by Jane Goodger
“A harlot?” Oliver repeated angrily.
“It matters not now. If it is true, if we are not married, that is how society will see me. How everyone will see me. Could Mr. Winters have done such a terrible thing?”
Oliver placed a palm gently on either of her cheeks. “I pray not. But if he did, we will simply remarry.”
Rebecca’s eyes filled with tears. “If he did do this thing, Oliver, I cannot marry you. Do you realize how this scandal would stay with us? With our children?” She began crying in earnest. “How could he be so cruel? I cannot believe that even Mr. Winters could have done something so abominable.”
Oliver sat back and was silent for a long moment. “Who do you think spread the rumor, my love?” he asked quietly, his tone telling her he suspected the same person as she.
Rebecca closed her eyes. “Winters.”
“I can think of no other person. We will put this to rights. If we are not married now, we bloody hell will be soon and society be damned. I will not lose you, Rebecca.”
Rebecca looked out the window at the gaslit streets, feeling as if her entire world had just crumbled beneath her. Oliver’s standing in society had been greatly damaged, but she knew she had been completely ruined. Society would never welcome her back. To think she had worried everyone would find out she was a commoner, not worthy of a duke. How could Oliver possibly enjoy London again when she was ostracized, as she most assuredly would be? The man he’d become, outgoing and charming, full of life and friends, would disappear again if they were to marry. Wives would not allow their husbands to chum around with a man who’d married a commoner, a commoner who had shared his bed for weeks without a proper wedding. It would not matter that they had been tricked; who would believe such a thing? Their lives this night had been irrevocably changed. Rebecca was fairly certain that Oliver was unaware of the dire consequences of Winters’ betrayal.
Oliver deserved to become the man he’d been born to be. To mingle with his peers, to make friends. To have children with a woman society did not consider a whore. Her heart breaking, she looked at Oliver and smiled, then leaned over to give him a lingering kiss. “I love you,” she said. “I shall always love you.”
“You will not do that, Rebecca,” he said, giving her a little shake. “You will not say good-bye to me.”
She pulled back, her cheeks flushing, for he seemed to have read her mind. “I said I love you, not good-bye.”
“I am not a fool. If we are not married, we shall get married. Is that understood?” he asked, his expression fierce. And then his face tightened. “Unless you do not wish to remain married to me.” His entire body had gone still, his expression taut, and even behind his glasses, Rebecca could see the pain in his eyes.
Perhaps a more noble woman would have told him she did not want to remain married. But she loved him, with every bit of her heart, and the thought of leaving him made her feel dead inside. Tears filled her eyes and she pressed her lips together before saying, “Of course I shall marry you.” In that moment, she meant it, but she also knew a better woman would refuse.
With a groan, he pulled her against him, pressing his mouth against her neck. “Good, then.”
“But you must promise to never resent me, never regret your decision.”
“Never. You are my life, Rebecca. Without you, I shall again become that ghost living in a tower room.”
The carriage stopped outside their hotel and swayed as the footman stepped down to lower the stairs. Rebecca was about to step down when she turned back to Oliver. “Do not murder Mr. Winters, though I am sure you would like to.”
Oliver let out a bitter laugh. “I should have murdered him long ago, I think. I was so blind…”
“We do not know anything for certain yet, Oliver.” But her intuition told her that Mr. Winters had been behind the rumor—and if the rumor were true, had coldly calculated to make certain they would not find happiness.
“He’s gone, Your Grace, returned to Horncliffe Manor.”
“Gone, what do you mean, gone?” Oliver demanded of the under butler.
“He received a telegram after you and Her Grace departed this evening. He did not say what the message contained, but informed me he must return to Horncliffe posthaste.”
Oliver muttered a curse, and Rebecca laid a gentling hand on his arm and was shocked at the iron strength beneath her fingers. “How soon do you think we can have everything packed for a journey home, Davis?”
“A half day, Your Grace.”
