Laura Carroll Butler

by The Price of a Pearl

  “They didn’t want anyone to know,” Martha explained unsure of Johanna’s sudden emotion. “Though I don’t know why. But that’s how I know that there is nothing between Davis and Susanne. It’s Michael she loves.”

  Johanna turned away and asked with a noticeable tremor in her voice, “And does he love her?”

  It was only then that Martha realized why Johanna was suddenly melancholy. “Yes,” she answered gently, stroking her friend’s arm in comfort. “Johanna,” she began, already knowing the answer to her question. “Are you in love with Michael Brooks?”

  Johanna remained silent while a tear finally escaped. She brushed it away and turned back to Martha, with a sad smile. “It doesn’t matter now. Who would have thought?” she said with a choked laugh, “Susanne Newland would be the one.”

  Martha put her arms around Johanna. “I’m so sorry. I never guessed. I knew you were friends, but I never thought…She really isn’t a bad sort when you get to know her.”

  “I suppose not. Though she is impetuous, flying off with her sister’s husband.” Johanna drew away from Martha. “And what was Davis thinking, leaving without a thought to how this would look!”

  “I believe he was thinking about Michael.”

  “But Rebecca—“

  “It wasn’t well thought out, I know. But once Davis has returned, they’ll find someone else to talk about.”

  Martha was right, but Johanna suspected that once Rebecca heard, she would not be happy about all the speculation. She immediately sent her a note of warning, but she was too late. Rebecca was already having tea with Sally Knight.

  Sally was a cousin of the royal family. This, coupled with her very wealthy and connected husband, allowed her to speak as freely as she liked about others, to whomever she wished and she rarely suffered any consequences. It was important for new society wives, especially those like Rebecca who came from the landed gentry, to endear themselves to Sally. So an invitation to tea was worth postponing anything.

  The conversation began innocently enough; before too long, Sally found her opening. “I heard that Davis left town yesterday,” she began.

  Rebecca was guarded in her answer. “He had some business to take care of. A friend whose father is ill.”

  “And your sister went with him.”

  “It is a friend of hers as well.”

  “Oh,” Sally said in surprise, “I didn’t realize that Davis’ friends travel in the same circle as Susanne.”

  “It is someone she met through Davis,” Rebecca explained, uncomfortable and a little insulted on Susanne’s behalf.

  “Hm. I see. Well, I’m sure that there is nothing to worry about,” Sally said, in a tone that contradicted her words.

  “As soon as Davis returns, we will be leaving for a short trip ourselves,” Rebecca quickly added, her fingers fluttering to the base of her neck and stroking absentmindedly.

  “What a splendid idea, dear. And when do you expect him back?”

  “I don’t know,” Rebecca answered, realizing that she had unwittingly opened the door for Sally’s ‘guidance’.

  “I see.” Sally paused and sipped her tea. “It is just that with your mother so far away and you so new to London society, I feel that it is my duty to help you…navigate, yes, navigate the waters of marriage.”

  “I’m sure I don’t understand what you mean,” Rebecca answered anxiously.

  Sally gave her an unmistakable look of pity. “You see, Rebecca, men in our circle have certain expectations in a marriage. I am concerned for you that Davis is so openly flaunting his ‘personal’ life especially so soon after your wedding.”

  Rebecca stared hard at Sally. “Are you suggesting that Davis and Susanne—that is nonsense! Davis would never do that to me and certainly not with my own sister!” The strength and vehemence in Rebecca’s voice was a surprise to Sally who hadn’t expected such passion. Quickly Rebecca regained her composure and added, “It’s preposterous. Davis loves me.”

  “Dear,” began Sally with a veiled contempt that Rebecca didn’t miss, “I don’t doubt that for a minute; but I know how easily men succumb to the charms of someone like Susanne. I know she is your sister, but she is really not like you, is she?”

  “Davis is not like other men,” Rebecca protested in a softer, less certain voice.

  “But he is a man,” Sally said. Though she had spoken of them to no one, Rebecca had always been aware of her father’s infidelities. And of course, Michael was no saint. She knew flirtations were common in her world, but it was always a game, not serious, so she had always believed.

