Rebecca

by Ferguson, Jo Ann

  “What are you thinking of, Curtis?” came the soft whisper as his pretty Eliza put her hand on his arm.

  With a smile, he gazed down into her innocent eyes. “Why, you, of course, darling. You and our wedding that is one step closer to reality.”

  He pulled her into his arms and kissed her with eager passion. As she pressed close, he was glancing past her at the door that led to the lord’s suite. He had nearly reached his goal. Soon Eliza would be his, and they would live in this wonderful house. His arms tightened around her. Yes, things were going perfectly for Curtis Langston.

  Lady Margaret was as thrilled with the announcement of her daughter’s engagement as she had been appalled by her son’s. Wholeheartedly, she began work on the ball which would be held in two weeks. Once the formal proclamation had been made at the ball, preparations could be started for the wedding.

  Rebecca once again was the odd one out. She could not shake her feeling that something was not quite right with the man her sister-in-law loved. Finally, she could not stand to do nothing any longer. She wrote a short note to Nicholas’ barrister, Mr. Doyle, who worked at Mallory and Sons in London. Letting him think that she needed the answers to plan a surprise party, she asked him to check into the unknown background of Curtis Langston, Esquire. She gave his address in London and asked the solicitor to get any information he could discover in a week to her by speediest messenger.

  When she posted the letter, she felt an immediate sense of relief and guilt. Although she had asked Doyle not to mention anything to Nicholas in his regular correspondence, she was afraid her husband would find out what she had done and be furious. If the solicitor told her Curtis was the fine young man everyone else seemed to believe he was, she would be ashamed of her distrust. Yet she could not do nothing about what she felt so strongly.

  Following Eliza’s suggestion, she arranged with Mademoiselle Pacquette to make her a gown in the Elizabethan style to match the one in the portrait of Sybill Wythe. The dressmaker spent hours making sketches of the dress in the painting and returned to her shop to create the outfit, recalling skills lost a century before. She also had asked for a portrait of Sybill’s husband to use as a model for Nicholas’ costume. Although they had searched the portrait gallery and the attics, they had been surprised to find nothing. Eliza told them jokingly that as he was no true ancestor of this house, perhaps their family had destroyed his portrait.

  Among the preparations for the ball, Rebecca was busy also with her school. The number of students had grown to twenty. She heard recitations and tried to teach them sums using examples from their own lives. Often they would return to school with questions she knew their parents had posed. It pleased her that her efforts were reaching past the twenty children and the small room which was becoming too crowded. She would have to divide the class and teach part in the morning and part in the afternoon.

  Such a plan would not please Nicholas, who did not want the school to monopolize her time. Often her afternoons were spent in sweet love with him behind the latched door of their bedroom. He would not be willing to give up those times. Neither would she, so she must devise some other way to manage the growing class.

  One day about a week before the ball, she looked up from her table to see Curtis standing in the door. She had dismissed the children, but had stayed to do some work.

  “So this is the famous schoolroom at Foxbridge Cloister?” he asked with a smile. He looked at the plain walls and the slates which were piled at the edge of one bench. “Not much like the schools we attended, is it, Rebecca?”

  Coolly, she answered, “It’s very much like the school I attended. Don’t let the dullness of the room make you think the minds here are the same.”

  “I wouldn’t think that. I’m sure you are inspiring these youngsters to seek a life far above their own level.”

  Anger filled her at his calm attack on her school. “What do you mean by that? Are we supposed to be content to be no more than what we were born to be? If that had been the case throughout history, we would be barbarians still.” She stood slowly and closed the book she had been using to garner ideas for her next class. “We must have something to aspire to. Those dreams are what give us the will to continue on through the mundane times of our lives.”

  He grinned as he leaned on the single windowsill. “Not only are you beautiful, but philosophical. You certainly have made your advice come true. Could you have conceived a year ago of living in a house like this and being Lady Foxbridge?”

