Chapter Three
“YOU CERTAINLY MANAGED to charm Lord Benedict.” Hermione glanced around the elegant interior of the viscount’s barouche a few days later. “Fancy him sending this fine carriage to fetch us to tea.”
“I’m certain it has nothing to do with me,” Rebecca protested, smoothing the skirt of her neat but unfashionable dress. They had not even reached the viscount’s mansion and already she felt hopelessly dowdy. “No doubt it is his lordship’s compliment to you as his brother’s fiancée.”
“Hardly.” Hermione grimaced. “Did you not see the way he looked at me the other day or hear his tone when he deigned to address me? It positively dripped with scorn. I’m certain Lord Benedict is still violently opposed to my wedding his brother.”
“Dripped with scorn? Violently opposed?” Rebecca shook her head. “You are exaggerating. His lordship may have been a trifle cool, but surely that was my fault for misleading him as I did. I expect he did not feel kindly disposed toward anyone connected with me.”
Hermione’s delicate features tightened into a doubtful frown. “At first, perhaps, but you soon won him over. By the time the two of you finished talking, Lord Benedict seemed quite taken with you. Yet he still appeared to regard me as the most odious creature he had ever beheld.”
Reaching across the carriage, Rebecca caught Hermione’s ice-cold fingers and gave them a reassuring squeeze. “Lord Benedict is barely acquainted with you. He objects to your match with Mr. Stanhope on general principles—and not very sound ones, in my opinion. Once he gets to know you better, I’m certain he will be delighted to welcome you into the family.”
“I hope you’re right.” Hermione caught her full lower lip between her teeth. “I fear I am not at my best around his lordship. He is so haughty and severe, I am quite afraid of him. When he gives me that cold blue stare, I feel every bit as foolish as he seems to regard me.”
“Perhaps he is a little proud, but given his wealth and position, that can hardly be surprising.” What did surprise Rebecca was hearing herself rise to Lord Benedict’s defense. “Yet he is not too proud to make a jest at his own expense. And when he laughs, he does not seem the least bit severe.”
Why did she feel compelled to stand up for anyone who was being criticized, Rebecca wondered, even a powerful man more than capable of taking his own part? It must be a habit from her school days. The one thing that had made that miserable institution bearable was the close friendships she’d formed with a group of her fellow pupils. The five of them had banded together to comfort, cheer and defend one another.
Hermione regarded her former governess with a rather superior smile. “It seems his lordship has succeeded in charming you in return, though I would not have believed him capable of it.”
That pointed observation threw Rebecca into confusion. Hermione made it sound as if there were romantic feelings between her and the viscount. “Now you are talking foolishness. I simply tried to keep an open mind and not let my opinion of the gentleman be prejudiced by a bad first impression. You should do the same.”
“Of course!” cried Hermione. “You’ve given me the most brilliant idea.”
“To keep an open mind about your future brother-in-law?” Rebecca replied. “It is a prudent suggestion, but hardly brilliant.”
“Not that.” Hermione leaned toward Rebecca as if imparting a secret. “Since Lord Benedict is so partial to you, could you use your influence to persuade him to give our engagement his blessing? Please, Miss Beaton!”
“What influence could I possibly have over a man like his lordship?” Rebecca firmly dismissed the notion—from her own mind as much as Hermione’s. “He is not partial to me, only polite.”
Seeing the younger woman’s crestfallen look, she relented... a little. “Still you may rely on me to acquaint Lord Benedict with your many good qualities.”
Eager to turn the conversation from that awkward topic, Rebecca pointed out the window. “Look, there is Stanhope Court. What a fine house it is. And what superb views it must command from the hilltop!”
A few moments later, the carriage came to a stop before the viscount’s magnificent mansion. Rebecca had often glimpsed it from a distance, but had never before seen it up so close. The front façade, of honey-brown Cotswold stone, looked very grand and imposing with a high portico supported by six lofty pillars. A pair of great wings swept behind the house on either side, no doubt enclosing a rear courtyard that gave the place its name.
