Laura Carroll Butler

by The Price of a Pearl

  He nodded. “I would never be able to practice here except as an assistant. Somewhere else, the Orient, Africa, even the Americas I would be able to do what I always wanted.”

  “I may never see you again.” He didn’t answer. “But if this is what will make you happy, then you must do it.”

  “I don’t want to regret my life and punish everyone else I love because of it.”

  With tears in her eyes, Rebecca told him, “Then that is what you must do.”

  Michael came into the drawing room just then, carrying his son and met Davis at the door. Rebecca quickly wiped her tears and smiled in Davis’ direction.

  “I would like to present to you all, my son,” he proudly announced, “The Viscount Laurence George Davis Brooks.” Michael cradled the child so that he could be seen, but it was unnecessary as they all crowded around Michael. He handed the baby off to Davis who held him like a natural.

  “Laurence George Davis,” he repeated.

  “We both like Laurence,” he explained, “And of course George, for the King, and Davis, there was just no question.”

  Davis smiled gratefully. “Thank you,” he said and held the baby’s tiny hands in his. Rebecca felt a pang of longing for Davis at seeing how perfect he looked with the baby.

  “It would mean everything to Susanne and me if you would be Laurence’s godparents. All three of you,” he said, pointedly looking at Tristan.

  “I would be honored,” he said and shook Michael’s hand.

  Later, as exhaustion overwhelmed her, Rebecca lay on her bed still too excited from the events of the past 24 hours. She marveled at the new life that she hoped was a promise of a second chance for Tristan and Susanne. She pushed thoughts of Tristan’s announcement aside and focused on the pride in Michael and in Davis at Laurence. She forced the feelings of envy away and concentrated on the happiness that Laurence had brought, so much appreciated while they mourned Sarah.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Brooks family stayed at St. Clare’s until Laurence was six weeks old. Michael, belatedly cognizant of his responsibility to his growing family, capitulated and made the changes to his manuscript that his publisher demanded. No longer would his protagonist go down in a blaze of glory and be honored for his sacrifice by his native Irish; he was instead hanged as a traitor after murdering a nobleman’s innocent child. It was the pat, moral ending that Collins wanted and Michael loathed. But he could not afford to return the advance and he would not ask Davis for it.

  Coupled with the anxiety of providing for his newborn son, Michael’s mood became blacker than Davis had ever seen. The sale on the factory was concluded quicker than anyone expected; with her share of the money, Davis assisted Susanne in renting a townhouse in Mayfair, much nicer than their old home and only a few blocks from Davis and Rebecca. As the time to leave grew closer, Michael’s mood lifted at the prospect of leaving the isolation of St. Clare’s Abbey for the more vibrant London.

  When the Brooks family left shortly before Christmas, Davis and Rebecca were alone for the first time in nearly a year. It was only then that she realized how much they had drifted apart.

  In the first weeks of Laurence’s life, with the pain of her mother’s death still fresh, she had allowed herself to enjoy Davis’ empathy and compassion. Initially, Michael helped Rebecca care for the baby, giving Susanne time to rest and recover. Soon it became obvious that Michael was too wrapped up in his own depression to be of much help and Davis gladly stepped in, rocking Laurence when he was colicky and the only way he would sleep was lying on Davis’ shoulder. It tore at Rebecca’s heart to see Davis, so content and perfect with a child and to know that she had not provided him with one. By the time Susanne and Michael left St. Clare’s, the hurt had become jealousy and she was not completely sorry to see them go.

  Distracted by her family’s presence, Rebecca forgot how to be still and merely enjoy the presence of her husband. She was so used to the constant activity of caring for someone, first Sarah, then Susanne and Laurence that she simply couldn’t focus on the quiet. The calmness disturbed her. She didn’t hear Davis when he talked to her, she didn’t respond when he touched her. She wanted to be alone, but when he was not with her, she was irritable and desperately missed him.

  The return to London and the busyness of the Season was a welcome relief. At a dinner party late in January, Rebecca was introduced to Althea Seymour, the flame-haired wife of Baron Cecil Seymour and the daughter of an earl. Althea was only a little older than Rebecca but already a mother to three children, the heir, the spare and the extra spare, and she spent little time mothering them. Instead, she liked to visit and gossip and take little adventures that Rebecca knew were imprudent. She soon found that she was willing to take a risk with Althea because she was just so much fun to be with.