  Her frown deepened. “A year ago, my dreams were very different. Still they were dear to me. We are not as class conscious in America as you are here. It’s far easier to move from one level to another, both up and down. There are no guarantees of a soft life there, unless one deserves it.”

  Curtis had been wandering around the room as she spoke. He examined her teaching tools as if they were odd museum pieces. When he stopped, he stood directly in front of her. He smiled as she stepped away from him. He did not pause as he backed her toward the wall. When she bumped into it, a startled look filled her expressive eyes. He walked closer and leaned forward to put his arms on either side of her shoulders. Carefully, he did not touch her.

  “Why do you act so scared of me, Rebecca?” he asked, seemingly nonplussed.

  Trying to act normally, she replied, “I’m not scared of you. Should I be?”

  “You are a lovely woman all alone in a deserted wing of this huge house.”

  “And you are my sister-in-law’s fiance!” she retorted, wishing he would stop playing whatever game this was.

  He smiled coyly. “That’s true. Eliza soon will be my wife, and we will be living together here. Eliza and I and Lord Foxbridge and his distrustful, incredibly beautiful wife and Lady Margaret who hates you so deeply, although I have never understood why. Except for the fact that you are from America, you should be everything she would want in a daughter-in-law.”

  Rebecca tried to move away, but his arms kept her imprisoned. When he pulled the book from her hands that she had held between them, she broke away. Before she could go more than a trio of steps, his hand caught her arm and brought her back sharply against the wall. She cried out in pain.

  “Do not act so scared of me, Rebecca,” he said in a totally different tone of voice. It had softened as if he wished to court her with sweetened phrases. His fingers reached out to caress her cheek, but she turned her face from him. “We will be family soon. I just came to tell you farewell, for I am leaving for London. I won’t be back until next Thursday.”

  “Let me go. This is not amusing any longer. Have a pleasant trip, if that is what you want to hear.” Her eyes remained downcast so she did not have to look at his face.

  When he bent to kiss her cheek, she flinched. His hand stroked her soft cheek before slipping to rest on her shoulder. “I will see you next week. My business will be done for a while, so I can devote more time to getting to know my sister-in-law. I have discovered I don’t know you as well as I would like.”

  Her eyes widened involuntarily at the implied meaning of his words. He laughed and patted her cheek once more before releasing her. With a casual wave, he walked out of the room, leaving her baffled.

  Rebecca hid her face in her hands and tried to force the nausea back into her stomach. Although she had seen the light of lust in Curtis’ eyes, she had not thought he ever would be so open about it. She knew she should go to Nicholas immediately and demand that he put an end to his sister’s betrothal.

  What could she tell him? None of Curtis’ actions in themselves were wrong. He had not tried to seduce her, although she could see the desire to do so in every motion. A man could not be convicted of a crime that he had committed only in his mind. Curtis was certainly attentive to Eliza. He treated her as if she was the most precious thing in his life. That was why his actions were even more of a shock.

  She counted the days since she had posted the letter to Doyle. The reply would not be back until the day before
the ball. Curtis would be gone for all but one day of that time. She would wait and see what the solicitor had to say. If Curtis Langston was just an amorous man who believed the gossip of her easy virtue, she would set him to rights. She was sure that a calm discussion of how he upset her would put an end to the problem.

  Reasonably, rationally, Rebecca soon had convinced herself that she had mistaken a simple farewell between friends for desire. By the time she went back to the main part of the house, she had forced the whole incident so deeply into the recesses of her mind that when she would need to remember it, the episode would be forgotten.

  Rebecca cancelled school for the two days before the ball. She had too much to do for the formal affair. All the invitations had been sent, and many weekend guests would be arriving on Friday. The guest rooms were prepared. Although her students were accustomed to her desire for perfection, the house staff was astounded to hear the usually pleasant Lady Foxbridge requesting tasks redone to her satisfaction. Their anger dissipated when they saw she was working as hard and expected the same level of faultlessness from her own efforts.

