He stared into Rebecca’s eyes for a long while and then turned back to the room. “I must take my leave,” he said. “I do detest people who overstay their welcome. But I believe I can visit again in two days? How about a tour of the grounds? The woods must be wonderful now that the leaves are starting to brown?”
It was hastily agreed that he would return in two days, and they would walk the grounds. And then he was gone, driving by carriage from the estate and into town. Rebecca watched him go from her bedroom window, her face pressed against the glass. A chill ran through the house as he left, and Rebecca could not help but assign his leaving as the reason. The very house grows colder without His Grace’s presence.
She turned at the sound of footsteps. Mother walked into the bedroom and sat upon the chair. “He seems very taken with you, Rebecca,” she said. “He reminds me of your father when we were courting.”
“You really think he likes me?” Rebecca said.
“Oh, yes,” Mother said. “But you must be careful, my sweet daughter.”
“Careful, how?”
“You must not let this…” She reached forward and tapped Rebecca’s chest, her heart. “Overpower this…” She tapped Rebecca’s head. “A woman’s lot in the world is to be admired, revered, or detested. Make one misstep, and you shall be ruined for life. Do not allow your enthusiasm for his attention get the better of you. Do you understand what I am saying?”
Rebecca thought for a moment, and then nodded. “Yes, Mother, I understand,” she said. “I will keep my wits about me.”
Mother nodded. “You always do.”
Mother left Rebecca alone. Rebecca opened a French novel – a particularly scandalous one – and started reading from where she had left off. It was a story concerning a naïve young girl and dashing war hero. The young girl was taken in by the war hero’s talk of marriage and love—but then she was ruined. Mother was wrong to fear that the same thing would happen to Rebecca. She would never allow a man to ruin her.
No, she thought, as the sunlight waned. I would ruin him first if that’s what it took. Your Grace, I believe you have met your match.
*****
His Grace arrived two days later, as he had promised, and the Emersons led him on a tour of their grounds, which were comprised of thirty acres of fields and woodland. Father and His Grace discussed hunting for a time, and then His Grace fell back and walked level with Rebecca, who had been walking alone at the rear of the group. “The wind is fierce today,” His Grace said.
“It is,” Rebecca agreed, because she could not think what else to say. Mother and Father were a few meters ahead. Auntie had elected to stay at home because her constitution was not made for walking, she claimed. Although Mother and Father were just ahead, she still felt as though it were just His Grace and she: as though they were alone in the endless field of green and paling yellow.
“I believe the wind is as fierce as my desire to be with you,” His Grace said.
“Is that so?” Rebecca said.
“Yes, and what’s more, I believe the wind in conspiring with me. It is positively pushing me toward you.” He acted in a childish way then, a way she would not have expected His Grace to act. Propping his arms at his side, he pretend to lose balance and tip toward Rebecca. A free laugh escaped Rebecca before she covered her mouth. “You see,” His Grace said.
“What a villain the wind is!” Rebecca exclaimed.
His Grace nodded vigorously. “Do not blame me, my lady, for wanting you so! It is this blasted wind!”
Rebecca was about to reply when she noticed that Mother and Father were watching them with bemused expressions on their faces. “Shall we walk in the woods?” Mother said, in an attempt to bring the walk back to social decorum. Mother was in a strange position, for His Grace was the social superior, and if he decided he wanted to behave a little naughtily, there wasn’t much she could do about it. She stood with her back completely erect, a picture of a proper lady, something Rebecca would never be. “Or we can return home for some luncheon?”
“Let us walk in the woods,” His Grace said.
They walked away from the field and came to the small wood Rebecca had played in as a girl. A rabbit darted across from a nearby tree and squirrels bounded over the place. “What a splendid place,” His Grace said, and Mother beamed with pride. “It is lovely to find such a splendid place in England. My lord.” He faced Father. “My lady. May I escort Lady Rebecca a little further into the woods? I would, of course, stay in sight of you both.”
Mother looked to Father; Father returned the gaze, chewing his lip. Rebecca desperately wanted them to say yes, and was very happy when Father asked her: “Rebecca, would you like that?”
“Yes, Daddy,” she said, trying not to appear too eager. “I think it would be splendid.”
Father nodded. “If it is okay with your mother, it is okay with me.”
Mother nodded swiftly. She rarely disagreed with Father in front of guests.
His Grace led Rebecca a few hundred yards further into the woods and stopped at a bend, so they were still in sight of Mother and Father, who stood close together and cast looks in their direction every few moments. “That was awfully rude of me,” His Grace said, standing close enough to touch, but trying nothing untoward. “I used my position to force them into a corner. They felt uncomfortable saying no. I am a brute.”
“A useful brute, Your Grace,” Rebecca said, smiling at him.
“A useful brute? Ha!” His Grace clapped his hands together. “My lady, what is it about you? Do you truly see the world as I do? Do you truly understand that, at heart, the world is an icy place?”
Rebecca nodded. “It is an icy place, Your Grace, but I do not believe that one must make a habit of acknowledging it. If one acknowledges the desperation of the world too often one risks alienating one’s family and friends. The last thing Mother wants to here when making lemon cakes is how pointless the whole thing is!”
