A week later, sunlight fell heavily through the curtains and flashed across Rebecca as she perched upon the sofa, her eyes scanning a book without real focus. Her ears craned to hear the first hoof falls out front, an indication that Tabitha had arrived. When the sound finally came, Rebecca smacked her book together and raced for the foyer, nearly tumbling directly into her father. He stumbled back, flustered.
“My goodness, Rebecca!” he cried, his face blotchy. “I don’t have any idea of where you think you need to go so swiftly…”
“Terribly sorry, Father,” Rebecca said. She swept around him and wrenched open the door, listening as her father grumbled behind her back.
“Really must marry this girl off soon. How exhausting it is.”
But Rebecca yelled out through the late springtime air. “Tabitha! I thought you’d never arrive!”
Tabitha looked a bit flustered. She swept down from her horse and adjusted her little hat, then passed her reins off to the stableman. As she approached, however, she seemed to shake off her housewife demeanour and slip back into her girlhood smile.
Rebecca hadn’t seen her in several days, not since the afternoon they’d met the infamous Owen Crauford, and Rebecca had ached to see her again, if only to repair what Rebecca perceived to be a bit of a hitch in their relationship. Often, she could be overly volatile, ultimately affecting those around her. She didn’t have much of a care for anyone, outside of Tabitha.
But Tabitha recognised this and, due to the strength of her heart, loved her anyway. Rebecca apologised once more, and Tabitha flapped her hand around, as though to say, “Don’t be silly.” In moments, the girls embarked out towards the garden, giggling over something silly that had happened to Tabitha at home.
“He seemed to think it was an appropriate time to instruct me how to organise the library,” Tabitha said. “But he didn’t know that he had porridge all down his beard! He looked quite ridiculous, informing me that I wasn’t exactly the most proper, in terms of organisation. There, with these little flecks of oats coming down his chin.”
Rebecca chuckled, her stomach clenching. She yearned to say something witty like, And here, find the reason that I so desperately wish to remain single. But she decided to hold her tongue – no small feat for her.
The girls walked through the rose garden and paused at the little iron swing, one upon which the two girls had passed countless afternoons. They’d deemed it their Throne of Gossip over the years, frequently speaking about the other girls in the county, their potential beaus, who was handsome and who wasn’t so.
“I do find myself becoming more and more of a wife,” Tabitha said then, creaking onto the swing.
Rebecca snaked her fingers through Tabitha’s and forced herself not to return with anything clever. “What do you mean?”
“I mean only that I think first of what my husband wishes for the day and learn to orchestrate my own needs around that. I believe this is what a wife is meant to do. And it certainly pleases him. When he’s happy with me, I feel that I have more freedom. For example, as I ensured all tasks were completed this morning, I was free to visit you once more.”
Rebecca’s nostrils flared. She swallowed hard, willing herself to keep her lips pressed together. Tabitha tilted her head a bit and said, “But tell me, Rebecca. You must have seen Owen Crauford since our lunch.”
“I haven’t. Nor have I heard from him,” Rebecca returned. “I imagine that if he wanted me, really wanted me, he might have sent some sort of correspondence. As he didn’t, my initial assessment must be true. He wants just as little to do with me as I do with him.”
Tabitha chuckled sadly. “I can’t remember Anthony sending me much of anything after our initial meeting. It’s a strange time. You really must meet him again, if only so you can discuss the arrangements a bit more. Become accustomed to one another. You’re going to share a life with him – that is, if you don’t dig your way out of it.” Her eyes grew shadowed.
“I feel a bit more resigned,” Rebecca said, her voice heavy. “Father has begun to count down the days until I leave home. I think he’ll be thrilled to have the house to himself. He’ll rest much easier without me. I’ve never met a man so entirely hopeful for his own solitude.”
“I’m sure he’ll miss you a great deal when you do leave,” Tabitha said. Flustered, she added, “When you do decide to leave, that is. Even if it isn’t this time.”
The girls sat, listening to the creak of the iron swing beneath them. Rebecca wished she could will this sort of afternoon to go on much longer – for hours to stretch into days, so that she wasn’t forced into any sort of marriage, nor forced to face the severity of her own ageing.
Finally, Tabitha sputtered, “Oh, suddenly I’ve remembered what I’m meant to tell you. There’s to be a dinner party. This Saturday. At Augustus’s.”
“A dinner party! The first of the summer season,” Rebecca replied, her heart quickening with excitement. “And perhaps my last as a single woman.”
Much like Rebecca, Augustus Booth came from an incredibly respected family, one that had frequented the Frampton estate many times throughout her youth. Augustus was dashing, with dark blond hair and sparkling blue eyes and broad shoulders, and he often hunted with her father.
Her father had, many times, pushed the subject of a marriage to Augustus. However, he’d never gone so far as to arrange it. With a strange jolt, Rebecca wondered for the first time why that was. Was it possible that Augustus Booth’s family didn’t wish for such an arrangement?