As she climbed out of the carriage behind Hermione, Rebecca was torn between admiration and an acute sense of her own insignificance. Though she recalled living in houses almost as impressive as this one, she had never been welcome in any of them. Only in more modest surroundings had she found any measure of acceptance and affection.
To her surprise, Lord Benedict and his brother came out to meet them.
“Thank you for accepting our invitation, ladies.” Claude Stanhope swept them a deep bow. “This house as been empty for so long, it is a pleasure to have company at last.”
Offering Hermione his arm, he escorted her toward one of the sets of stairs that led up to the portico.
That left Rebecca alone in the presence of the viscount, and feeling dreadfully self-conscious after her conversation with Hermione. It had been one thing for Lord Benedict to treat her as something approaching his equal when he’d mistaken her for Squire Leonard’s daughter. His manner on Sunday she attributed to the time and place, for were they not all meant to be brothers and sisters in the sight of Heaven?
Now, with his large, splendid house towering in the background, she could not fail to realize what an enormous gulf separated a powerful peer of the realm from someone little higher than a servant.
But Lord Benedict bowed and offered her his arm, as if she were an honored guest. “I fear I am to blame for Stanhope Court being neglected.”
The blue gaze he fixed upon her did not seem cold at all. In spite of Rebecca’s determination to resist any such foolish fancy, she could not ignore a warm glow of sincere regard.
“Why are you to blame?” She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, steeling herself to betray no sign that this first contact between them gave her any particular enjoyment.
But it did, hard as she tried to persuade herself otherwise. There was a solid dependable strength about the viscount’s arm that appealed to her far more than it ought to.
“This poor house was a casualty of my mission to secure more support for our men at arms,” he replied with a mixture of pride and chagrin. “When Parliament was not in session, I twice made the voyage to Portugal. I wanted to see first hand what our troops needed to win the war. The rest of the time, I cadged invitations to house parties where I could meet with other Members of Parliament and promote my views.”
Rebecca’s respect for the viscount grew with every word he spoke. Though he made it sound as if he were apologizing for his actions rather than boasting about them, it was clear he had worked tirelessly for something he believed in.
“Perhaps you should have hosted a party,” she suggested, as they passed through the elegant entry hall with its fine marble floor, “and invited those people here.”
“I’m not certain who would have accepted an invitation from me in the end.” His firm mouth briefly arched into a wry grin. If Rebecca had not been watching his face so carefully, she might have missed it. “I had become such a notorious bore on the subject. Besides, everyone knows married gentlemen make far better hosts.”
“Were you too busy promoting your cause to seek a wife?” Rebecca recalled something he had said during their first meeting about never expecting to have a family.
Surely now that the war was over, such an eligible and attractive man would have no difficulty securing a bride. Somehow the thought of him being married provoked a rush of contradictory feelings in her. On one hand, it seemed wrong that so good a man should always be alone. Yet at the same time, she resented the thought of him belonging to another woman.
Rebecca chided herself for such ungenerous feelings, especially when Lord Benedict flinched at her words. She hoped her offhand remark about such a private matter had not offended him.
But before she could stammer an apology, the viscount recovered his spirits and continued their conversation. “I fear I neglected a number of things in my zeal to do my duty, Miss Beaton. This house... my brother’s welfare...”
He gave a rueful nod down the wide, portrait-hung gallery toward young Mr. Stanhope, who was ushering Hermione into a sitting room.
Was that why Lord Benedict had taken such a forceful interest in his brother’s engagement, Rebecca wondered, because he felt guilty for failing in his brotherly duty? She could understand such feelings all too well. With a pang of shame, she recalled promising to advocate on Hermione’s behalf with his lordship. Yet she had not said a single word about the poor girl.