  Sally watched Rebecca’s face, secretly pleased at the bewilderment and suspicion in it. Outwardly, she maintained her concern as she continued to plant more seeds of doubt. “I am sorry, dear. It can be such a shock to find out your husband has feet of clay.” And just as quickly as she had done before, she changed the subject again. “Now do tell me about your plans for St. Clare’s Abbey.”

  *************************

  There was a ring that Rebecca’s mother wore, an heirloom given to her by her mother-in-law on the condition that it be given to Sarah’s oldest daughter when she turned 15. It passed through three generations of mothers and daughters, but Rebecca’s grandmother had no daughters until Henry, her eldest son, married.

  The ring was said to have been made in Venice and given to Rebecca’s great-great grandmother, Isabel, by a Spanish count. The Count was a secretary to the Imperial ambassador of the court of Charles II. He was sent back to Venice before they could be married, but he gave her the ring as a promise that he would return and they would be together always. For years, they communicated by letter. Then there were no letters and the great-great grandmother believed that the Count, her love had forgotten her. But a Spanish courtier who knew the Count sent her a letter telling of the tragic death of the Count from a long illness. The last word he spoke was the name ‘Isabel’. Rebecca loved to hear the story when she was a child, sitting on her mother’s lap and playing with the ring on her tiny finger. Of course, Sarah elaborated on the story each time she told it, to the point that Rebecca never knew what was original and what was Sarah’s. Nevertheless, the bee shaped ring, its body an oval cabochon pearl and its wings sparkly with topaz, represented eternal devotion to Rebecca.

  The day before she turned 15, her father gave the ring to Susanne. She found out at supper when she saw Susanne twirling it on her finger. Surprised, she spoke without thinking. “What are you doing with that?” she asked sharply.

  “Papa gave it to me,” Susanne answered innocently.

  “That’s my ring,” Rebecca said.

  “No it’s not,” her father said casually. “I gave it to Susanne.”

  Rebecca felt sick when she looked to her mother for support and Sarah continued eating, not looking at her daughter. Henry was smug, waiting for Rebecca’s response. Tristan and Susanne stopped eating, unsure of what to do. Rebecca swallowed hard to keep the tears from falling, drawing on the strength she’d gained through years of living with Henry’s irrational hatred.

  “You can have it if you want it, Rebecca,” Susanne generously offered.

  Before Rebecca could answer, Henry snapped at Susanne, “I gave it to you, Susanne, not Rebecca!”

  Rebecca remained silent. Supper went on as though nothing had happened. Only Henry and Sarah spoke, Henry’s conversation nonchalant and Sarah’s responses dull and lethargic.

  After supper, Rebecca found her mother alone in her room. Sarah was sitting at her dressing table crying and when she saw Rebecca, she cried harder.

  “Why?” Rebecca asked, shaking a little in anger.

  “I’m sorry, Rebecca,” Sarah said.

  “The ring was supposed to be mine. You promised.”

  “I know,” she protested weakly. “But your father…” Sarah didn’t finish; she didn’t have to. Henry’s will had always been law. Tradition, promises--nothing mattered except what he wanted. He enjoyed being spiteful to hi
s wife, even if it meant hurting his daughter.

  Later, alone, Susanne again offered Rebecca the ring. Rebecca proudly rejected it. Susanne put it in her jewelry box and never wore it around Rebecca.

  She knew that Davis hadn’t run off with Susanne; but it upset her that everyone else believed the story. She managed to get through the tea with Sally. She maintained her calm on the ride home and until she was with her maid in her room. Then, with a breaking voice, she dismissed her maid for the evening, poured a glass of wine and sobbed.

  When Johanna came over, she was told that Lady Edderle had retired. She hesitated in the hall, trying to decide what to do. Rebecca’s maid saw her hesitation and accompanied her upstairs to Rebecca’s door. When the maid left, Johanna knocked gently once, then firmly a second time. When there was no answer, she called to Rebecca. “Come in,” Rebecca finally said.