  She found time to have the final fittings for her gown which was an exact duplication of Sybill’s. Mademoiselle Pacquette apologized for the uncomfortable ruff collar. Rebecca laughed aside her concerns, for it was for only one night that she must wear the heavy velvet dress. They shared many laughs about the doublet and short bloomers designed for Lord Foxbridge, Although Rebecca secretly thought Nicholas would look dashing as his ancestor, she was sure he would detest the outfit.

  On Thursday after lunch, she finished with the last fitting. The modiste promised to have the dress delivered by midday the next day. When she had bid the woman farewell, Rebecca went to redress. Picking up her petticoats, she bent to put them on over her chemise and pantalets. Her fingers slipped behind her back to tie them at her waist.

  “No need for these, sweetheart.” Strong fingers settled over hers to keep her from making the bow.

  Smiling at her husband, she lamented, “Nicholas, I have a million things to do. Let me get dressed.”

  He twisted her into his arms as her petticoats drifted to the floor to lie in a circle around her feet. “No, you have one thing to do, and for that you don’t need to be dressed.” His lips seconded the invitation glowing in his eyes as his fingers reached for the ribbons which held her camisole together.

  With a sigh of delight, she leaned against him as she put her arms under his open shirt to caress the expanse of his chest. Her fingers sought their way through the dark hair and became entwined in it. As he pulled the chemise from her, she pressed close to give her whole body a chance to feel his strong firmness. Soon all her clothes were in a pile on the floor. Within seconds, his rested atop them.

  He smiled as he drew her to the bed. “My sweet love, you have been so busy with his formal affair that I thought it was time you devoted yourself to a different type of affair with your husband.”

  “I want this to be perfect for Eliza.”

  “And I want this to be perfect for us. I love you, my Rebecca.”

  “I love you,” she whispered as he pinned her sweetly to the mattress.

  His mouth drew rapture from her lips to surround them in the warm aura of their love. Everything else disappeared as they became enrapt in each other. There was no hesitation in her touch as she stroked the virile lines of his body. As always she hesitated as she touched the scar under his ribs. That injury had brought them together.

  She forgot the past as his tongue created a moist path along the upsweep of her breast. Quivers erupted from the depth of her being as she stroked his wide shoulders. His hair drifted forward to brush against her naked skin. When his mouth continued its explorations to her most feminine secrets, she writhed with her longing.

  Whispering his name, she surrendered to the rapture overwhelming her as she touched him. She needed to feel the firm textures of his skin beneath his fingertips. Her need became an agony, and she clutched his hands as he drove her to the very edge of existence with his mouth.

  His arms surrounded her as his lips found hers again. She moaned with the pulse exploding throughout her. Easily, gently, but with the hunger only she could satisfy, he brought them together as they reached for the glories they could know only with each other. As they dissolved into the tender, tempestuous maelstrom of their passion, they became one in the dulcet desires consuming them.

  Rebecca rested her head on Nicholas’ shoulder as she stretched languorously. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. With a breathless laugh, she whispered, “I’m not going anywhere, darling.”

  “You have been so busy lately, I wouldn’t be surprised to see you leap from this bed to rush off to do your errands.”

  She looked up at him. “Have I been too busy? Do you want me to spend less time on other things and more time with you?”

  He grinned. “I would like to have all your time being spent with me, sweetheart. I would keep you here next to me. Unfortunately, it cannot be so for either of us. There are many responsibilities I have inherited along with this title. You have your school and now all the plans for Eliza’s ball and wedding. We will find time to be together, never fear about that.”

  “I don’t. If I decide I cannot wait to hold you to my heart again, I will interrupt you enough so that you will get the idea.” She smiled mischievously before sighing. “I do have something I must do this afternoon. I must ride over to Beckwith Grange with Eliza.”

  “Beckwith Grange? Whatever for?” He was shocked, for Rebecca had never set foot in the place which once had been as familiar to him as Foxbridge Cloister.

