The Wedding Season (9 page)

“No wonder you prize familiarity,” Sebastian mused, recalling the first time she’d confided in him.

They’d been in the same place then—the Fountain Garden his grandfather had hewn out of this hillside. There was a mysterious air of peace about this secluded garden that seemed to invite disclosure.

“Finally, when I was nine,” Rebecca continued, staring out over the tranquil Cotswold countryside, “they decided I should be sent away to school. So off I went.”

“Was that the school where you met those friends of yours?” Sebastian tried to recall if she’d told him any more than that about the place.

She nodded. “The Pendergast Charity School for Orphaned Daughters of the Clergy. It is a shame the place did not live up to its impressive name. It was the most wretched institution—cold, damp, ill-staffed and ill-provisioned. For all that, I preferred it to the fine houses of my relatives where I had been infinitely better fed and clothed. At least there I had friends who cared for me, and I was able to stay long enough to become accustomed to it.”

Words continued to trickle out of her as if a dam had been breached. She told him more about the harsh deprivations of her years at the school and the forlorn confusion of being shuffled from one uncaring relative to another. His chest ached with a mixture of sympathy, grief and rage over what she had endured. He could not bear to think of her wanting for anything ever again, or going away to yet another new place.

“So you see,” she murmured at last, “I do know how it feels to be hurt and to carry the bitterness of it around with you always.”

She turned toward him then, tilting her head to meet his gaze. As he stared into her eyes, Sebastian thought he might get lost in them and found he welcomed the opportunity. They were Cotswold eyes—the warm golden brown of local
stone, blended with the vibrant green of the rolling hills. This was where she belonged.

“I know how difficult it is to forgive those who have hurt you,” she continued, “because I have never truly forgiven my relatives. As you said, the best I have been able to do is try to forget them.”

“Do not trouble yourself over it.” He clasped her hands between his. They felt small and cold, desperately in need of his strength and warmth. “Those people do not deserve your forgiveness.”

She considered for a moment, then replied, “How many people do you suppose would ever be forgiven if they had to deserve it? I’m not certain I would.”

“Nonsense,” he growled, compelled to protect her, even from her own self-doubts. “What have you ever done that would need forgiveness?”

“What a short memory you have.” She flashed him a rueful grin that faded all too quickly. “The first time we met, I misjudged you and misled you. Most recently I have been a hypocrite, urging you to do what I could not do myself.”

A fine mist rose in her eyes.

“Don’t fret about any of that!” He released her hand and gathered her into his arms. “I don’t blame you. I understand.”

Wasn’t that what she had advised him to do for Lydia?

His effort to comfort Rebecca failed miserably. Or perhaps the anguish of all the painful memories she’d unearthed overcame her. A shudder went through her and then another as she began to weep in his arms. Even after she grew quiet, Sebastian found he could not let her go. It felt so right and natural to hold her like this.

And when she tilted her face toward him, it felt right and natural to lean forward…

Before prudence or wariness intervened to prevent him, he gave her a kiss that seemed to have been lurking on his lips all this time, awaiting just such an opportunity. To his relief and delight, Rebecca did not shrink from it but kissed him back.

It was just the sort of kiss he expected from her—sincere and generous with a refreshing air of innocence. Like a long-lost key, her kiss slipped into his heart, unlocking all the tender feelings he had resisted and denied. Out they poured, washing away painful memories, filling the arid, empty spaces within him, overwhelming every other thought but those of her…and
them.

He could have stayed there forever, holding and kissing her.

But too soon, Rebecca stirred, tensed and drew back from him. “I’m so sorry, Sebastian…Lord Benedict! I did not mean to take advantage of your kindness like this. I must go!”

He caught her hand. “Stay with me, Rebecca! Not just now, but always. Marry me, please! Say you will be my wife.”

No sooner had those words left his mouth than dark doubts assailed him. How long had he known Rebecca Beaton, after all? Not much longer than he’d known Lydia when he proposed to her. And Rebecca had even more mercenary reasons to accept him than Lydia had—she’d told him so herself.

His heart sprang to her defense, insisting that Rebecca was nothing like his late wife. She was sincere, kind and understanding—a compound of all the best virtues!

But that argument only made his reason all the more suspicious. The intoxicating ardor he felt for her was all too familiar, though even more intense than he remembered from
the last time. By allowing himself to care so much more for Rebecca, he had given her infinitely more power to make him happy…or miserable.