“As for that,” she hastened to rectify her lapse, “Mr. Stanhope does not appear to have suffered any neglect. He possesses most engaging manners and has become a general favorite in this area ever since he took up residence. Though you may not approve of his attachment to Miss Leonard, I can assure you she is an excellent match for him in every way that truly matters.”
A doubtful frown darkened Lord Benedict’s striking countenance but it was too late for him to say anything disparaging about Hermione for they had reached the sitting room.
They had not been ten minutes at tea before Sebastian wondered why his brother could not see what was altogether obvious to him. A country squire’s daughter like Hermione Leonard was simply not cut out to be the wife of a future viscount. Apart from a brief greeting to their aunt, the young lady had scarcely spoken a word since she arrived, and not for a lack of effort on his part to draw her out.
“Another plum puff, Miss Leonard?” He held out the overflowing tray of cakes and pastries. “You have eaten so little, I fear our hospitality does not meet with your approval.”
“Not at all.” She reached toward the plate with wary hesitation as if she feared the walnut tea cake might be poisoned.
“For pity sake, Sebastian,” his brother snapped, “don’t hound Miss Leonard to eat if she’s not hungry! I told you this was twice too much food for the five of us.”
With a shrug, Sebastian offered the plate of sweets to her companion. “Can you find anything to tempt you, Miss Beaton?”
“Indeed, sir.” She picked up a rout cake and set it on her plate then reached for a jam tartlet. “The only difficulty lies in choosing between so many temptations.”
“Then by all means have as much as you wish of everything,” Sebastian urged her. “I like to see a lady with a healthy appetite.”
It accorded well with the rest of her character. She did not pretend excessive delicacy as so many ladies of fashion did. Sebastian was certain she could not be prone to swooning or any other such affectations. It surprised him how much at ease she seemed in his house. Though clearly impressed and appreciative, she was not overawed by the grand old place. Her demeanor presented such a contrast to Claude’s gauche, uncommunicative fiancée, he could not help but be impressed.
“That is most generous of you, Lord Benedict.” She cast a cheerful smile around at all the others. “But I fear my digestion will suffer if I overindulge in such rich fare.”
How would he have borne this visit, Sebastian wondered, if not for Miss Beaton’s presence? Somehow she managed to keep up an engaging flow of conversation to cover for Miss Leonard’s sulky silence.
“What a marvelous art collection you have, Lord Benedict,” she remarked, effortlessly filling yet another awkward pause. “That portrait of the young lady with the long curls is very fine indeed.”
“You have a good eye for painting, Miss Beaton. That lady is our great-grandmother. She sat for the Restoration Court painter, Lely. It is one of the most valuable in our collection.”
“I’m certain Miss Leonard recognized the artist’s style,” Miss Beaton continued. “She is quite an accomplished artist herself. She has done some very clever sketches of our acquaintances and a charming series of watercolors of the garden at Rose Grange.”
Her praise of Miss Leonard put Claude back in good humor. “Hermione tells me you are quite skilled at drawing and painting, Miss Beaton. Might I persuade you to undertake a commission for me?”
Sebastian marked the lady’s hesitation with approval. As she took a slow sip of her tea, he sensed she was searching for the right words to frame a polite refusal.
“I should be reluctant to disoblige you, Mr. Stanhope, but I fear Hermione has been too kind in her praise of my skill. You would be much better served bestowing your commission upon her.”
“I would, of course.” Claude helped himself to another pastry from the tray. “But I fear the task might be beyond even her considerable powers. I desire a sketch of her, perhaps tinted with watercolors. I am certain you possess both the talent and appreciation for your subject to render a flattering but accurate likeness.”
Miss Beaton’s reluctance vanished in an indulgent smile. “Very well then, sir. If you have faith in my powers, I shall be happy to make the attempt.”
Would the lady be as willing to undertake a different sort of commission which he intended to offer her? Sebastian bolted a mouthful of tea. Though she had not known him long and their acquaintance had gotten off to a bad start, Miss Beaton did not appear to hold it against him. Indeed, he sensed a deep bond of mutual respect and sympathy between them that he fervently hoped might win her over.