“Make it so.”
The under butler bowed and left, no doubt to tell the other servants that they would be leaving for Horncliffe the following day.
“Oliver,” Rebecca said when he’d departed, “I’m going to speak to Mrs. Habershaw about this. I have a feeling she may have been aware of what Mr. Winters planned and may even have been culpable.”
He furrowed his brows, and it was clear that the thought had occurred to him too. Rebecca recalled the warning Mrs. Habershaw had given her about maintaining her composure no matter what. “I’m sure Mrs. Habershaw is abed,” he said. “And I need you in my bed this night.”
Rebecca grinned. “You always need me in your bed. But I shall not be able to sleep if I do not speak with her. I’ll be back soon and then…”
“Come here,” Oliver said, drawing her against him. He kissed her lightly, then rested his forehead against hers. “I adore you, you know.”
“I know. I shall return shortly.”
Rebecca made her way through a short maze of halls until she reached Mrs. Habershaw’s suite of rooms. A light shone beneath the crack in the door, and Rebecca wondered if the older woman had been waiting for them to return. Perhaps she had predicted an early arrival. She knocked and waited for only a moment before the door opened.
“Good evening, Mrs. Habershaw. May I speak to you?”
Mrs. Habershaw, her eyes wide, took in the fact Rebecca still wore the ball gown, and nodded, backing into the room. Rebecca had never seen the woman look so ill at ease, almost meek in her demeanor. Rebecca followed her into a small sitting space with a cheery fire in the hearth and sat in a chair opposite the woman.
“You are aware what happened this evening?” Rebecca asked.
Mrs. Habershaw lifted her chin, ever proper, but then something flickered in her eyes and she looked away, toward the fire. “I can guess,” she said softly. “And how did you fare?”
“Are you asking if I conducted myself as a duchess should? Then yes, I did,” Rebecca said, anger flaring in her chest. “How could you, madam?”
To her shock, Mrs. Habershaw’s eyes filled with tears. “I did not want anyone harmed, particularly His Grace. Such a lost little boy when his father died. And left in the care of that horrid man.”
“You mean Winters, of course.”
When Mrs. Habershaw looked at her, all evidence of tears was gone, and Rebecca wondered if she had imagined them. “Of course. Mr. Winters has information about my husband that I am desperate to keep a secret. I would do anything to protect his name, to protect my children.”
“So he blackmailed you.”
“Yes. For so long I lived in comfort, thinking that all was forgotten. I am of little consequence in the ton, so I had grown complacent. But when he contacted me about tutoring you in the ways of society, I suspected he had nefarious plans. I am sorry, Your Grace, but I truly had no alternative other than to do what he said.”
“You called me Your Grace.”
Mrs. Habershaw looked taken aback. “Of course I did. Why would I not?”
“Then the rumor you and Mr. Winters spread is not true.” Rebecca nearly felt like crying in relief.
Mrs. Habershaw continued to look confused. “But it is true. You are a commoner, a nobody…” She gave Rebecca a long stare. “That is not the rumor you heard, is it?”
Reb
ecca shook her head. “No. That we could have survived. The rumor is that we were never married at all, that we have been living together, unwed. That His Grace has been showing off his mistress as his duchess as a jest.”
Mrs. Habershaw turned pale. “My word. That is…despicable, even for Mr. Winters. I swear to you that I had no part in spreading such terrible lies. I never would…” She was so horrified, the woman could hardly speak. “That is far more devastating than anything I could have devised. Oh, my poor dear, you are truly ruined beyond repair.”
“I know,” Rebecca said bleakly. It was clear that Mrs. Habershaw was not aware of the manner Rebecca and Oliver had married or that they might not be married at all, but Rebecca did not want to enlighten the woman. At this moment, she had a bit of an ally, but if Mrs. Habershaw knew the truth, that might change. “We are returning to Horncliffe as soon as everything is packed and ready.”
“Of course.”
