Chapter 16

Maude, Harriet, and Rebecca were sitting in the garden. Each was wearing deep mourning, black shawls in place over black dresses. Early autumn was already in the air.

“It is all my fault,” Harriet said, staring listlessly ahead of her. “Papa would never have died had I not insisted on going to Cenross Castle for my birthday. No one else wanted to go, but I would insist. And he had to climb all that way up the hill and sit in a windy courtyard for a full afternoon. And then I scared him by going down to those infernal dungeons and hurting my ankle. I had no idea that his heart could not stand the strain. Oh, I am so selfish! I killed Papa.”

“Nonsense, Harriet,” Rebecca said. “Of course you did not kill him. Your papa was an adult. He could choose for himself where he wanted to go and where not. And what was more natural than that a young girl whose birthday falls in August should want to go on an outing for the occasion? You must stop blaming yourself. Grief is hard enough to cope with without that.”

“Yes, dear,” Maude said, “Rebecca is quite right. You are in no way to blame. Your papa was afraid of fresh air and exercise. If he had taken his normal share of both through the years, I am sure his heart would not have weakened as it did.”

“I would not even have been here on the night he died if it had not been for Mr. Carver,” Harriet said drearily, “I am the most selfish, thoughtless creature in the world.”

“I think perhaps we should take a short walk, Harriet,” Rebecca said, getting decisively to her feet. “There is nothing like exercise to calm the mind.” She turned to Maude. “Mr. Carver was the one who brought Mr. Sinclair along in time to drive us home from the village that night,” she explained.

No one had told Maude of the failed elopement plan. She had had enough to cope with in the week that had elapsed since the death of her husband, receiving calls and preparing for the funeral two days before. Everyone who knew avoided the subject of her brother and left her to assume that Mr. Bartlett had decided to return to London the night of the fair instead of waiting until the next day. Indeed, Rebecca guessed that she was secretly relieved that her brother had not delayed. Had he done so, he might have used Lord Holmes’s death as an excuse to stay awhile longer.

Harriet rose listlessly and obediently to her feet. She had been unusually docile in the past week. She and Rebecca strolled together along the winding driveway toward the gate.

“Harriet,” Rebecca said when they were out of earshot of the garden, “please do not let Maude know what happened on the night of the fair. It would be very upsetting to her to know that about her brother.”

“I think she already knows what he is like,” Harriet said, “or she would not have gone to such lengths to warn me off. I have been such a fool, Rebecca. I did not even particularly like the man. I certainly did not wish to marry him. But I always have to assert my independence. I feel greatly mortified to think that several people had to become involved in order to rescue me. But I must admit that I am glad I was stopped. I would be married to him by now. And Mr. Carver has told me terrible things about him since that night.”

“Well, it is all over,” Rebecca said, “and I think it is best forgotten. You have learned a lesson from it, Harriet, and that is the important thing.”

‘‘He wants to marry me,” Harriet said suddenly, a hint of the old spirit showing through the indignation in her voice.

“Who wants to marry you?” Rebecca asked, her stomach lurching uncomfortably.

“Mr. Carver,” Harriet said. “Can you imagine, Rebecca? He wants to marry me. The nerve of the man!”

“He has asked you?” Rebecca asked incredulously.

“Yesterday, when he walked over here with Ellen and Primrose,” Harriet said. “He did not exactly ask me, but he did say that with Papa gone I should need someone to look after me, someone who would not be afraid to tell me a few home truths. And someone to give me a good thrashing once in a while. Horrid man!” Her voice quivered with indignation.

Rebecca had a hard time keeping her face straight and her voice steady. “How do you know he was talking about himself?” she asked.

“Because I asked him!” Harriet said. “And he said that he would be committing himself to a life sentence if he took on the task, but he might be persuaded to do it. I really could have thrown something at him, Rebecca, and I would too, but the only thing to hand was that Wedgwood vase that Maude sets such store by. And I really did not think he was worth a Wedgwood vase and Maude’s tears.”

“What will you do if he really does offer for you?” Rebecca asked curiously.

“I shall give him such a length of my tongue that he will never forget it!” Harriet said vehemently. “Horrid, presumptuous man. Though the challenge would be almost irresistible. It would be great sport to marry him and to bring him so under my thumb that he would cringe if I so much as looked at him. That would teach him a lesson. ”

“Yes,” Rebecca said dryly. “But somehow, Harriet, I do not think it could be accomplished. And what would happen then?”

Harriet considered. “Then I should probably have a sore posterior a few times,” she said. “And I should probably fall in love with him because I have always longed to meet a man who would not put up with my whims and tantrums. Horrid man! He could never do it.” She smiled.

Rebecca lapsed into silence, content with some very interesting thoughts for the moment. Harriet and Mr. Carver. It was almost too preposterous for belief. But it just might work. Her attention was caught after a while by the sound of horses’ hooves and the almost immediate appearance of Christopher and Mr. Carver riding towards them along the driveway.

“Horrid man,” Harriet muttered. “Here he comes again. I thought he and Mr. Sinclair were supposed to leave the day after the fair. Why did he have to stay and plague me with a visit every day since?”

“I believe they stayed to lend us some support,” Rebecca said hastily, and composed her face to greet the two men, who were soon close to them and dismounting from their horses.

They turned back toward the house, Harriet walking ahead with Mr. Carver, and Rebecca and Christopher behind.

“How are you, Becky?” Christopher asked. “I was unable to come over here yesterday. It must be something of a relief to you and to Lady Holmes and Miss Shaw to have the funeral over.”