  Her slender shoulders shrugged. “Eliza wants to talk to Clarisse about something. She won’t tell me what it is, but asked me to come along. I have no idea what is going on, but I told her I would go.” She sat and leaned over him. With a quick kiss, she slipped out of bed and began to redress.

  Nicholas placed his hands beneath his head as he enjoyed the sight of his lovely wife moving about the room changing from the temptress she was in his arms to the pretty, ladylike Rebecca Wythe. When she pulled her gown over her petticoats, he offered to help her hook up the back. He drew on his breeches and went over to where she stood by the dressing table that had been moved into his room.

  Picking up his coat, he pulled a small box from a pocket. He placed it in her hands. With a glance of surprise, she opened it to see a small gold pendant. Engraved on it was a ship that resembled the Neptune’s Prize.

  “How pretty!” she gasped. “Oh, thank you!”

  He clasped it around her neck. “I saw it when I had to go into Liverpool last week. I thought you would like it. It’s not as fancy as the jewels from past ladies of this house.”

  “But this is from you!” She spun and hugged him. She listened to the soft, steady beat of his heart as her head pressed to his chest. “I love you. Not because you bring me gifts, but because you are the most wonderful man I know.”

  Nicholas drew her lips to his. Then, with a smile, he released her. “Perhaps it will be a talisman to protect you from the dark emotions at Beckwith Grange. When do you think you will be back?”

  “Long before supper. Why?”

  “I was hoping I might fit a bit more time with you into my schedule this afternoon.” He put his mouth against the side of her neck and heard her pleasured reaction. “Hurry home, sweetheart.”

  Laughing, she picked up her gloves and bonnet. Her cape she draped over her arm. “I plan to spend as little time in Clarisse’s company as necessary, but I will be even more eager to return to Foxbridge Cloister.”

  He blew her a kiss as she hurried to meet Eliza. Later, he would wonder why he had not sensed the cold fingers of premonition alerting him to tragedy. He felt nothing but the gratification of his yearning for his wife and the impatience to share that love once more.

  Chapter Nineteen

  As Rebecca came down the stairs, she was tying her cape around her. She greeted Eliza wi
th a smile. After what she had just shared with Nicholas, she felt generous even toward Clarisse Beckwith. She could afford to be pleasant to the obnoxious woman for a short call.

  Before they got into the carriage, she spent a few minutes talking to Sims about arrangements to have the horses in the stable made available to their house guests over the weekend. All but Donar, Nicholas’s horse, and Sybill, the new mare that they had named in honor of the woman she would portray at the masked ball, were to be ready for their guests. She patted Hermes’ head as they talked, but paid no attention to the greyhound’s interest in riding with them in the carriage.

  She discovered Sims was eager for the ball also. It had been a while since there had been a party of this magnitude at Foxbridge Cloister, for the house had been sunk in mourning along with Lady Margaret for the past two years. The staff wanted a chance to prove how capable they were.

  It was a very short ride to Beckwith Grange, showing Rebecca how much she had become acclimated to changes in her life. In Connecticut, she would have considered the distance between the two houses a pleasant walk. “Eliza, you are being so quiet,” she said. “Is there something wrong?”

  Dark eyes rose to meet the concerned ones of her brother’s wife. “Not now. Let’s talk of something pleasant. How is your gown coming?”

  “It’s nearly done.” She was curious about what was bothering Eliza, but respected her need to hold it inside her. “It’ll be delivered tomorrow. Nicholas thinks we should greet our guests in the front parlor under Sybill’s portrait.”

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  Hearing Eliza’s distress, she exclaimed, “There is something wrong! Will you tell me?”

  “Soon. Please, Rebecca, accept that. Soon.”

  She had no more time to quiz her, for they had arrived at the small country house known as Beckwith Grange. Years ago, it had belonged to the Foxbridge Cloister estate. The house and the few acres of gardens attached to it were surrounded on every side by the Cloister property. Why it had been given to the Beckwiths, no one seemed to know.