  Althea suggested an afternoon at the British Museum. Rebecca was surprised at the destination as Althea didn’t seem like a particularly studious person. She understood Althea’s real motivation once they arrived at the museum and she introduced the two young men waiting for them. The one called Mr. Johnson was clearly familiar with Althea. His friend, Mr. Lynch seemed more like how Rebecca felt, a cover for Althea and Mr. Johnson.

  Rebecca tried to maintain some formality with Mr. Lynch; but Althea and Mr. Johnson snuggled close despite the public venue, whispering intimately. Finally, Mr. Johnson pulled his friend aside to speak privately.

  “Callum wants to show me his ‘library’,” Althea excitedly confided to Rebecca.

  “What ‘library’? Who is Callum” she babbled anxiously, quickly realizing that she was about to be abandoned by her friend.

  Althea smiled wickedly. “He’s all yours,” she whispered, taking Mr. Johnson’s arm and allowing him to lead her off.

  “I suppose we are on our own,” Mr. Lynch said when they were gone.

  A little icily, Rebecca responded, “I am sure they will be back soon”

  “Hm, maybe,” he answered, his tone amused, but dissenting. They walked slowly, Rebecca looking at the exhibits, but too distracted to focus on them. “So, Lady Edderle, your husband is an MP, yes?”

  “No, he sits in the House of Lords.”

  “Ah, a Tory.” She realized his accent was unfamiliar and stopped to really examine Mr. Lynch. He was an attractive man, very young and not fashionably dressed.

  “Where are you from originally?” she asked.

  “Dublin.”

  “You’re Irish?” He doesn’t look like a savage, she thought.

  “Yes, but I haven’t been home for years, Lady Edderle.”

  Rebecca softened. “I have a friend who has written a book set in Ireland.”

  “So do we come off as murderers, imbeciles or religious nuts?” Mr. Lynch asked with an amused smile on his face.

  “I haven’t read it,” she admitted. “Although his publisher did insist that he write his lead character to be less sympathetic as he is a rebel; I daresay your people probably don’t come off favorably.”

  “Ah, it is what it is,” he responded philosophically. “Please relax, Lady Edderle; my friend Callum is the one on the prowl. You are a lovely woman, but I have a fiancée.”

  At first she was offended that he felt the need to reassure her. But Mr. Lynch’s charm and honesty relaxed her and she decided to enjoy herself without worrying what Althea was up to or what Davis might think. She enjoyed the rest of the afternoon with Mr. Lynch, bantering playfully and innocently flirting like a young girl again.

  When Althea and Callum returned, Rebecca sincerely wished Mr. Lynch well. She might never see him again as their social circles were different, but she appreciated how he had treated her-as a woman, yes, but as an attractive, delightful and intelligent woman. On the carriage ride from Althea’s, she thought of Davis and how distracted he was lately. She couldn’t help feeling neglected and a little annoyed.

  Later at the rare dinner at home, she was bubbling with conversation for the first time in weeks. Omitting Alt
hea’s side trip, she told Davis about the museum and her conversation about the Irish problem with Mr. Lynch. She mused honestly if it didn’t mirror somewhat the conflict in the colonies and the new ideas on liberty and freedom, eager to provoke some conversation and maybe even a jealousy. But Davis did not care for Althea and was not interested in Rebecca’s ‘rebellious’ thoughts. He halted any further talk when he said “I will not forbid you from being friends with her, but I would prefer not having to associate with her under my roof.” Rebecca was stunned and quiet until Davis left for the evening. It had become a habit on nights when they were in. He would start out at Michael’s early enough to spend a little time with Laurence before the child went to bed. Then Michael would convince him (or so Davis said) to go out to the club for cards and drinks. He would come home well after she had gone to bed, sometimes slipping in next to her, sometimes sleeping in another bedroom. She always heard him, but depending on her feelings, might pretend to be asleep. If they did make love, it was routine, like an obligation. No more were there afternoon trysts or any semblance of seduction. They were making a baby, no more, no less.

