Rebecca (12 page)

“Now, son, I won't be told what I can or cannot say about those Yankees Doodles in my own house. Lazy fools, all of them.”

“Mother,” he cautioned again, “please watch what you say about the Continental Army, or the United States Army, as I should call them. Rebecca's father was an officer with General Gates, who so successfully defeated our forces at Saratoga. I have heard much of Major North's valor and intelligence, and I have no doubts the description is valid, for his daughter has both.”

Rebecca glanced at him in astonishment. He had never complimented her in front of others. What remarks he had made to her privately would have embarrassed her if overheard by anyone else. He seldom admired anything but her physical attributes, which he made no secret that he wanted to explore intimately. That he would defend her to his mother and sister was a double shock.

He stood and walked over to stir the fire on the hearth. The eyes of all the women followed him as he assumed a nonchalant pose best befitting the new lord of Foxbridge Cloister. Leaning easily against the oak mantel, he said, “All of Rebecca's family, including this sweet lady, espouse the ideas of liberty put forth by their Continental Congress. Political ideology and who was right and who was wrong is something Rebecca and I don't discuss. She graciously has refrained from rubbing my nose in the fact that I was fighting on the losing side. It cost me too many years of my life in a dank, rat-infested prison which would have made Newgate Prison seem a true Eden in comparison.”

“You are a revolutionary?” gasped Eliza. She looked at her surprising sister-in-law with new interest. Nicholas's sister knew little about the war which had been fought in far-off America, and had cared little about it. All she had wanted was for it to be over so that her brother could come home. Somehow, she had not expected a real Continental to look like Rebecca Wythe. She was not sure how she had thought a colonist would appear, for her only view of them was formed by the cruel caricatures in the London newspapers.

Rebecca smiled slightly in response to the young woman's question, but her thoughts were on her husband. She was disturbed by Nicholas' description of his time as a prisoner of war. She had given no thought to what he must have endured during those years. Her eyes explored his face, which was nicely tanned by their time at sea, but she wondered how long he had been free before arriving at the perfect moment at the church. He had not come directly from the prison hulks. He knew too much about the Norths and their business. He must have spent time investigating her past and present before he came to wrench her future from her. Somewhere he had gotten the beautifully tailored clothes that he always wore.

Feeling her eyes on him, Nicholas looked at his wife. A slow smile inched across his lips as he saw the sympathy she could not hide. Gentle, innocent Rebecca had no idea what he had had to do to survive the bleak years when each day brought the promise of only more degradation for men who ached to see the sunshine and feel fresh air on their faces. The smell of dying flesh and human waste would fill his senses forever. If he had his way, she would never learn of what he had suffered. She would never know that it was the memory of her sweet, childish smile that had given him the impetus to hold onto life while his comrades surrendered to despair and death. During his captivity, he had not felt desire to have Rebecca as his lover. He had known simply that someone nearby cared whether he lived or died.

He listened as she replied to his sister. By the sound of her voice, nobody but he could guess the stress she felt. As he had thought, Rebecca was able to handle this difficult situation with apparent ease.

“We preferred to be called Patriots, Eliza. Of course, I had to put that behind me when I came here with Nicholas. The war is thankfully over, and America seems so far away.”

It was impossible to miss the tint of sadness which discolored her voice. Only Nicholas guessed it was not simply homesickness for her family. The pain of losing Bennett as her husband apparently had not lessened. Every day made her sorrow deeper. He was beginning to think he should have renounced her and left her to face her future with that clod. Then he knew that would be impossible. He wanted Rebecca as his wife, not as some other man's.

Eliza leaned forward to speak to Rebecca. “Have you met Mrs. Washington or Mrs. Adams?”

Smiling, Rebecca shook her head. She was about to reply that that was as silly a question as if she had asked Eliza whether she had met Queen Charlotte. She stopped herself before the words had left her lips, for it was possible that Nicholas' sister has been to court on many occasions. Softly she said only, “I haven't had the honor. Mrs. Washington lives in Virginia and Mrs. Adams in Massachusetts. They were not likely to be visiting our cabin in the backwoods.”

