“There you are! I imagined that you’d spend the evening with your…”
“I do hope that the dinner is hearty. I’m terribly hungry,” Rebecca blared, careful to march directly over Anthony’s words.
They were seated at the long dinner table, which had been placed in the ballroom to accommodate all guests. Although the party-goers were all in their early-to-mid-twenties (and, occasionally, early thirties), Zelda’s parents stopped by briefly, in gorgeous evening attire, to address the group and give their blessing.
Of course, Zelda’s mother was immaculate, as though she hadn’t aged a day since she’d given birth. Her waist even was cinched tighter than several of the girls within the group. Of this, one achieved the sense of her own arrogance, something well-earned, Rebecca thought.
When the parents left, the first course was served: a cold soup with celery and spices. Rebecca caught sight of Anthony’s attempt to squeeze his wife’s hand just above the table, an event that caused Tabitha to whack his hand away. Rebecca’s stomach stirred. She dipped her spoon into the very top of the soup, then heard a cackle from across the table. Theo, Zelda and Owen seemed, yet again, in the midst of a laugh about something or other. Zelda’s cheeks turned bright pink with the humour of it, and her eyes flashed between Theo and Owen. Her apparent ownership over them, in this moment, caused yet another jealous stone to form in Rebecca’s stomach.
Dinner seemed to last forever. Augustus had seated himself beside Rebecca, much to Rebecca’s chagrin, and had torn back into his previous conversation regarding The Iliad. Rebecca tried her best to stagger through it, although she couldn’t fully articulate the thoughts she’d once had about Greek literature, not now, as jealousy continued to brew.
Perhaps due to his own inner will, Augustus didn’t seem to notice her disinterest. Rather, he pressed forward, asking additional questions until finally the dessert was served and Rebecca praised the air, the sky, the water for a near end.
When the dinner was finished, the guests returned to the garden to dance and drink beneath the budding moon. Augustus grabbed two wines from the table and passed one to Rebecca, who sipped the very top and cast her eyes about the darkness. She sensed it: she hunted for him. When she finally spotted him, towards the far end, he seemed almost like an onlooker, a man who hadn’t attended the party at all. He certainly didn’t appear to wish for any sort of conversation.
But Rebecca felt endlessly drawn to him. She took one step, then another, then another, and found herself before him, gripping her glass, unable to breathe. Owen’s eyes found hers, and they stood like that, a little away from the party, for several seconds before either of them spoke.
“You weren’t exactly what I had in mind when my father told me that I was to be married,” Owen finally said.
Rebecca wondered if the words were heavy with wine. She felt them deeply, her heart thudding.
“You aren’t anything like what I envisioned,” Rebecca replied.
“So we’re in agreement about one thing, at least,” Owen said. “Is it fascination with one another? Is that what we should call it?”
Rebecca’s throat tightened. “Don’t flatter yourself,” she whispered at first, then added, “But perhaps that’s it. Yes. Fascination. Or perhaps we’re simply too similar to one another for our own good.”
“Now that you mention it. Looking at you is a bit like looking into a mirror,” Owen said, his smile twitching. “That luscious red hair. I know I have it too.”
“Luscious? What a sensual word,” Rebecca said, adding an extra layer of sarcasm. When Owen didn’t take the bait, she added, “Tabitha thinks that we’re very well-suited to one another. I suppose because we’re so similar.”
“Does she?” Owen returned. He arched his brow and said, “Perhaps I’d considered that fact. It almost seems too outrageous, doesn’t it? That our fathers could construct such a seemingly appropriate match, seated there at the gambling table.”
“That reminds me…” Rebecca began.
“As though you needed any sort of reminder of our current situation,” Owen replied.
Rebecca’s cheeks smarted. “Yes. Well. In any case. Have you had much luck in your attempt to end our impending marriage?”
Owen’s smile faltered. He sipped his wine and then heaved a sigh. “In fact, darling Rebecca, future love of mine, I haven’t had much luck at all.”
Rebecca’s nostrils flared. “Imagine that.”
“Indeed. Who could have foreseen this?” he returned.
“I know you’ll find a way,” she said.
“In fact, I will. I’ve gone over every possible option, regarding my familial name and the return of our fortune, and I believe I might try my hand at gambling. It’s what my father did to lose it so quickly. Why couldn’t I earn it all back just as quickly?”
“Thusly, you wouldn’t need to marry, if you had the fortune back,” Rebecca said.
“Precisely.”
Laughter shuddered up Rebecca’s stomach, rang out her throat.
“Would you like to inform me what you believe to be so humorous?” he asked.