  She was sitting by the fire, her face streaked with tears. “I suppose you have come to see if Davis has left me,” she said bitterly.

  “Of course not, Rebecca! I know the story is nonsense,” Johanna answered.

  “It doesn’t matter whether it is nonsense or not; it appears that everyone wants to believe it.”

  Johanna came toward Rebecca and put her arms around her. “Darling, you can’t let what others are saying hurt you.”

  “I’m not hurt, Johanna. I’m angry. Davis should have known what people would say.”

  Johanna pulled away and looked at Rebecca in confusion. “But you know why he went. Michael needs him.”

  “I need him!” Rebecca cried more desperate than angry. “I need him here with me!”

  “Rebecca, Michael’s father is dying. Davis is his best friend,” she pointed out gently. She had never seen this possessive side of Rebecca and though she was trying to be a sympathetic friend, she would not allow her to blame Davis for caring for a friend. “Please be reasonable,” she finished.

  “I have been reasonable. I’ve done everything I was supposed to. Susanne does whatever she wants, damn the consequences! Davis leaves town with her, never thinking how that will look. But I am the one who should be reasonable!”

  “I’m sorry, Rebecca, really, I am. I know what it’s like to put your own feelings in a box and be what you are expected to be, not who you are.”

  Rebecca knew this was true. She knew that it was only since her own father’s death that Johanna was able to think of her own life and pleasure. It wasn’t fair, but it was their life. “I know this is not Davis’ fault,” she relented. “And I know that he’s not hurting me intentionally.”

  “This will pass. As soon as Davis is back, everyone will find a new rumor to pass around and this will be forgotten. It’s how our society is. They relish spreading manure around then move on to different manure when they get bored.”

  Rebecca smiled a little at Johanna’s choice of words. “Thank you, Johanna.”

  “Davis loves you, Rebecca. He would never do anything to hurt you.”

  “I know. Really, I do.” She could weather the storm until Davis came home. She could ignore the pitying looks, the sad little smiles, and the whispers that stopped when she approached. She would put back on the invisible armor she had worn all her life, the pleasant smile that showed she was untouched by the filth around her. Only for tonight would she take her shield off.

  *************************

  Early the next afternoon, Davis arrived at home before Rebecca had returned from her appointment. She saw Davis’ hat on the entry table and called for him. The angst of the previous night was forgotten as she flung her arms around his neck. Three days was the longest they had been apart since Davis’ father’s death.

  “I missed you,” she said as she kissed him eagerly.

  “I missed you, too,” he replied, tossing her hat to the floor and pulling the pins out of her hair so that it cascade down her back. “Come with me,” he said taking her hand and leading her upstairs. She hesitated only a moment then followed him.

  Davis undressed her, his kisses raining on her skin tenderly. He led her to their bed and quickly shed his own clothes. Their lovemaking was always pleasant, but also predictable. Davis would kiss her lips, her ear, her neck, then her breasts, then enter her gently. But as he began, Rebecca’s mind flashed to an image of Davis and Susanne together and instead of gently caressing his back, she gripped his shoulder hard and dug in her nails. The action surprised Davis; Rebecca cleared her mind and let her body take over.

  She rolled Davis onto his back and mounted him. He watched her, his arousal more intense from the motion of her hips grinding into him. The expression in her face as she neared her climax excited him and he held back his own until he saw her lip quiver and felt her body release its tension. Only then did he come with an intensity he had not felt before with Rebecca. As her body relaxed, she opened her eyes and looked down at Davis. She was embarrassed at how she had taken control in such an unladylike fashion. But Davis’s face showed only pleasure and as she lay down, he gathered her in his arms. They lay like this together for several minutes, her head on his chest listening to his heartbeat slow to normal, his right hand entwined in her left.

  “You liked that,” he said finally.

  A pause, then she said quietly, “Yes.”

  “That is what it’s supposed to feel like.” She said nothing. “There is nothing wrong with you enjoying yourself.”

  She thought about this for a moment then said, “I’ve never felt that before.”