His Grace nodded. “You care for your family?”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
“You can use my Christian name, my lady.”
“I may?” Rebecca was surprised.
“When it is just the two of us, and nobody can hear, I do not seem the harm of it. But I do not imagine your Mother would like it.”
“No,” Rebecca agreed. “She is very old-fashioned sometimes.”
“And you are modern?”
“No—not in that sense. I am merely, as a woman, not the same breed as my mother.”
“No interesting women are,” His Grace, Edison, said.
“Edison,” Rebecca said. “It is a lovely name.”
“Thank you.” He inclined his head. “I must admit to something, my lady.”
“Rebecca!”
“Rebecca, I must admit to something. My reasons for asking for this small piece of privacy are not only to converse. I believe you are a lady out of sorts, in a way. It was that first meeting when we danced that proved it to me. Do you remember, when I fled the floor?”
“I remember.”
“I was trying to batter you down with words, to beat you down. It was horribly cold of me, but, alas, horribly cold I can be. I find I can be quite the brute at times – I was not jesting about that – and for sport I was trying to beat you down with words. But you beat me, Rebecca. You beat me like I had never been beaten! I felt then, in that moment, like my soul had found recognition in another. And a great wave of emotion passed over me. Yes, that was what it was—a wave. It was a most overpowering feeling. And so I had to flee. I had not felt so since returning from the war. I feared for my constitution. Yes, you may smile!” He grinned at her.
“You sound as though you are in a novel, Edison.”
“You mock me!” he cried, but his voice was full of playfulness.
“Never!” Rebecca laughed.
Edison bowed his head. “I tell you this because I am going to tell you something else. I wish to hear your opinion on it. I do not have to
ask for it, of course, but I wish for it anyway. I mean to ask your Father for your hand in marriage. I am three-and-thirty, have a sizable estate, a solid reputation as a soldier, and Dukedom. I believe your father – and your mother, who has his ear I am sure – will say yes to this proposal. And that is why I am talking to you of it now. Would you wish me to make such a proposal, Rebecca? Would that please you? I could not condemn a woman like you – a free spirit – to a life with a man in whom she has no interest.”
“You wish to marry me?” Rebecca breathed, her heart hammering in her chest.
“I do,” Edison said. “I knew it as soon as we danced, but after these meetings I am sure of it. I believe you are the only person who will be able to cope with my moods, with my indulgence in caprice.”
“I must know more,” Rebecca said, with a calm she did not at all feel. “What form does your caprice take? I believe I must know more, Edison.”
“You see!” Edison grinned widely. “Here I am, a Duke and you a Lady: a good match for you but anybody’s standards. And still you want to know more. It is a wonderful thing.”
“You are not angry?”
“Not in the least, Rebecca. Ask me what you would.”
“What form does your caprice, your moods—what form do they take?”
“I am gripped with nightmares of the war, of watching my friends die. Sometimes I will wake at night in a sweat, and my breath will come with stunning alacrity. I will grip the pillows and wail into the night.”
“Edison!”
“It is the truth!” he cried carelessly. “It is just the two of us, and I am not ashamed to speak the truth here!” He went on in more measured tones: “After one of these nights, I might lock myself in my study for days or even a week and smoke and be among my memories. If a footman or maidservant tries to talk to me – about some business concerning the estate – I am distant and will not utter a single word to them. This you must know before contemplating my proposal.”
“Is there more?” Rebecca said.
“More?” Edison tapped his cane. “Is that not enough?”
“My imagination is a traitor,” Rebecca said. “I imagined a thousand ghastly scenarios, so that yours now seems minor.”
“You diminish me.”
“Yes, perhaps I do. Should I apologize?”
“Absolutely not. It refreshing to be diminished, when I am so often mythologized.”
“I am glad I can refresh you, Edison.”
He paused, and then leaned forward slightly. “So, would such a proposal appeal to you? I would not ask your father if it would not interest you. It would be a prison of sorts, if that were the case, because I am sure he will say yes. It would be simply impossible not to.”
Rebecca knew she was in a unique position. She had never been proposed to before. Men had always been intimidated or frightened of her, much to Mother’s dismay. But if they had proposed to her, she would be married by now. There was no question about it. As close and she and Father were, he would not turn down a good match. And the lord would not have consulted her on the matter. In her hands lay her destiny, her own destiny, to be done with what she wished. She could cast Edison aside, if she wished, cast him aside and wait for—for what? Wait until she slowly became more and more like Miss Garnet Leverton?
“I would say yes,” Rebecca said, and as soon as she said it she knew it was the truth. “If a proposal was made, I would do everything in my power to get Father to agree to it.”
“Okay,” Edison said. “That settles it then. Shall we walk back? Your mother has cast us at least one-hundred glances since we stopped here.”
“I can call you Edison once more before we start back, and Mother cannot here. It feels conspiratorial.”
“You and I and the wind—what a team of conspirators we make!”
Rebecca giggled and together they started back toward the elder Emersons.
