled up to the house and a woman alighted.
“Rebecca,” Martha whispered as she peeked out of the window. “Johanna’s here, but she’s alone.”
Rebecca wouldn’t let her disappointment show. She quickly smiled and said brightly, “I’m sure he has a good reason.”
Tristan turned sharply to Susanne then said to Rebecca, “I believe that Mother and I will leave you two. Come along, Susanne.”
“I can’t wait to get to know you better,” Johanna said, taking Rebecca’s hands as she entered the parlor. “Davis had to leave for home to settle some business matters, but he asked me to give you his regards and this.” She handed Rebecca a letter and turned her attention to Martha, giving Rebecca an opportunity to read it.
“Dear Miss Newland, I very much enjoyed our time together. I regret that I am unable to join my sister today; however, my father has called me home. I should be returning to London in a fortnight. I look forward to becoming better acquainted with you then. Sincerely, Davis Edderle.”
Rebecca felt like she could breathe for the first time since that awful moment the night before. Mr. Edderle was too much of a gentleman to blame Rebecca for her sister’s behavior. And in two weeks, he would see her again.
Chapter Two
Davis could have taken his carriage home, but he preferred to ride. He loved the freedom to race to his destination like a highwayman eluding the constable. He was uncomfortable in the coach, bumping in ruts, at the mercy of other coaches and wagons. After years of riding from London, he was familiar with shortcuts that got him off the road and into the fields he preferred. There was always the danger of his horse, tripping on a rabbit hole, but how, he reasoned, was that any safer than a rutty road?
Then too there was the anonymity of riding. He could be anyone. As the heir to the Edderle barony, St. Clare’s Abbey, and all its other holdings, he was privileged and felt guilty for resenting the demands that came with it. He had pragmatically chosen to run for a seat in the House of Commons, the better to prepare himself for his future service in the House of Lords. Still, he resented the familiarity of those who presumed to know him because of his rank.
This included every daughter of a noble who sought his favor in the hopes of marriage. And though he knew that he would not have been introduced to Rebecca Newland had she not been a suitable candidate for marriage, he was genuinely attracted. It wasn’t her beauty, or her wealth, or her cleverness. It was intangible and he’d only felt it once before.
The visit home was not a dodge. His father was dying and Davis needed to oversee the transition from father to son. By the time he left, Davis had accomplished his duties. He’d said a prayer at his mother’s grave, authorized the necessary repairs to the east wing, and told his father that he would be marrying soon. William Edderle asked only one question: “Do you love her?”
Davis smiled wryly at the question. He knew there was more behind the question, buried in layers of bitterness. “No,” he answered.
“Hm,” he grunted. “That’s good. Be a friend to your wife, but don’t be her lover.”
Davis thought about his father’s advice as he rode back to London. He wanted to be in love with his wife. He wanted the marriage his parents had before his mother died and his father changed.
*************************
When Davis saw Rebecca again, he thought “She is a blushing flower.” Her cheeks were as pink as her dress and the roses in her hair. Her eyes and hair were the same deep brown, almost black. The combination was exotic, yet still soft and feminine. He had prepared himself to be pragmatic, open to finding Rebecca’s faults, but he was as stirred by her as when they’d first met.
Over the next month, he was assured that he’d made the right decision. In May, Davis arranged to meet with Tristan at the Newland’s home in Tundle. He didn’t really know Tristan, but Tristan knew of him. The Edderle family was nobility and Davis’ future had been mapped for him from the day he was born. The Newlands were gentry. Tristan inherited his father’s much smaller estate and the shoe mill that maintained it. He was rich, but was careful with money. At Trinity, Davis’ schoolmates were not and so they didn’t travel in the same circles. Davis wasn’t seeking a dowry, only permission, and it was he that promised a yearly allowance for both Rebecca and her mother.
For Rebecca’s twentieth birthday in June, Davis decided to celebrate the engagement and her birthday on the same evening with a lavish party. As a gesture of goodwill to his future family, he encouraged Johanna to work with Susanne in the planning of the party. Johanna wasn’t fond of Susanne, but agreed to his suggestion. Susanne for her part tried very hard to contain her natural exuberance when Davis was present.
The only invitation that Davis was adamant about was for his best friend, Michael Brooks, who he hadn’t seen in months.
“Who is Michael Brooks?” Susanne asked while she and Johanna addressed the invitations.
“Who is Michael Brooks?” Johanna repeated. “Oh,” she sighed, “How to answer that question?”
Michael was the most fascinating person Davis and Johanna had ever met. He was reckless and exciting. He had no shortage of sycophants, male and female, desperate for the luster he gave their dreary lives.
He and Davis met when they shared a room at Harrow. They were 13 and away from home for the first time. It was the only thing they had in common. While Davis left behind a family he truly adored, Michael’s father was a selfish man who cared more about gambling than his son. His mother had disappeared years before. He had an older, illegitimate half-brother who lived in Ireland, a leftover reminder of an affair with a parlor maid.