  *************************

  Rebecca was fascinated with Althea’s recklessness, so much like Michael’s, and not at all like her other female acquaintances. She openly wondered how Althea kept Cecil in the dark.

  “Oh, he knows about my ‘activities’,” she answered matter-of-factly.

  “And he doesn’t mind?” Rebecca asked.

  “It’s not like he doesn’t have his own distractions. Besides, I have provided him with his heirs so he doesn’t expect my ‘attentions’; like he used to. Really, Rebecca, I’m surprised at how innocent you are still.”

  Rebecca blushed, embarrassed at her own innocence. She knew fidelity wasn’t highly valued in her set, but she was still surprised that it wasn’t just the men who took advantage. She had assumed that the men would be involved with women outside her social circle, not the women whose homes she dined at, whose balls she attended, and who she occasionally saw in church. Apparently, there was an entire culture of extramarital relationships, circular and twisted, that she was only now becoming aware of. And Althea, who seemed to know all the gossip, enjoyed filling her in. Naively, Rebecca never thought that Althea would speak as freely about Rebecca’s life as she did others. She was just delighted to finally have a confidante who was not intimately connected to her private life.

  Althea had had no trouble conceiving her three boys; in fact she was more worried about conceiving with one of her lovers which is why they all tended to favor Cecil’s dark coloring. She was, nevertheless, a great source of information to Rebecca who had no desire to stray from the marital bed; rather, she worried that her inability to conceive might push Davis away even further.

  Althea believed that Rebecca was just too uptight to conceive. But the pills that she gave Rebecca to relax her only made her sleepy. The catnip tea Althea recommended next didn’t taste too bad, but after two months of drinking it (and Davis never questioned why), Rebecca was still not pregnant. Althea speculated on different sexual positions, but Rebecca could not figure out how to broach the subject with Davis. He seemed perfectly content with being on top, save for that one afternoon (was it really only a year ago?).

  And it seemed like new babies were everywhere. Even Johanna, who was almost a decade older than her, was a new mother to little Thomas Edderle Somers, a nephew that she and Davis wondered if they would ever meet now that the unrest in the colonies had become a deadly rebellion.

  It may have been that Rebecca was only now noticing the masses of babies since it was constantly on her mind. Month after month, she prayed that she would be able to give Davis the news he longed to hear and every month she bled as she had since she was 13. They never discussed their mutual disappointment, Rebecca out of guilt for not supplying an heir and Davis not wishing to rub salt in her open wound. But not talking only made matters worse as they grew increasingly distant.

  **************************

  When they moved back to St. Clare’s Abbey the previous summer, Davis was still shaken with fear at what might have happened had he not lost his nerve at the molly house as well as what he might have said to Rebecca that night. He couldn’t remember anything from the ride home to the next afternoon and was afraid to ask anything further. When he thought about the look on her face when she laughed about his behavior, he realized that her laugh had been empty and there was sadness in her eyes. But she would not discuss that night with him.

  He knew she was exhausted after months caring for her mother, her sister and their nephew. She didn’t have the desire she once had, not only in bed, but in their daily interaction. They had gotten out of the habit of a morning kiss and they spent little time together at home. As she spent more time with Althea, a woman he found ridiculous and annoying, he distanced himself more. He spent more time at work, appreciating the demands, and feeling valued. He was worried about Johanna, whose letters from Virginia indicated the precarious situation in the colonies and whose husband was questioning his Loyalist leanings.

  Davis still loved Rebecca. He was still committed to his marriage, praying daily for the gift of a child, believing that this would bridge that gap that had begun to form between them.

  Then came a morning when he sat next to Rebecca at breakfast and realized that he loved her, but he no longer desired her. The fear in his heart was unbearable.

  He discovered, by accident really, that a little alcohol and a little male companionship, nothing too intimate, just conversation and a few caresses, stoked enough desire in him to want Rebecca sexually. He did not consider it cheating as it was Rebecca’s bed that he always came home to. But she knew, as she always had, that his heart wasn’t hers.

  *************************

  Rebecca began to feel guilty that she was neglecting Susanne for time with Althea. She knew from Althea that Michael didn’t always come home at night, but Susanne never brought up any concerns with her marriage; Rebecca didn’t know if she was blissfully unaware or just in denial.