*****
“Hmm,” Father said, a day later, leaning over the letter. “Hmm, what a letter!”
“What is it, husband?” Mother said.
He handed her the letter. After a minute or so, Mother handed the letter to Rebecca. It read—
Dear Lord Emerson,
I have greatly enjoyed visiting with your daughter, sweet Rebecca. It would gladden me greatly if you would grant me her hand in marriage. I promise to do everything in my power to ensure her comfort, safety, and happiness if you accept my proposal.
Yours faithfully,
Brigidier Edison Wells, Duke of Waltren
“Oh my!” Rebecca exclaimed.
Though she had known it was coming, reading it like this made it all more real. She read through it thrice more and then handed it to Auntie, who had been casting curious glances over the top of her knitting. Father leaned back and sucked on his pipe, and Mother looked to Father and waited.
Eventually, Father said: “What are you feelings on this, daughter?”
“I wish to marry him,” she said without delay.
“Good,” Father said, and sighed gratefully, “Because we cannot think of refusing.”
“No,” Mother said. “We truly cannot. He is a Duke! Oh, Rebecca, three-and-twenty – and I had lost so much hope – and now you go and get snapped up by a Duke! How did you do it, dear? Perhaps you can tell my sweet sister.”
“Mother!” Rebecca laughed. “I am sure Auntie does not wish to be goaded.”
Mother smiled: a warm, content smile. “Husband, you must write to him immediately. Our daughter is to marry a Duke! Oh, what an honor this is!”
That night Rebecca was lost in reveries of marriage and children and love. Edison may have his faults, she reasoned, but what man did not? Anyway, Rebecca was sure she was more than a match for them.
*****
“No!” Eddy screamed. “No, get away from me!”
Rebecca bolted upright and turned to her side. Her husband was clutching the blanket in a tight ball in his fists, looking wide-eyed into the darkness. Rebecca rose from bed and walked around to his side, kneeling before him. “It is okay, my love,” she said. “It is okay. Calm down. Breathe. That’s it, my love. Just breathe.”
A thin stream of moonlight came in through the window and illumed his muscular shoulders, tensed from the pressure of the nightmare. He rolled onto his back and smiled grimly.
“Was it bad?” Rebecca said.
“It is better now,” Eddy said. “Much better. Thank you, for not fearing me.”
“Fearing you?” Rebecca said teasingly. “How could I fear such a weak man?” She nudged him playfully. “Brigadier indeed.”
He smiled and then rose up on the bed. He clasped her neck and brought her lips to his. She breathed deeply as they shared the kiss. His tongue danced in her mouth and her hands roamed over him. Six months they had been married, and still he found it hard to control herself when he kissed her like this. Her hands moved down his torso to his manhood. It was rock-hard and huge, making the blanket stand up.
“Oh, my lady,” he breathed. “My lady.”
“Your Grace,” Rebecca said. “Would you mind terribly if I rubbed you there? Is it awfully scandalous?”
“Quite, my lady,” he said, kissing her neck. His lips were warm and wet. “It is quite scandalous.”
She kept rubbing his manhood, gripping it in her hand, moving up and down, up and down. Then the Duke, her glorious husband, lifted her as though she weighed nothing and placed her in the bed. He laid her on her back and leant over her, his arms by her head, hard and taut with muscle. He reached down and touched her womanhood. Instantly, pleasure moved through her: hot, pervasive, right. Her husband’s touch was the sweetest thing there was.
He rubbed her for a time. She closed her eyes. The pleasure was white-hot within her. She breathed deeply as he rubbed her, his hands on that special spot of pleasure on her womanhood, that hot spot that made everything warm and fuzzy. She closed her eyes tight and focused on that spot, and then the Pleasure came, the big Pleasure, the Pleas
ure that captivated her for a time, washed through her. She couldn’t help but moan. She knew it was unladylike to moan, but she couldn’t help it. And anyway, she knew Eddy didn’t mind.
After the Pleasure had taken her, she touched his manhood and guided himself inside of her. He pushed deep into her easily. It was nothing like their wedding night had been, when they were both new to this and fumbling and awkward. Now they knew each other’s bodies, knew where to touch, how to touch. His manhood went deep inside of her, deep into the other sweet spot within her womanhood.
“Oh, my lady,” he moaned. “My lady, my lady, my lady…”
He thrust into her again and again. The Duke of Waltren, Brigadier Edison Wells, made love to her fiercely. She shifted her hips with his movements, pushing her womanhood down upon him, something she’d learnt soon after the wedding night heightened both of their pleasure. She pushed down as he thrust up, and they writhed in complete unison, sharing the pleasure of their bodies.
The Duke gripped her shoulders and thrust into her with animal fierceness now. His breaths were quick and hot on her neck. His moans were loud in her ears. She closed her eyes and all she could see was white and all she could feel was the pleasure of his manhood within her. Another wave of Pleasure came, seizing her and throwing her out of physical reality; for a moment she felt as though she floated above the room, watching the lovemaking below. Then the Pleasure passed, and her breath was becoming less frantic.
The Duke of Ice Page 7