All those thoughts flashed through his mind while his proposal seemed to tremble in the fragrant air between them. Part of him yearned desperately for Rebecca to accept, while another part grew sick with fear that she might. In any case, it was out of his hands now. He’d blurted out the fateful words that had placed him in her power, and he could not take them back.

“I…” She searched his gaze for some reassurance that this was what he truly wanted. “I…”

As he steeled himself for her answer, equally fearful of either, she cried, “I
must
go!”

Wrenching her hand from his, Rebecca spun away and ran up the path as if her darkest terrors were snarling and snapping at her heels.

He wanted to go after her, but the tyranny of bitter memories kept him frozen there. In that moment, he realized the only thing worse than either of the answers Rebecca might give him was no answer at all.

W
hat answer would she give Sebastian to his unexpected proposal?

After several days spent thinking of little else, Rebecca was no closer to a conclusion than she’d been when she fled the romantic tranquility of the Fountain Garden.

With all her heart, she longed to accept, for so many reasons. The most important of those was that she had come to care for Sebastian in a way she’d never expected to feel for any man. She admired his protectiveness, his concern for others and his willingness to use his high position to do some good. Yet he was no tiresome model of virtue. His company was well spiced with wry wit and informative, entertaining conversation. Besides that, she felt a deep connection to him on account of the losses and hurts they’d both suffered and tried to overcome.

Then there was his fine house and comfortable fortune. She wished she could claim they did not matter to her, but that would be untrue. For someone like her, who had moved so often and felt the humiliating deprivations of living on charity, the security of a home like Stanhope Court and
freedom from the grim shadow of want would be cherished blessings indeed.

Another blessing was that she would never have to be parted from Hermione. They would be even more like sisters than they had been, connected by family ties rather than terms of employment. If she agreed to wed Sebastian, Rebecca knew he could have no grounds to continue opposing his brother’s engagement to Hermione.

The thought of Hermione made Rebecca glance toward the pianoforte, where her young friend was practicing a romantic but rather melancholy air. It occurred to her that Hermione had been very subdued these past few days. She chided herself for being so preoccupied with Sebastian’s proposal that she had not noticed until now. Was Hermione having more second thoughts about marrying Claude Stanhope so soon? Was she worried about how her future brother-in-law might treat her?

Vowing to broach the subject as soon as Hermione finished playing, Rebecca fell prey to all manner of doubts about the wisdom of accepting Sebastian’s proposal. If only she could be certain that he cared for her the way she had come to care for him. But the manner of his asking made it clear he’d been motivated by pity rather than love. Though he tried to pretend otherwise, she knew he was a man of deep compassion. He must have been moved by her tale of woe and wanted to spare her any further insecurity or deprivation.

Considering the depth of her feelings for him, could she be satisfied with a marriage that promised comfort, security and companionship, but not love? And what of Sebastian—would he soon come to regret a second marriage he’d made in haste, out of kindness? Might he be as miserable with
her as he had been with his first wife, though for different reasons?

She could not forget the look in his eyes when he’d realized he had proposed to her—a deadly mixture of panic, regret and dread. Yet she’d sensed very different feelings from him when he’d held her in his arms and kissed her. If he did not love her yet, she believed he was capable of loving her…if only he could banish the shadows of his past.

The final notes of the music Hermione had been playing faded away. Its tone had matched Rebecca’s yearning, pensive mood.

“That was lovely, my dear.” She applauded softly. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you play it before. What’s it called?”

Hermione started at the sound of Rebecca’s voice, as if she’d forgotten she was not alone in the room. “It’s a ‘Division’ by Jenkins, a sweet melody but rather sad.”

Rebecca nodded. “Just what I was thinking. I wonder what the composer had in mind when he wrote it?”

Rising from the pianoforte, Hermione walked over and sank down on the far end of the settee. The troubled look on her delicate features mirrored the beautiful, plaintive music she’d been playing.

“Is something the matter?” Rebecca slid closer to her on the settee. “You don’t seem your usual, cheerful self of late.”

A qualm of remorse gripped her for having neglected her young friend in recent days.

“Oh, Miss Beaton.” Hermione’s lower lip trembled. “Are you still angry with me after the way I spoke to you the other day? I know you would never let Lord Benedict turn you against me, but I’ve been so anxious and confused. I’m sorry I took it out on you! Can you ever forgive me?”