“And then I would like you to pack all of your belongings and leave.”
The older woman’s cheeks turned pink, and she seemed to lose a bit of her composure. “Yes, I think that is for the best.”
How different was the journey back to Horncliffe as compared to the one to London. The newlyweds had been filled with excitement and nerves then, but now a depressing pall seemed to have shrouded even the servants.
Oliver stared out the window, taking in the bleak, bare trees that lined the road. What a fool he had been. He couldn’t help but believe that all of this lay on his shoulders. If he had taken control of his life, of his title, as he should have, none of this would have happened. He was filled with self-loathing, yet at the same time, felt the loss of someone who had been his friend. Except, Winters never had been his friend, nor his father. He had been an evil presence, shading everyone’s life at Horncliffe, instilling fear, and all the while, Oliver had turned a blind eye, so desperate was he to feel as if someone in the world cared for him. It hurt, and that it hurt was just as humiliating as the fact he had allowed it all to happen.
“I know you are blaming yourself.” He jerked his head around to look at Rebecca, and his heart clenched painfully in his chest. How did he deserve such a lady as his wife? She looked unusually pale, her hair striking in the dim light, but dark smudges marred the delicate skin beneath her eyes, and it looked as if she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders.
He forced a smile. “I am the only one to blame. I allowed Mr. Winters to become the monster he became.”
“I do not know a man or woman who would not have been scarred by the way you were raised. He created you, day after day, year after year, but now, Oliver, you are fighting to become a better man.”
“I cannot help but think how disappointed my father would have been.” He swallowed hard and returned his gaze out the window. It was far easier to look at the barren landscape than his beautiful wife, who insisted on seeing him as someone noble, someone to be admired. She sighed and shifted in her seat.
“What shall you do about Mr. Winters?”
He clenched his jaw. “I shall have him removed post haste and then I shall go about hiring a secretary and estate manager, someone who will know far more about caring for my properties than I do.”
His wife was silent for a long moment. “He will try to convince you that what he did was for your own good.”
“Yes, I am aware of how manipulative he can be.” Oliver forced himself to look at Rebecca. “It will not work this time, Rebecca. I swear to you. He has gone too far.”
Giving him a pensive look, she said, “I know it will not be easy. As angry as you are, Mr. Winters has been your guardian for years. Your friend.”
“I thought of him as such, yes. But I was mistaken. Terribly so. Believe me, Rebecca, when he leaves Horncliffe, I shall feel only relief.” He held out his hand to her. “Come here.”
She came willingly, climbing onto his lap and settling her head against his shoulder. “You’re so warm,” she said, and he could feel her light breath against his neck. He moved one hand up and down her arm to take away the chill. No matter what happened, he would never let this woman go.
After several days’ travel via rail and carriage, Horncliffe came into view. The house had become dear to her, with all its idiosyncrasies, and Rebecca was fiercely glad they were finally home. She was exhausted, but knew an emotional scene awaited them.
“Do you want me to stay with you when you speak to Mr. Winters?”
“No,” Oliver said, his jaw tightening as it had so many times on their trip home. “I fear I shall say things to him that are not fit for your ears.”
When they entered the manor, Mr. Starke was there to greet them. “It is good to have you home, Your Grace,” he said, as he took both their coats and handed them off to a maid. “Your spectacles are quite impressive.”
“It is good to be home, Mr. Starke. And these spectacles are more than impressive—they are miraculous.” Oliver looked about him. “This is the first time I’ve seen what this entry actually looks like.”
“I hope it is to your expectations, Your Grace.”
Smiling, Oliver said, “Indeed it is. Mr. Starke, is Mr. Winters home?”
“He is. I believe he is in his rooms. Shall I fetch him?”
“No. I’ll go to him. Thank you, Mr. Starke.”
The butler left them alone, and as Oliver was about to head up the sweeping staircase that led to the private quarters, Rebecca touched his arm. “Do you know what you plan to say?”