“Cabin?” Lady Margaret stared at Rebecca as if she had suddenly turned a strange shade of green, then glared accusingly at her son. “What kind of joke are you playing, Nicholas? This is no longer amusing! Who is this woman?” She picked up a fan which had been resting on a table beside her and wafted it briskly in front of her flustered face.

Calmly, Nicholas replied, “Don't get so upset. She
is
my wife, Mother. Rebecca lived with her family in what you would term the backwoods. We met when she saved my life and married me five years ago. When I was released, I went back for her before I came home.”

“Five years ago?” echoed his outraged mother, as she rose. “Were you crazy, Nicholas? Look at her! She must have been a child then.”

His eyes darkened with the fury he tried to restrain. His mother was being resistant to the idea of Rebecca as his wife, but she would have to learn he was not a youngster to be ordered about or threatened with going to bed without his supper if he did not behave as she wished. Even if she did not like Rebecca being his wife, she must accept it.

He walked slowly to where Rebecca was watching the exchange with growing despair. Taking her hand, he brought her to stand next to him. He put his arm around her shoulders as he caressed her arm lovingly. The pose told his family that he was sincere in his devotion to her. “She is a child no longer, as you can see. I had my reasons for marrying Rebecca which are no one's concern but ours. Despite its unorthodox beginning, we are satisfied with the circumstances. Don't act so shocked, Mother.”

Lady Margaret bristled. “What can you expect when you bring home a Yankee mudfarmer's daughter and tell us she is the new Lady Foxbridge?”

“Mother!” exclaimed Eliza. “This is Nicholas' wife.” Her mother glared at her as if she was a traitor and left the room without speaking. Seeing the stricken expression on her new sister-in-law's face, Eliza added, “Forgive Mother. Since the news came that Brad was killed in that ridiculous duel, she has been like this.” More fervently, she said, “I'm glad you are home, Nicholas. Maybe you can convince her it is worthless to mourn like this. Nothing is going to bring Brad back. I wish she could accept that fact.” She sighed. “Why don't you take Rebecca upstairs and let her rest? You'll have the master suite, of course.”

“Of course,” he repeated, but his eyes were on the door to the hallway.

Eliza glanced uneasily at him, then spoke to Rebecca, “Excuse me. I will go and tend to Mother.”

As soon as the young woman had left, Rebecca whispered, “Nicholas, why didn't you warn me that your mother would be so against this marriage?”

“You aren't the trouble, sweetheart.” He frowned. “I truly didn't think Mother would be so opposed to you. She'll come around to loving you. It does nothing to change our relationship, Rebecca,” he warned her quickly as he saw the light of hope flash in her eyes.

She spun away from him and crossed the room to look out the huge windows. The gardens were bright in the afternoon sunshine. There was nothing which was not alien to her. Her fingers on the windowsill clenched in frustration and misery. “Nicholas, this is insane. I don't want to be married to you. Your mother is opposed to me. Why continue to make everyone unhappy when it would be so easy just to annul this marriage?”

He put his hands on her shoulders, which trembled with her barely suppressed emotion. Over her head, he, too, regarded the formal gardens of Foxbridge Cloister. His hands moved leisurely along her arms as he drew her back against him. In her ear, he whispered, “You left out one very important person. I don't wish to see this marriage dissolved now, Rebecca. Right now, I am very pleased to have you as my loving wife.”

“At what price do the rest of us pay for your happiness? How much wretchedness do you plan to inflict on me and the ones who love you before you admit the folly of this whole experiment?” She faced him. Her hands unconsciously went out to touch his arms in a posture of pleading.

His arm wrapped around her waist and brought her sharply to him. When he bent to kiss her, she turned her face away from him. He grasped her face and did not let her elude him as his lips touched hers with startling gentleness. Although she fought her own feelings, she could not keep from reacting to the lure of his mouth. Her fingers tightened on his arms as she was unable to escape the rapture which enfolded her as sweetly as his arms. A soft sigh of delight floated from her parted lips while he explored her skin with obvious appreciation.