“Dearest girl!” Her throat tightened at the realization of how Hermione had misinterpreted her preoccupation. “I cannot
still
be angry, for I never was to begin with.”

When Rebecca opened her arms, Hermione dove into her embrace. “As for forgiving you, I would, of course, but there is nothing to forgive. I knew you could not mean what you said about me taking Seb—Lord Benedict’s side.”

“I was certain I m-must have offended you.” Hermione did not sound entirely convinced by Rebecca’s reassurance. “You’ve hardly spoken a word to me since then.”

“Nor to anybody else.” Rebecca smoothed back the hair that had tumbled over Hermione’s forehead. “I’ve had a great deal on my mind of late. Nothing to do with our talk the other day. I’m sorry I’ve been so distracted.”

“What have you been thinking about? Finding a new position and going away?”

“Partly.” Rebecca hesitated, uncertain how much to tell her young friend. But she needed to confide in someone, and this might make Hermione think more critically about her engagement. “The fact is, Lord Benedict…has asked me to marry him.”

The news jolted Hermione upright. “Lord Benedict? Are you joking? I know he’s been very attentive to you, but I thought it was only so you would use your influence on me. I don’t understand how he can want you for a wife when he claims I am not a suitable bride for his brother!”

Rebecca shook her head. “This is not something I would joke about. As for the other, I wish I knew how to reconcile that contradiction, but I am at a loss.”

“What answer did you give him?” Hermione demanded. “I know you have a far better opinion of him than I do and
it would be a brilliant match. But do not forget the advice you gave me. Marriage means committing the rest of your life to this man.”

“That’s what frightens me.” Heaving a sigh, Rebecca rose from the settee and crossed to the window overlooking the garden. “That is why I have not given him my answer yet. I have been thinking of almost nothing else ever since.”

She gazed out at the garden where she and Sebastian had first met. Some of the flowers then in bloom had gone to seed, while new ones had blossomed to take their places. She marveled at how far their acquaintance had ripened in such a short time. What if those feelings faded just as quickly? “I know you have not seen the side of him that I have. But I believe I would never regret marrying
him
if I could be certain he would not regret marrying
me.
”

“If he were any other man,” Hermione muttered, “I could assure you with complete confidence that would never happen.”

Her young friend had hit upon the difficulty, Rebecca mused. Sebastian—Lord Benedict—was unlike any other man she’d ever met. While she admired and treasured his uniqueness, it was not without its dark side.

Just then the Leonards’ housemaid appeared bearing a message. “A footman brought this from Stanhope Court, miss.”

“Thank you, Mary.” Hermione bounded up from the settee with her hand extended to receive the note.

“No, miss.” The girl held the folded, sealed paper out toward Rebecca. “I was told to deliver it to Miss Beaton.”

“Me? Are you certain?” Taking the note gingerly, as if it might grow teeth at any moment, Rebecca confirmed it was indeed addressed to her.

As she broke the seal and began to read, Hermione
dismissed Mary, who looked frankly curious. “What does it say?”

“We are summoned to Stanhope Court.” Rebecca labored to read Sebastian’s spiky scrawl for the first time. “Lord Benedict will send his carriage to collect us.”

Turning the note over in her hand, she murmured, “He must have gotten tired of waiting for my answer.”

That did not explain why he wanted both of them to come.

“Have you decided what you’ll tell him?” asked Hermione.

Rebecca shook her head. “I shall soon have to make up my mind.”

A chill snaked down her spine. Whichever choice she made, she was afraid she might end up regretting it for as long as she lived.

“The ladies will be here soon.” Sebastian glanced from the mantel clock to the housemaid. “You know what to do?”

“’Course, sir.” She pursed her lips in a suggestive smirk that turned his stomach. “Not a hard task, is it?”

“I’m sure you’ve had plenty of practice.” Sebastian strove to conceal the worst of his aversion.

He needed this creature’s assistance, though he wished there’d been some other way. Unfortunately, time was fast running out for his brother, and several sleepless nights had left his mind too muddled to devise a better plan.

“Practice?” She laughed the way women did when they wanted to flatter a man when they found him witty. “Why, you and me could have a dress rehearsal right now if you like.”

“That will not be necessary.” His lip curled. “Your part
may not be difficult but proper timing is essential. So keep your wits about you.”