“I do. I rehearsed in my head the entire way home. By this time tomorrow, Mr. Winters will no longer call Horncliffe home.”
“I am glad, Oliver. Still, I do know this will be difficult.”
“No, my love, it will not.” He smiled grimly. “I’ll see you in our room when I am done and I’ll tell you all about it.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss against her forehead.
“Do you think cook will mind if I raid the pantry? I must admit I’m a bit famished. I’ll bring something for you as well if you’d like.”
“The cook’s brown bread with butter would be perfect, if she has a loaf.”
“She always has a loaf of brown bread,” Rebecca said on a laugh. He was about to head up the stairs when she threw herself into his arms and squeezed him tight. “Try not to be too violent.”
“I promise not to murder him. That’s the best I can do.”
Rebecca sighed and let him go, watching worriedly as he walked up the stairs, his steps determined, his fists clenched.
A burning rage filled him at the thought of what the man had done, a man he had trusted. After Oliver rapped sharply on the door, Winters opened it, a bland smile on his face.
“Ah. You have returned early.” Oliver pushed past him, forcing the older man to stumble back. “You seem upset. Did something happen?”
Oliver whirled around. “You know very well what happened. What I want to know is why.”
Winters gave him a blank stare, and for just a moment, he thought perhaps he had been wrong about him. Lord knew he wanted to be wrong. Then something shifted in Winters’ expression; his face grew hard, cynical. “I did what I had to do. I did what was necessary.”
“You made me look like a fool and you insulted my wife. I will not stand for that.”
“Your wife.” Winters let out a small laugh. “Do you really believe I would allow you to marry such a creature?”
Oliver felt the blood drain from his face at this confirmation of his worst fear. “What are you saying?”
“You are such a fool to believe I would allow you to taint the family blood with a whore.”
Oliver launched himself at Winters, grabbing him by his robe’s lapels and slamming him hard against a wall, causing his head to snap back with a violent thump. Fear filled his eyes briefly before Winters gave him his characteristic look of boredom, and it took everythin
g Oliver had not to strike the man. “So it’s true. I am not married to Her Grace.”
“Good God, no.”
Later, Oliver would not recall raising his fist, but in a matter of seconds, Winters was on the floor, blood gushing from his nose. Oliver stood over him, his damn hand stinging, breathing harshly as he stared down at Winters. “I should kill you,” he said. “I want to kill you.”
Winters put his hand to his nose and gave his bloodied fingers a casual look. “You will not kill me and one day you will thank me. For God’s sake, man, you picked her from a painting. She is a nobody from a family with no status. Why not marry one of the maids? Do you really wish to bring such a creature into society? To introduce her to the ton? I will hazard a guess that the ball was an unmitigated disaster. They no doubt saw her as the fraud she is. You might find her country accent charming, but I can assure you, Your Grace, no one else does. Tup her all you want. Make her your mistress, but I implore you, do not make her your wife.”
“How could you?” Both men turned abruptly to see Rebecca standing in the entrance to Winters’ room, and Oliver felt as if his heart stopped. She looked from Oliver to Winters, who was still on the floor, still bleeding. “You, sir, are the worst kind of scoundrel. I wish you to perdition.” She looked at Oliver and his heart broke. He knew at that moment that she had hoped all of it was a terrible lie. “I wish I knew terrible words to throw at you.” Tears filled her eyes and Oliver felt completely helpless.
“I have done what I thought I must,” Winters said, rising from the floor to stand.
“But the vicar…”
“Even vicars can be bribed,” Winters said, taking up a handkerchief and pressing it against his nose.
Her eyes filled with tears, her face contorted in pain. “Then he is right. I am a whore.” The truth of what had been done to her seemed to hit her with force and Oliver would have done everything in his power to protect her if he could. But he felt just as helpless as before she’d wrought such changes in his life.
“No, Rebecca.” He took a step toward her, but she moved back.