Their tea was not a success, Rebecca was forced to admit, in spite of the quantity and variety of baked delicacies on offer. Though Lord Benedict made an effort to be civil to Hermione, the poor girl seemed to sense his veiled hostility, which dampened her spirits. Afraid of saying the wrong thing, she spoke hardly a word even when the others tried to draw her out. Her wary silence only made his lordship impatient and Claude Stanhope irritable.
Desperate to fill the tense pauses in conversation, Rebecca found herself talking far more than she was accustomed to. She seized every opportunity to pay tribute to her former pupil’s cleverness, good nature and many accomplishments. Yet she feared her praise rang hollow in the face of Hermione’s wooden silence.
The only thing that made the experience bearable was Lord Benedict’s attentiveness. He seemed to hang on her every word. He laughed at her feeble efforts to lighten the atmosphere with a jest. He continually offered her dainty cakes and pastries. Surely Hermione could not be correct in supposing the viscount had taken a fancy to her? Hard as Rebecca strove to dismiss such an unlikely but appealing notion, Lord Benedict’s gallantry made it difficult to deny the possibility.
At last his lordship rose and bowed to his aunt. “Thank you for the fine tea, but if I swallow another crumb, I fear I may explode. Would you ladies care to take a stroll around our gardens? They are quite fine, though I can take no credit for them. That is one area in which my neglect has served a useful purpose. I reckon good gardeners are like good generals. They achieve their best results when given plenty of supplies and a minimum of interference.”
The quip and his invitation broke the brittle tension among their small party.
“A splendid suggestion!” Claude Stanhope leaped to his feet and held out his hand to his fiancée. “Come, Hermione, you must see the view from the Fountain Garden.”
“I should like that very much.” Hermione seemed to shake off the bemusement that had held her mute. “The fresh air will do me good.”
As the young couple joined hands and hurried away, Rebecca rose to follow at a discreet distance, as she had so often during their brief courtship. Only this time, rather than tagging along on her own as a grudgingly tolerated chaperone, she was escorted by Lord Benedict. The viscount diverted her with stories about Stanhope Court and his ancestors whose portraits thronged its walls.
Once outside, Rebecca was immediately enchanted with the gardens, beginning with the one behind the house. It nestled between the east and west wings of Stanhope Court like a beloved child cradled in the arms of a caring parent. The colors of the flowers stood out in vivid contrast to the background of greenery.
Next Lord Benedict led her down a brickwork path that wound through a succession of vine-covered trellises to a smaller terrace garden cut into the side of the hill. Surrounded by box hedge walls, it had the air of a secret room decorated in shades of pink and gold. Rebecca wished she could linger in it, but since Hermione and Mr. Stanhope had already moved on, they followed.
When she entered the final garden, Rebecca let out a gasp of wonder mingled with a sigh of delight. This tiny hillside bower was not planted with bright-colored flowers to draw the eye. Instead it was edged with greenery and contained only a few pale but fragrant blossoms. At its heart, a small stone fountain splashed and tinkled a soothing liquid melody. The focus of this garden was not upon itself, but outward at the breathtaking view of the Vale of Avoncross.
“How lovely!” cried Hermione. “I could stand here all day and never grow tired of such a view.”
As Hermione extolled the panorama before them, Rebecca could not help wishing her young friend would hold her tongue for a few minutes. This glorious prospect deserved to be savored, with only the gentle babble of the fountain and the subtle fragrance of flowers to enhance the experience.
Despite Hermione’s vow that she could stand and stare all day, it was not long before her interest waned and she and Mr. Stanhope wandered back up the path. Or perhaps she wanted to escape the brooding presence of Lord Benedict.
Rebecca’s reaction was quite the opposite. She welcomed the opportunity to enjoy such a rich feast for the senses in his company.
Eventually, however, duty won out over inclination. “I suppose we ought to rejoin the others.”