  “I know,” he answered. It was a source of disappointment for him, though he had never said this to her.

  “It’s just…when we are together I want to pull you into me so that we are one. Do you understand? I want to feel you and taste you and know that you are mine. Not just my husband, but more.” He didn’t respond. She went on. “Sometimes, during the day, I’ll think about you and you are kissing me and touching me and I have to stop myself or I will go mad. Do you ever feel that way about me?”

  “Of course I do,” he answered, possibly a little too quickly. “I was disappointed that you weren’t here when I came home. I have thought of nothing all day but making love to you.”

  If Rebecca questioned his sincerity, she didn’t express it aloud. But she did ask, “Who do you love more, Michael or me?”

  “It’s not the same; Michael is my friend; you are my wife.”

  “I am not your friend as well?”

  “Yes,” he whispered. “You are.”

  “There were other women before me,” she stated.

  “Yes.”

  “Whores?”

  He was amused at how bold she had suddenly become. “Some, not all.”

  “Did you feel with them what you feel with me?”

  “No, never,” he honestly answered. “I didn’t love any woman before you.”

  “And will you be taking a mistress?” she asked in so blasé a manner it was as though she was asking if he wanted milk in his coffee.

  “What happened while I was away?” he asked.

  Rebecca sat up and looked at him. “There is a rumor that you and Susanne ran off together and that she is your mistress.”

  “Rebecca, you know that’s not true.”

  “It doesn’t matter whether it is true or not. Everyone still believes it.”

  He put his hand on her cheek gently. “I suppose we will have to go out this evening and put those stories to rest.”

  *************************

  They did not go out, though. After spending the rest of the day in bed, Rebecca was tired. The next morning, she woke up feeling no more rested and a bit nauseous. After two days feeling no better, she counted on the calendar to figure out when her last cycle had ended. That was when she realized that she was a week late. For the rest of the day, she kept the secret to herself, rubbing her stomach and wondering how best to tell Davis. But the next morning, she felt the familiar cramping and she cried as her monthly bleeding began.

  The following day she received
a letter from Tristan; Sarah was ill and Rebecca was needed in Tundle.

  Chapter Eleven

  Very early on the morning Davis returned to London, Michael finally rose after a sleepless night. Susanne was asleep in the King Charles bedroom, named in honor of Charles II who stayed there once a century before. He paused at her door, only for a moment then moved on. His search of his father’s desk had been fruitless; if the Earl had kept anything of Michael’s mother, he could have stored it anywhere. But Michael decided to look only in the Earl’s dressing room and office. He was an idealist in many ways, but he understood that he could go insane looking for answers that probably died with his father.

  In the dressing room, he found his father’s coronet and robes in the wardrobe, stored carelessly as befitted his father. Other pieces of jewelry were missing from their boxes, but he was able to locate one that he remembered from a painting of his grandmother.

  Mrs. Bailey found Michael in his father’s office. He was at the desk sorting papers and looking quite at home. Save for a few letters he had sent his father long ago, the papers he found were impersonal and dealt with matters of the estate.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Bailey,” he said, relieved for a break in the monotony.

  “Good morning, sir. Should I bring your coffee in here or will you be having breakfast?” she asked.

  “Just coffee. Is Miss Newland awake?”

  “Not yet.” She hesitated.

  “Yes, Mrs. Bailey?”

  “Amelia and I wonder if you will be keeping us on.”

  Michael sat back in his chair and considered this. The last few weeks had been a true education. Nothing he had studied at Trinity—the classics, Latin, Greek, philosophy—had prepared him for the life he now lived. He had never been responsible for anyone else; now, he felt as though he was responsible for everyone. He said finally, “I’m afraid that I am no longer the owner of Elysian Fields.” Mrs. Bailey’s eyes widened a little, but Michael continued, hoping to soften the blow with what he believed to be the truth. “I am sure, though, that the new owner will be maintaining the current staff as well as adding to it. Your positions are safe, Mrs. Bailey; that is, unless you were hoping to seek employment elsewhere.”