When her knees buckled against his with the passion overwhelming her, he put his arm beneath them and swept her up to be cradled against his chest. Her arms automatically went around his neck as she gasped with astonishment, “Put me down.”

He chuckled softly. “What will you do if I say no? Scream for help? I doubt if anyone will think you are in much danger from your husband. Remember the role you promised to assume.”

Tartly, she stated, “In public. I see no one else here. I think you should remember your part of this agreement as well.”

He placed her on her feet. Cupping her chin in his palm, he said seriously, “My dear Rebecca, this agreement is not carved in stone. If at any time you wish to change your mind and become the wife you should be, I will be willing to renegotiate this unwritten contract we have between us.”

“I can't! I have told you that, Nicholas. I can't, as much as I would like to—Oh!” She put her hand over her mouth in a motion which recalled the child she had been when he first met her.

Nicholas touched her cheek tenderly and smiled. “If you wish, I did not hear that. I know how important it is for you to be faithful to the man who, I'm sure, has not proven as steadfast to you. Come with me, and I will show you where we will have our apartment here in Foxbridge Cloister.”

Slowly she reached out to take his hand. Her new life with Nicholas was starting.

Whether she wished it or not.

If only she knew which.

Chapter Six

Forcing down her fears, Rebecca walked with her husband back down the hallway to the main staircase. A coldness swept through her as she realized he was taking her to the room they would be sharing for as long as he kept her imprisoned in this marriage. Although he had most kindly let her have the bed alone during the long voyage, she did not think that situation would continue forever.

She wished she could begin to understand why he acted as he did. She could not hate him when he was as warmhearted as he just had been. Still, she knew it was only a matter of time before he made some snide comment about their relationship, which seemed to be floundering on a self-destructive course.

She forgot her concerns momentarily as she became enthralled by the splendor of the house. Everything was spotless, telling her there must be a large staff serving the Wythes. She peeked into the rooms they passed and viewed the velvet drapes and furniture covered in light green brocade. Silver gleamed on the mantelpieces next to fine pieces of art which even her unknowledgeable eyes could appreciate. As they passed the room more stately than the others, she paused in midstep. Drawing away from Nicholas, she walked into the room. She bumped into a chair, but her gaze remained on the portrait above the marble fireplace.

It was of a woman dressed in the spectacular style of Elizabethan England. Even from where Rebecca stood near the doorway, she could see the gown was a sumptuous, blue velvet matching the woman's eyes. A full lace ruff surrounded her face to accent the dark upsweep of her curly hair. In her hands was a musical instrument that Rebecca could not name. A small, golden dog sat at her feet, which rested on a footstool in order to show off the fine silver of the buckles on her shoes.

“Who is that?” she gasped.

Nicholas looked from the painting to Rebecca. Until now, he had not been able to figure out who his wife reminded him of so strongly. With a laugh, he answered, “It would appear to be a portrait of Rebecca Wythe.”

“But who is she?”

“Lady Foxbridge, my dear. Her name was Sybill Wythe, and she was my however-many-greats great-grandmother. It is rumored that she had a lover who was a Spaniard washed ashore during the Armada, whose child she foisted off on her gullible husband as his own. That's the explanation for the dark coloring inherited by each generation since then. Does it surprise you that the present Lord Foxbridge might owe his heritage to bastardy?”

Dryly, she stated, “Not in the least.”

His laughter bounced off the high-ceilinged room. Putting his arm around her, he gazed up at his ancestress. “I have always admired Sybill. If the story is true, she must have been unafraid to face public ridicule to have the man she loved.”

“Perhaps you should have felt some sympathy for her cuckolded husband instead, Nicholas.”

He twirled her to face him. Once more he looked from her face to the other. They were not identical, for it was more a trick of light than a macabre coincidence which gave them a resemblance. “The fool let a beautiful woman go looking for a man who could satisfy her. I have no pity to waste on such a dolt. If Sybill had been my wife, she would have found no need to haunt the shoreline looking for a lover from the sea.”