“I haven’t seen Augustus since your wedding last September,” Rebecca continued. “What a remarkably long time, now that I think of it.”
“I imagine he’s just the same as he normally is,” Tabitha said. “Utterly doting upon you, if only to drive you wild, and…”
“He doesn’t,” Rebecca insisted, although she knew this wasn’t entirely true.
“Well. I imagine that he won’t be altogether too thrilled to learn of your most recent engagement.”
“He always took such pleasure in hearing of the others,” Rebecca said.
“Yes, because he loved to watch how you would weasel your way out of them. We all took pleasure in it.”
“It’s difficult to remember how many it’s been now,” Rebecca said, her words thoughtful.
“Five,” Tabitha responded, sure of herself. “I remember them well. Each and every one was akin to a wild carriage ride with a runaway horse, for me. The ups, the downs, the turbulence. And before I could even begin to have thoughts about which dress I would wear to the grand event, you found a way to rip them from your life forever. I even liked some of them, if you remember. Gregory! He was a remarkably kind man. He might have made you very happy.”
“Gregory! He was dreadfully boring. And don’t you remember his breath? It reeked of onions, regardless of what we had or hadn’t eaten,” Rebecca said.
“That’s ridiculous,” Tabitha scolded. “You’re making up stories about him to make it seem you’re in the right.”
“He walked out on the engagement. Not me,” Rebecca returned.
“That’s because – if I’m now remembering the events of that day correctly – you actually told him, to his face, that his breath was entirely too rank for anyone to sleep next to him for the rest of her life. I sat there at the table with you as you told him! We couldn’t have been more than nineteen years old.”
“Ah, so I can blame such vitriol on my youth,” Rebecca said.
“No! You can blame it on your sincere disinterest in others,” Tabitha said, laughing.
“It’s not that. Perhaps his breath was something that I invented. Who’s to say? Regardless, I’m sure that Gregory has a remarkable life elsewhere, with a woman who doesn’t pick apart his every inhale, his every exhale. Isn’t that all a man like Gregory should want?”
“I heard he accepted a position in London and now makes far more than even his father did,” Tabitha said. “He married the daughter of a duke and
she gave him three sons – a set of twins and a younger boy.”
Rebecca gave her a sharp look, her brow arched. Slowly, Tabitha’s stern expression shifted. Her shoulders sagged and she chortled.
“What is it? Why are you laughing?” Rebecca demanded.
“Your face! You’re outlandishly upset.”
“I am not!”
“I made up that story about Gregory. I don’t know anything about his current affairs. For all I know, he’s back with his parents, scraping his tongue, praying he can beat his wretched breath,” Tabitha said.
Rebecca leapt from the swing, feigning anger. “You’d really lie to me! Tabitha Quinn –”
“Remember. It’s Tabitha Lock, now,” Tabitha replied, giving a wide smile.
Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Whatever it is you call yourself now, you can’t tease me in such a manner.”
“And what if it’s true? We haven’t any real knowledge about what became any of the men your father paired you with over the years. Perhaps many of them went on to have fabulous lives – lives they wished to share with you! You didn’t give a single one of them a chance,” she said.
Tabitha returned to her feet as well. Both girls paused to watch as the iron swing cranked back and forth. Without their weight, the noise seemed to grow louder, and the swing rose higher. Rebecca reached out a hand to steady it.
“I suppose you’re saying this because you believe I should give this one a chance,” she said.
Tabitha gave another shrug. “I’ve never been able to will you to do anything. Neither has anyone else. This is what we love about you. Your impulsivity. Your rashness. It’s a beautiful thing. I just don’t want it to ruin the course of your life.”
This was a great deal to swallow. Rebecca pawed through her thoughts over the next hours, even as she and Tabitha shared tea in the parlour. Although their conversations drifted to other things, she felt strangely heavy, as though she needed to lie down, dream up another way of executing the dramatic notions she often held in her heart.
Mid-way through tea, her father stopped in the doorway of the parlour. His hair was wildly askew, his cheeks pink and blotched. It was clear he’d just been on horseback.
“Good afternoon, girls! Tabitha, I didn’t know you would be joining us today. Thank you again for sitting in with us the other afternoon for lunch. Owen Crauford certainly seems a marvellous pair for our clearly obstinate Rebecca, don’t you think?”
Tabitha blushed, clearly not wanting to say anything that would enrage Rebecca. Still, Mr. Frampton continued to beam, and Tabitha muttered, “He seems like a nice man.” The words sounded soggy and false.
“Where are you returning from, Father?” Rebecca asked.
“I’ve just been to visit your sister and the boys for lunch,” he said. “What wild children! I can’t imagine what sort of creatures you might create, Rebecca. Your sister was one of the easiest children to raise. Ever dutiful. Ever kind. Never one to push back at my requests.”