When he was six, Michael’s nurse quit, leaving him to be raised by the other servants of Elysian Fields, the Brooks’ ancestral home. She adored Michael and didn’t want to leave, but grew tired from fighting off the advances of his lecherous father. Her name was Celia and Michael would always remember her with fondness. Not so the other servants who took advantage of the absent Earl and cared little for Michael’s needs.
Michael seemed more worldly and mature than any of the other boys at Harrow. Davis was in awe of his roommate despite the fact that he was taller, more athletic, and the better student.
Nevertheless, the boys depended on each other as they navigated those first years away from home. But their friendship was solidified when they were 15 and Davis’ mother, Ava, died suddenly. She was healthy at Christmas; but in February, Davis received a letter from his father. His mother was dead and Davis was to remain at school until the end of the term as she was already buried. Later he would see for himself how his mother’s death broke his father, turning him into a bitter stranger. Davis became an orphan when his mother died.
It was Michael who kept Davis from going mad. Michael knew Ava from his visits to St. Clare’s on holiday. He knew her devotion to her children and to their friends; after Celia, Ava was the closest to a mother Michael had ever known. When he saw the letter on the bed next to Davis and Davis’ blank stare, he wrapped his arms around him and held him until Davis could cry no more. Michael became his protector, his confidante and his best friend. Michael was used to losing people; Davis was not.
When Michael turned 16, the old Earl, Michael’s father, decided to celebrate the occasion by hiring each boy his own prostitute. “It is a coming of age tradition in the Brooks family,” his father told Davis.
Davis was horrified at the thought, but Michael took it as just another deviant step toward adulthood. He’d already lost his virginity to a kitchen maid when he was 13, though his father didn’t know it. Chances were his father wouldn’t have cared much except that then he would have had to come up with a novel birthday gift.
The maid was new and only 16 herself. While looking for his cat, Mrs. Puff, he spied her in one of the outbuildings with a stable hand. The noise of his steps must have alerted the girl whose eyes flew open and locked onto Michael. The stable hand was unaware of anyone but her. Michael quietly hid, watching the couple while she watched him. When they were finished, the stable hand left quickly, but the girl lingered behind only barely covering herself. The time passed agonizingly slow, but after a few minutes, when she was sure that the stable hand had gone, she called to Michael.
“You’re not in trouble. I won’t hurt you,” she said. Her voice was friendly and Michael hesitated only a moment before coming out of the shadows. “Come and sit by me,” she said, patting at the spot next to her.
Her skin had such a rosy glow. It was really the first thing he noticed as he came closer. Not her breasts, not her hair, not the area between her thighs that she casually draped over with her skirt.
Michael had always been a handsome boy with thick black curls and deep brown eyes. His beauty now was a hint of what was to come as he grew older. Many of the young girls who worked at Elysian Fields were aware of Michael, but also knew his father’s temper and weren’t willing to risk his wrath or their jobs for a little sex.
This girl was new and didn’t really care. To her, kitchen jobs were easy enough to find and she might as well enjoy a few perks.
“I won’t bite, I promise” she said. Michael sat beside her, his knees pulled up to his chest. “My name’s Jane. You’re Michael, aren’t you?” He nodded, wanting desperately to look at her, but afraid she was teasing him and would laugh if she realized that he had an erection.
But she didn’t laugh. She touched his arm gently and he relaxed enough to follow her lead. She kissed him on the lips, so softly at first that it felt like a whisper. When he became fully aware of what was happening, he let her remove his trousers and guide him inside of her. He didn’t last as long as the stable hand, but she didn’t seem to mind.
Jane taught him of the many pleasures a woman could give a man. She also taught him of the pleasure he could give a woman. It was an incredibly useful education. She never slept with the stable hand again that summer and when Michael left for Harrow at the end of the summer, she let him go easily.
By the time he was 16, Michael was well-versed in sexual pleasure. He looked forward to a visit with a professional as an opportunity for something new.
Davis, though, was still a virgin and looked at women as a species to be adored from afar. Though the prostitute the old Earl hired was young and pretty, he couldn’t help but feel a little sad at the prospect. She tried to draw him out, but Davis was quiet, wanting desperately to be finished so he could leave. Later, when Michael questioned him about the experience, he tried to pretend he’d been as excited as his friend. But Michael knew him too well.
“It gets better each time,” he encouraged. Davis hoped so. As the years went by, he continued to hope so, but since his interludes were usually with working girls, he began to think that what he was missing, what he needed to make it meaningful was for it to be with someone he loved.
After Davis, Johanna was the person closest to Michael. She was grateful to him for the emotional support he’d given Davis in the months after their mother had died. She’d been miles away at St. Clare’s Abbey, consumed by her own grief, watching her father slowly become a different man.
Then there was that summer right after Michael graduated from Trinity. But Susanne didn’t need to know about that. It was Johanna and Michael’s secret.