“I will, sir.” She walked past Sebastian, deliberately brushing against him. “You can count on me.”

Pulling a cloth from the pocket of her apron, she pretended to dust the windowsill.

Sebastian turned on his heel and strode away to await the arrival of Rebecca and Miss Leonard. As he neared the entry hall, he caught a passing glimpse of his reflection in a looking glass and scarcely recognized himself. He looked haggard, disheveled and bleary-eyed—almost as bad as during the worst days of his marriage. Rebecca hadn’t even accepted his proposal and already she was putting him through the same misery as Lydia had.

Every hour that passed, he grew more certain that asking her to marry him had been as terrible a mistake as his brother proposing to Hermione Leonard. Why had she kept him hanging for days on end, waiting for the ax to fall, when there could be no question she would take advantage of his fatal lapse in judgment? His fortune and the security it provided would be too great a temptation. Marriage to a viscount would also raise her rank, perhaps higher than her relatives. She would be free to flaunt her new title in the faces of those who’d once cast her out.

With all that to entice her, why had she fled from him in the garden, then? And why was she taking so long to give him her answer? Could it be that she did not care for him and shrank from spending the rest of her life with him?

He welcomed the sight of his carriage coming up the lane, for it distracted him from the vicious spiral of doubt that had plagued him ever since he blurted out that blasted proposal.

A few moments later, he bowed over the ladies’ hands
when they’d alighted from the carriage. “Miss Leonard, Miss Beaton, thank you for accepting my invitation on such short notice. Shall we go join my brother for tea?”

Though habit and inclination urged him to offer Rebecca his arm, Sebastian resisted. Thrusting his hands behind his back, he strode off, leaving the ladies to follow.

“Lord Benedict?” Rebecca’s voice rang with a note of tender concern. “Are you ill? You do not look well.”

“I am no worse than usual, I assure you.” He raised his voice to alert his accomplice of their approach. She was one woman who had better not betray him.

As they reached the door to the sitting room, Sebastian stood back to let the ladies enter first. It was more than simple courtesy. This way, they would have an unobstructed view of the proceedings.

A sharp gasp from one and a shrill cry from the other assured him the housemaid’s timing had been flawless. Perhaps she would find success on the London stage as she so desperately desired.

Sebastian entered the room to find Claude blathering on about how the servant had suddenly thrown herself at him and kissed him.

“It’s not how it looks, Hermione. I can explain. Well, perhaps not explain, but…” From his wild gestures and frantic tone, it was clear he knew there was no hope of his fiancée believing such an improbable story.

“Away you go!” Sebastian growled at the housemaid. “I’ll deal with you later.”

The girl sidled off, still smirking.

In the brittle silence that descended upon the room, Sebastian waited for Miss Leonard’s reaction. She had said nothing since her first squeal of dismay. Was that a good sign or a bad one?

Protective as ever, Rebecca moved closer and put her arm around her young friend. But she did not speak. Like Claude and Sebastian, she seemed to hold her breath waiting to hear what Hermione would say.

For a long moment Hermione locked gazes with Claude, who appeared to offer a silent plea for understanding. Then she turned those enormous, childlike eyes in Sebastian’s direction. In them he read a question and a wrenching depth of innocent pain he could not bear to witness.

Her whispery voice shattered the expectant hush. “I believe you, Claude.”

The young man’s bated breath exploded in a gasp and sob. The question that rose to his lips was the same one that echoed through his brother’s mind. “You do?”

She did? Where was the outrage he’d expected, the possessive hysteria?

Hermione gave a shaky nod. “I know you are a good, honorable man. I am certain you would never betray my trust.”

He should have known, a persuasive little voice in the back of Sebastian’s mind sneered. The girl must be so greedy for the advantages she would gain by wedding his brother that she was willing to turn a blind eye to flagrant evidence of betrayal.

“Thank heaven!” Claude stumbled toward her, his hand pressed to his chest. “And thank
you
for being so sweet and trusting. I was so afraid this would make you change your mind about marrying me.”

When he reached for her, Hermione retreated into the shelter of Rebecca’s arms. “I’m afraid…it has.”

Claude flinched. “But you just said you trust me. I don’t understand.”

“Perhaps you should ask your brother.”

“My brother?” He glanced toward Sebastian. “What has he got to do with…? Oh, no. Sebastian. Tell me you didn’t do this!”