“Perhaps my children will be just that,” Rebecca said, feeling a fire flutter up behind her eyes. “Perhaps it skips a generation.”
“I hadn’t considered this,” her father said, not catching her sarcasm. “Perhaps you’ve arrived at this characteristic honestly. I never met your mother’s father, but the rumours about him… Apparently, he was quite a gambling addict.”
Rebecca had heard very little about her mother’s father. Her heart lurched with sadness, knowing that she’d missed out on so many stories, tales of a now-forgotten time. She summoned a smile and drummed up another question. But by the time she began to form it, her father insisted that he had some work to do in his study. “I don’t wish to intrude a moment more. I expect that Tabitha is in the midst of addressing all your questions regarding marriage.”
“Of course, Father,” Rebecca said, reciting the words in a mock-dutiful manner.
Her father disappeared. Rebecca stared down at the rug before her, at its intricate green and white pattern. Tabitha reached over and squeezed her hand, seemingly preparing to say something, something that might sway Rebecca’s anxious mind. But there was nothing to be done.
Tabitha had to return to her home rather soon after that, to ensure that dinner was prepared for Anthony. Rebecca felt plagued with a thousand horrendous thoughts as she watched her friend prepare to depart. Would Tabitha be pregnant soon? Would she become a mother, even as Rebecca bucked Owen Crauford and continued on her seemingly soon-tragic route toward spinsterhood?
***
The following Saturday, Rebecca arrived on horseback to Tabitha’s new home, altogether different from the one she’d been accustomed to throughout their girlhood. From the stables, she glanced up at the top window near the back where she knew Tabitha and Anthony slept side-by-side, every night. She shivered at this, remembering all those long-lost nights when she and Tabitha had slept in the same bed or room, swapping tales of what they yearned for their lives to become. Everything seemed endlessly permanent, now.
Tabitha appeared on the porch, her face a bright white moon. She waved as she came down the steps. Rebecca expected Anthony to appear behind her, that broad and alienating man, a man who’d nearly bored Rebecca to tears the first time she’d spoken with him. But Tabitha remained alone.
“I hope you won’t mind, Rebecca, but Anthony doesn’t feel entirely well this afternoon. He asked that I continue on to the party alone,” Tabitha said. There was a slight twinkle behind her eyes, something that told Rebecca she was secretly pleased with the developments.
“That’s wretched,” Rebecca replied, her brow furrowed. “I suppose we’ll have to make it alone. Somehow.”
The girls boarded Tabitha’s carriage and drove out across the moors. On the road they gossiped about who they assumed might be at the dinner party. Augustus had a wide range of friends, as he was entirely garrulous and frequently hankering to work his way up the ladder of society. This had always been a dreadful fact, on paper – but in practice it had allowed both Tabitha and Rebecca to attend some rather beautiful parties.
When they reached Augustus’s home, the carriage rolled to a halt outside the stables, and Tabitha’s coachman assisted them down onto the soft pad of grass, where they joined arms and bounded toward the garden behind the mansion. As they approached chatter, excitement, a small string quartet, the noises joining in a cacophony of summertime sounds.
Rebecca stirred with happiness. These sorts of affairs, this was why she craved living the life she did, still alone. If she’d been married off to the likes of Gregory, perhaps he wouldn't have allowed it. Not everyone was a pushover – or, entirely understanding – like Anthony Lock.
The dinner party held a wide variety of guests, ten in total, including Augustus himself. When the girls appeared in the garden, Augustus abandoned his current conversation and swept toward them, his arms wide. He wore a splendid grey suit, which seemed to bring out the brightness of his blue eyes, and his blond hair was longer than it had been the last time Rebecca had seen him – unkempt, in a boyish way.
“Good evening, Tabitha! Rebecca!” His eyes flashed as he spoke a bit too loudly, as though he announced them to a wide audience. He kissed both of their hands and bowed low, then made heavy eye contact with Rebecca.
“Hello, Augustus,” Rebecca said, tilting her head playfully. “It’s been quite some time.”
“Indeed! Since the marriage of this fine lady here, I suppose. Tabitha Lock, these days. Tabitha, don’t tell me you left your fine husband at home.”
“Unfortunately, yes. He isn’t feeling well,” Tabitha said, without an ounce of pity or sadness.
“Dreadful. Well. Do you know the others here?” Augustus asked. He reached towards a side table, stretched out before the rose bushes, and collected two glasses of wine, which he passed to Tabitha and Rebecca. “I hope you’ll drink heartily, my dears. I’ve ordered far too many bottles, and it mustn’t stay here for my mother to drink.” He arched his brow playfully and said, “
She really would detest me if she knew what I said of her. I adore her, I really do.”
A Wicked Duke's Prize: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 5