“Michael is Davis’ best friend and a complete blackguard. But everyone loves him just the same,” Johanna simply answered.
Chapter Three
Michael the blackguard arrived in London in early June. He came into town unannounced which surprised no one who knew him. Davis and Rebecca were returning from a walk on the Green when Davis saw him sitting in Martha’s garden. He looked very respectable and was having tea with the ladies of the house surrounding him.
After they greeted each other, Davis introduced Rebecca to Michael. She hid her nervousness behind a tranquil expression.
“Ah, so this is the lady who’s captured my friend’s heart. You are far lovelier than Davis’ letters indicated,” he said warmly, pleasure in his eyes.
She relaxed at his friendliness and bantered sweetly, “And I understand that you are the gentleman that Davis has had to keep out of trouble all these years.”
“Whatever stories he has told you are far milder than the truth,” Michael said laughing.
“Mr. Brooks has been telling us about his time abroad,” Susanne volunteered. “He’s just gotten back from the continent!”
“Italy, to be exact,” he said.
Davis laughed. “I thought you had worn out your welcome when we were last there.”
Michael winked. “There were a few ladies whose acquaintance I hadn’t yet made.”
Sarah laughed at the banter. Michael was so charming and made her feel like a young girl again. “Mr. Brooks, you are so wicked!” she said, “But do sit and tell us more!”
**************************
When Rebecca engaged Michael in conversation, she had the uncomfortable feeling that she was being inspected. If he were anyone else, she might have disregarded him as rude and moved on. But he was Davis’ best friend. He was a part of Davis’ life and it was important to her that they become better acquainted. She knew that Michael and Davis shared secrets, ones she may never know. She was a little jealous that someone else knew Davis so well.
In truth, Michael was studying Rebecca. He knew that Davis was anxious to start a family. Lord Edderle was dying and Davis was a few rattled breaths away from having all that was owed to him. Outside of the family, only Michael fully knew of Lord Edderle’s relationship with his children. He had not been a good father since his wife’s death. He berated Davis, made Johanna answer to his every whim and had pushed Colin, the youngest child away from home. Michael didn’t care for William Edderle, but kept his opinion to himself out of respect for his friend.
But the courtship and engagement was rushed and Michael worried that Davis was rash in his desire to please his father. He couldn’t talk Davis out of marriage, if his mind was set on it; but he could make an effort to understand better the woman Davis had decided upon.
That she was beautiful there was no doubt. She was also smart. Her contributions to the conversation were thoughtful and intelligent. She didn’t coo like a silly girl and her compliments and attention appeared sincere. Her dress was appropriate and she was comfortable with whomever she spoke with. She already seemed devoted to Davis. Beneath the serenity and grace, though, he sensed a raw passion, veiled, but present. Had she been any other woman, Michael would have relished the opportunity to help bring it to the surface. But she was about to be Davis’ fiancé.
**************************
The proposal was not a surprise. Like the courtship, it had been well-planned. In Martha’s drawing room, on bended knee, Davis slipped onto Rebecca’s finger the ruby and pearl ring left to him by his mother and asked her to be his wife. Knowing that Tristan had already approved, she accepted.
“May I kiss you?” Davis asked.
“Of course,” she answered.
Their first kiss was a chaste brush over the lips and Rebecca was surprised. She had expected something more than the sweet, virginal kisses she had given other suitors. But there would be more o
pportunities with less pressure. They had the rest of their lives.
*************************
Rebecca’s engagement party was her true debut. She had prepared for this night her whole life and she intended to enjoy it. The wedding would be the culmination of all her hard work. For now, with Davis’ promise and his ring on her finger, she would begin to enjoy the early fruits of success. A few of the guests were her friends; most were from Davis’ circle, some gentry, most nobility.
With Rebecca safely engaged, Susanne expected the focus to be on finding her the right husband. She had other ideas. Davis was fine and handsome and rich, but he was too serious for her. She wanted more excitement and at the party she found it in a young man in uniform. His name was Gordon Wilborn and he was recently promoted to lieutenant. She didn’t know if he was in the army or navy. It didn’t much matter.
She was not as accomplished a dancer as Rebecca, but Gordon found her missteps charming.
“The bride-to-be is your sister?” he asked. She nodded shyly. “She is quite lovely,” he said.
Susanne’s disappointed heart skipped a beat. “Yes, she’s very lovely.”
“But not as lovely as her sister,” he added. Susanne’s smile was more relaxed.
“You are very kind to say these things, Lt. Wilborn.”
“I believe it is important to be honest with others,” he continued. “I don’t like playing games.”
Susanne liked Lt. Wilborn’s charming frankness. She didn’t mind playing games, but she was curious to see where the night led.
*************************
“Davis tells me that you are a writer, Mr. Brooks,” Rebecca said as they danced later in the evening.
“Please call me Michael.”
“Well then, Michael, would I have read anything of yours?”
“Maybe some of my poetry. I have also finished a novel that will be published soon.”
Laura Carroll Butler Page 2