“Only your complete belief in your own ability,” Rebecca said, casting out a final giggle. “And beyond that. It’s rather good that you’re digging our way out of this. I said long ago that I’d never involve myself with a man who gambled.”
“I heard that you said long ago you’d never involve yourself with any man,” Owen said. “Tell me, Rebecca. When are you planning to open your heart to the world?”
“Perhaps the very day you take to the gambling table,” Rebecca said.
The banter felt fresh, alive. There was comfort in one another’s annoyance, even with the apparent impending doom of their marriage. Still, what Owen had begun the conversation with only minutes ago, the statement that Rebecca hadn’t been exactly what he’d expected, filled her mind. This had been almost romantic, outside the bounds of their current relationship.
Owen took a large step back, so that he hung in the shadows between the hedge that wrapped around this garden and blocked off the next one. He beckoned to her slightly. Her heart leapt into her throat and she swept after him, out of her mind with fright. When they stood on the other side of the hedge, with only the light of the moon as their guide, Owen swept his hand over hers and then collected it along her waist.
He held it there for a long moment, his thumb tracing a line down her finger. The motion was so tender, so loving, that Rebecca’s eyes fluttered closed with lust. She half expected him to drop his lips over hers, to kiss her with assurance and power there beneath the moon. She’d never been kissed like that. Each of her engagements had been non-romantic, and she’d never felt so excited by someone, never felt her skin erupt with fire upon the incident of another’s touch.
But just as she’d begun to fully appreciate it, the moment she realised that this was her real life, an actual moment, Theo called Owen’s name from the garden. Owen’s hand dropped from hers. He winked and then sauntered away, leaving Rebecca in the sudden chill of the other garden.
Rebecca swallowed the rest of her wine and gazed at the moon for a long moment. In the distance, she heard Theo and Owen laughing about something she couldn’t quite hear. Why did she suddenly feel so hollow, so strange? How she ached to stand next to Owen once more, have his hand upon hers.
How she craved his touch so suddenly, in a manner she couldn’t fully name. The banter between them, the life she felt swirling through her bloodstream as they spoke, it all seemed to mean something to her. She couldn’t fully trust it, not now that Owen was full speed toward a solution to their predicament.
When Rebecca braved the party again, she stepped directly in line with Anthony and Tabitha. Anthony, it seemed, had drunk far too much wine. His cheeks were blotchy, his tongue moving far too swiftly. Tabitha looked miserable, her eyes to the ground. When Rebecca appeared before her, she nearly leapt to grab hold of her.
“There you are!” she cried, over the sweep
ing sound of the violins in the corner of the garden. “We weren’t sure where you’d run off to.”
“I told her that surely you were with your new fiancé,” Anthony replied, his eyebrows bobbing.
“I’ve told you time and again, Anthony…” Rebecca began.
But Tabitha blurted out, “I really think it’s been a marvellous party.” She feigned a yawn – an act she’d performed previously, many times throughout the years of their friendship. “I suppose it’s time for me to return to bed.”
“But darling! We’ve hardly had a chance to dance,” Anthony said.
“I know! I’m really such a wretched dancer, anyway,” Tabitha affirmed.
“You’re not! You swept me off my feet the very first time we danced together,” Anthony returned.
“And yet, darling, it’s really not the time,” Tabitha said.
Rebecca’s eyes remained on Owen, far off with Theo and Zelda. Had he completely forgotten her in the wake of their conversation? Certainly now he was doubled over with laughter, his eyes glittering madly.
“You must have spoken with him more,” Anthony said suddenly, as though he sensed who had caught Rebecca’s eye.
“I don’t understand what you mean?” Rebecca said, sniffing.
“Your new…”
“Come along!” Tabitha blurted. She gripped Anthony’s upper arm and dragged him to the exit. Rebecca traced after them, her chin aloft.
When they reached the gate, Augustus popped out of nowhere, his eyes aglow. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving already.”
“If only I could stay,” Rebecca said, her eyes wide with mock sadness.
“What takes you away from me so swiftly?”
Rebecca spun her head toward Tabitha, who once more succeeded in delivering a sterling false yawn.
“Oh, but you can be taken home by another,” Augustus insisted. “I haven’t yet danced with anyone, and I wish only to dance with you, Rebecca. For old time’s sake.”
Rebecca had a sense that the dance wouldn’t only be for old time’s sake. Rather, she felt his arrogance, stirred together with a sense of yearning, there behind his eyes. She sighed and shook her head and said, “I’m terribly sorry, Augustus. But I promise you. The ball, the week after next? Then, we will dance. We will dance twice, if you allow it.”