  One warm day, Susanne came over for lunch with Laurence. Rebecca had a gift for them, a perambulator with a pony. “Of course, you can keep them here,” she offered, as the Brooks didn’t have a stable. Althea’s nurses swore by them; Althea herself didn’t walk much with the children. They tried it out on Berkeley Square to the delight of Laurence. He giggled and cooed and the rhythm lulled him to sleep.

  “We’ll just let him sleep,” Susanne said. “I’m not ready to go home just yet.”

  Rebecca wondered at the statement, but didn’t pursue it. “I’m sorry you haven’t been able to get out much this Season.”

  Susanne chuckled bitingly. “I don’t much trust the servants with the house, let alone my son.”

  “Is it that difficult to find a decent nurse?” Rebecca asked.

  “Not if you can afford it,” she answered sharply.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Susanne smiled more warmly. “I’m sorry for being short, Rebecca. I haven’t slept well this week. I think Laurence may be teething.”

  “Well, he seems very content right now,” Rebecca said, peering at the sleepy cherub.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Newland,” they heard and both looked up. The man was familiar, but it took Rebecca a moment to place him. “I should correct that,” he said, doffing his hat. “Good afternoon, Lady Edderle. I forgot that you are married now.”

  “Perry Wilborn,” she said as the name came to her. “I haven’t seen you in years. Susanne, you remember Mr. Wilborn, Tristan’s friend.”

  Perry smile pompously at Susanne. “I believe I saw you at the theater, but it was so long ago.”

  Susanne fought back the nausea she suddenly felt. “It must have been a quick meeting,” she said. “I don’t seem to remember it well.”

  “You are married now as well, Mr. Wilborn?” Rebecca continued, oblivious to Susanne’s discomfort.

 
“Yes. She’s Scottish and doesn’t like London much. My family has a house in London and I come alone. For business,” he added. “How is Tristan? I haven’t seen him since shortly after my last visit.” He smiled at Susanne. “We seemed to have lost touch. But I did hear about your father and your mother. My condolences.”

  “Thank you. Tristan sold the factory and he is traveling now. Last he wrote, he was in Switzerland.”

  “And Miss Newland,” he said pointedly speaking to Susanne. Rebecca noticed the change in his tone as he addressed her. Not smooth or silky…

  “I am Mrs. Michael Brooks now, Mr. Wilborn,” she corrected in a weak voice.

  Perry was surprised. “The author? I hadn’t heard. This is what comes of living in another country, I suppose. You miss out on so much.”

  Oily, Rebecca thought. And Susanne looked sick.

  “What a fascinating contraption you have here,” he continued and bent to examine Laurence. “And whose lovely child is this?”

  “He is my son,” Susanne answered more strongly.

  Perry looked up at her with his smile. “And who does he resemble? His mother or his father?”

  Rebecca watched Susanne’s mouth tighten. “Michael,” Susanne answered. “He looks like his father, Michael.”

  Rebecca realized the tension at the moment she remembered Perry’s connection to Gordon. This must be the cause of Susanne’s clear distaste for Perry, she thought and said, “Mr. Wilborn, it was good to see you, but we must be going.”

  He stood, tipped his hat and said goodbye. When he was out of earshot, Rebecca apologized. “I’m so sorry, Susanne. I forgot that he is Gordon Wilborn’s cousin.”

  Susanne looked at her in puzzlement. “Gordon?”

  “Yes. I know how fond of him you were before Michael and what a cad he turned out to be.”

  Susanne smiled. “Yes, Gordon, of course.” They continued on their walk.

  *************************

  Davis would not socialize with Cecil and Althea in his home, but he couldn’t avoid them completely. It was at a party in June celebrating the end of the season that matters came to a head. At dinner, Rebecca was seated beside Cecil. The news of Col. Washington’s appointment as general to the Continental Army was on everyone’s lips. Political subjects were not something that Rebecca enjoyed, but listening to Cecil’s opinions about the rights of the colonists reminded her of Mr. Lynch and their discussion of Ireland. As other ladies were interjecting their own thoughts, Rebecca saw no reason to refrain, especially when asked her opinion.