“In a moment.” The viscount turned toward her with a gaze as blue and breathtaking as the wide Cotswold sky. “First I have something particular I wish to ask you.”
Something particular? That usually implied a delicate matter, often romantic in nature. Surely Lord Benedict could not intend to declare some feelings for her... could he? After all, they’d just met the other day and theirs would be a far more unequal match than his brother’s, to which he objected so strongly.
Though Rebecca reminded herself of those things, her heart began to beat far too fast and her voice caught in her tightened throat when she replied, “By all means, your lordship. I am at your service.”
She deliberately tried to emphasize with her words the vast gulf between her position and his.
The viscount refused to take heed. “I do not mean to issue orders or condescend to you, Miss Beaton. I respect you too much for that. In many important ways, I believe we are very much equal. Our great concern for those we care about, for instance.”
As Lord Benedict spoke, his deep voice grew softer and mellower in timbre. It might have coaxed a sigh from Rebecca, if she had not been on her guard to avoid any such slip.
“Since I wish to address you as an equal in that regard,” he continued, “please feel free to call me by my given name—Sebastian.”
His suggestion eroded Rebecca’s resolve to keep her hopes in check. She wasn’t certain she could bring herself to speak his first name aloud, but from that moment, she would always think of him as Sebastian.
“Would it be too great a liberty for me to call you Rebecca... in private at least?” His penetrating gaze softened until it seemed to caress her face. “It is a fine name—so proud and strong, yet lovely too. It seems a shame not to use it.”
To hear her name on his lips provoked an unsettling mixture of pleasure and trepidation. No one had called her anything but Miss Beaton for such a long time it was almost as if they were two different people. “Miss Beaton” would never consent to such familiarity of address from a man she barely knew. Yet “Rebecca” felt quite well acquainted with Sebastian. Though not as well as she would have liked.
“You may call me what you wish.” She resisted the urge to bow her head and cast a glance upward at Sebastian through her lashes. She had seen giddy girls behave that way around their admirers when she’d accompanied Hermione to the Assembly Rooms in Avoncross. She was far too old to flirt, even if she’d had the temperament for it. “Was that all you wanted to ask me?”
Sebastian hesitated a moment as if he’d been so lost in contemplation of her that he’d forgotten what he meant to say. “Yes... er... no! It was another matter entirely.”
He inhaled a deep breath then plunged ahead. “Though we have known each other a very short time, my dear Rebecca, I must tell you how much I have come to admire your sincerity and good sense.”
He was making a romantic declaration! Forcing herself to keep breathing, Rebecca gave her leg a discrete pinch to wake her if she had fallen to dreaming.
“Y-you are too kind.” She still could not bring herself to call him by his Christian name. Perhaps when she gave him her answer...
Sebastian’s husky, rueful chuckle was even sweeter music to her ears than the gurgle of the fountain. “That is something else I have never been accused of before.”
Instinctively, she rose to his defense again. “Then your acquaintances must be blind to your true character.”
“Or perhaps,” he suggested, “I am a better man when you are around.”
What finer compliment could he possibly pay her? “It would make me very happy to think so.”
“Then let me return to my question... my request.”
“Of course.” The prospect of a stable future stretched before Rebecca, as inviting as the verdant view from this garden. Security of situation and affection were things she’d always craved. Now, just when she’d begun to despair of ever gaining them, her dream seemed poised to come true.
“I need you,” Sebastian murmured, “to become my ally.”
“Ally?” she repeated. That was an unusual term for a wife. Though perhaps, given Sebastian’s preoccupation with military matters, it should not be too surprising.
“Precisely!” The viscount made it sound as if the suggestion had come from her. “My ally in the effort to end my brother’s imprudent betrothal. I want you to use your influence to persuade Miss Leonard to break it off.”
Even as she chided herself for imagining her could ever want anything else from her, Rebecca felt as if Sebastian had pushed her over the edge of this serene terrace garden to hurtle down the steep cliff.