“Of course! I will hold you to your promise, dear Rebecca,” Augustus said. “And good luck, once more, on your quest to dig yourself out of your engagement. I trust by the time of the ball you’ll be a free woman once again.”
His words stirred in Rebecca’s mind. Once in the carriage, she felt broody and strange, her eyes cast out at the dark night. Anthony and Tabitha argued about something quietly, an issue that seemed entirely domestic. Rebecca attempted to keep her ears out of it.
Chapter 14
In the midst of yet another laughing fit, Owen lurched to the side to catch sight of Rebecca, her chin high and her body pointed toward the exit. She padded along behind Tabitha and that pale, dull husband of hers – what had been his name? – and then disappeared into the darkness. His insides felt suddenly hollow, even as Theo smashed a fist against his upper shoulder and said, “All right, old boy?”
Indeed, Owen was not. Not all right, that is. He blinked large eyes at his friend, who doubled over with laughter once more at whatever it was they’d originally laughed at. Even Zelda had enormous tears in her eyes. How was it that Owen had lost the stream of conversation so completely? This wasn’t like him.
Augustus, the blubbering fool, hunched his back as he approached the drinks table. Owen swept towards him, abandoning Theo and Zelda (who’d not done a very good job of keeping their hands off of one another, despite Owen’s presence). Once he reached Augustus, he watched him pour his wine with a quivering hand.
“What a marvellous party,” Owen said, his voice booming directly into Augustus’s ear.
Augustus nearly dropped his glass. He lurched to the side and peered up at Owen, who was several inches taller and much broader. Slowly, Augustus forced his face to calm, then generated what seemed to be a false grin.
“Owen Crauford! Good to see you here,” he said. He sounded pompous, like a much older man who wanted to please.
“And you, Augustus,” Owen replied. He poured himself another glass. “I’m sure you’ve heard the news.”
Augustus arched his brow in confusion. “What sort of news do you mean?”
“Of course, it hasn’t yet been announced,” Owen said. “But due to the fact that you’ve known Rebecca for a number of years, I assumed that you knew.”
Augustus’s expression grew wider, stranger. He formed his lips into an ‘O’ and then said, “Of course. Rebecca’s informed me of the engagement. Hasn’t yet been announced, correct?”
“Not quite,” Owen returned. Perhaps for his own amusement, he wanted to put himself in front of this Augustus creature, show him that he was twice the man that he was. “Tell me. How have you come to know Rebecca so well over the years?”
Augustus’s brow furrowed. He clicked his tongue once and then said, “We met when we were children. I suppose our fathers were friends.”
“Has she always been so difficult?” Owen replied.
Augustus’s smile stretched wider. “I see that she’s already begun her scheme with you.”
“I’ve heard about this,” Owen said. He tipped his glass toward his lips and waited. Augustus seemed strangely anxious, as though he wanted to ensure that he said the right thing, make an impression on the taller, stronger Owen.
“She’s made a habit of running herself out of engagements,” Augustus continued excitedly. “She’s put men through outlandish situations. Oh, but I don’t want to give too much of the game away. I’m sure she’s already operating a similar scheme.” His lips were stained with wine, and his eyes were large and manic.
“Suppose I attempt to get myself out of it, first?” Owen said.
Augustus’s face changed once more. He seemed to shimmer with excitement. “Are you suggesting that you don’t wish to marry the brilliant Rebecca Frampton?”
“Suppose I am,” he returned.
“Then pass her along, Mr. Crauford! Give the rest of us a chance,” Augustus replied.
Owen snapped his fingers. This had been what he’d assumed, that Augustus was madly in love with her.
“Ah, and yet, I’ve never been one to give up the game to allow another man to win,” Owen said coyly.
Augustus’s smile dissipated. “I was only joking, of course.”
“Of course. As was I,” Owen returned. Then he spun back toward the corner of the garden and glowered there, sipping his wine. Why couldn’t he banish this woman from his mind? He wouldn’t allow his father to force him into marriage. The idea of it turned his stomach. He imagined himself, a disgruntled elderly man, staring down at the grave of his father, blaming him for all of the events of his life. And then, who would be the fool? Of course, it would be Owen himself. No man’s life could be the result of any other man’s decisions. He felt this in a pure way.
But of course, he couldn’t simply allow his family name to falter forever, just because of his father’s debilitating gambling addiction.
Theo approached, his eyes glossy with drink. His hand smashed across Owen’s shoulder and shook it.
“Old boy, my boy – Zelda, she’s a dream, isn’t she?”
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