They talked about inconsequential matters as they walked. Rebecca had at least part of her attention on the couple ahead of them. Harriet had chin and nose in the air in a theatrical effort to be disdainful. Mr. Carver walked along at her side, his face solemn, his shirt points digging sharply into his cheeks. They did not talk much.

Maude was still sitting in the garden when they reached the front of the house. With her was Philip. He hastily dropped her hand when the others came into sight.

“Lady Holmes,” Christopher said, walking forward, his hand outstretched. “How are you?”

Maude smiled. “Better,” she said. “Now that Lord Holmes has been laid to rest and the will read, we can begin to recover again. Poor man. None of us realized just how ill he really was, even though Dr. Gamble had warned me that he might have a weak heart. I am very grateful to all your family and to Mr. Carver, Mr. Sinclair, for all the support you have given us in the last week. I really do not know how we would have gone along without you. I understand that you and Mr. Carver have even postponed your departure in order to be with us.”

“We leave tomorrow,” Christopher said. “We have ridden over here this afternoon to say good-by. What are your plans, Lady Holmes? Will you remain here?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, glancing hastily at Philip, “I shall stay here with Harriet for our year of mourning, anyway. Neither of us can really make plans for the future until then.”

Rebecca did not think it would be obvious to any of the others. She hoped it was not so; it would have been somewhat unseemly with Uncle Humphrey dead for only one week. But to her the rosy glow in Maude’s cheeks and the almost chiseled set to Philip’s face said worlds. Only time would tell, of course. But she would be very surprised if there were not a wedding to celebrate in little more than a year’s time. And she would be very happy for them. They would suit.

“Miss Shaw,” Mr. Carver was saying, “will you walk a little way?”

“If I do,” Harriet said tartly, “I want Rebecca to come too. I am too young, sir, to be alone with a gentleman.”

Rebecca and Christopher exchanged a straight-faced grin. Now how could she know that he was grinning when not a muscle in his face had moved? she wondered. Probably in the same way that he would know she was smiling! They had often been able to communicate without words or even facial expressions.

Mr. Carver made a slight bow in Rebecca’s direction. “Miss Shaw,” he said, “can’t I interest you in a walk? Your cousin has suddenly turned respectable.”

“Suddenly!” Harriet muttered, taking his proffered arm disdainfully. “Stay close, Rebecca.”

They did not walk far, just a short way into the pasture. There Mr. Carver stopped, ascertained that they were out of sight of the group in the garden, and turned to Harriet.

“Don’t know if you really want to embarrass Miss Shaw by having her here,” he said. He paused for her reaction.

Harriet had turned rather pink in the face, but she looked severely back at him. “Rebecca,” she said, without turning her head, “don’t you dare move away.”

“Think I had better marry you,” Mr. Carver said without further preamble. “No telling what will come of you if I don’t.”

“Thank you,” Harriet said. “I am about to swoon at the honor you have done me, sir. When do you get to the part about giving me thrashings?”

“Hope it won’t ever be necessary,” Mr. Carver said, “but I’ll do it if I have to, Harriet.”

“Oh!” she said, clenching her fists and pounding them on the air at her sides. “You are a horrid man. Is he not a horrid man, Rebecca?”

Rebecca wisely said nothing. She was somewhat embarrassed, as Mr. Carver had predicted. But she would not have missed the scene for worlds.

“Can’t marry you for at least a year,” Mr. Carver said. “Wouldn’t be respectful to your papa. But want us to be betrothed so that I can come here occasionally to keep an eye on you.”

“An eye is about all you will ever have on me, sir,” Harriet said.

“Sinclair and I have to leave early in the morning,” Mr. Carver continued. “Must have your final answer now. No time for games and nonsense, Harriet. Yes or no?”

“Is that all the proposal I get?” Harriet asked, very red in the face. “Do you call this the way to offer for a lady, sir?”

“Think yourself fortunate not to be slung over m’shoulder and hauled off to the nearest parson,” he said severely. “Yes or no, Harriet?”

“Ohhhh!” she wailed. “Yes, then. I see you will give me no peace until I consent. But you had better not ever try laying a violent hand on me, Lucas, or I’ll, I’ll—” 

“May Miss Shaw leave now?” Mr. Carver asked. “She will be very mortified to have to stand there and watch me kiss you.”

“You are not going to kiss me,” Harriet said vehemently. “You stay there, Rebecca, if you please.”

“Yes, I am,” Mr. Carver said. “Man has a right to kiss his betrothed. You may leave, Miss Shaw.”

Rebecca left.

A full ten minutes passed between the time when Rebecca returned to the group on the lawn and the arrival of Harriet and Mr. Carver. Harriet was looking very pink in the face as they approached.

“I know what you are all thinking,” she sang out as soon as she could be heard, and she blushed a deeper shade of red, “and you are quite right. I have just consented to wed Lucas as soon as my year of mourning is over and I can leave off my blacks. I consider myself betrothed, though Lucas will have to call on Papa’s cousin, of course, as he is now my guardian. Though why I should have to consult a man I have never even seen but once when Mama passed away, I do not know.” Her face crumpled suddenly. “I wish Papa were here.”

Christopher hastily rose to his feet. “I am more than delighted,” he said. “I am sure you two will suit, though I cannot predict a tranquil relationship.” He grinned. “One thing I can predict, though. Luke will be accepting the invitation that my mother has pressed on him to come back soon. Now I think it is time to leave.”

He shook hands with Philip, Harriet, and Maude, and turned last to Rebecca. He had his back to the company as he held out his hand to her. He spoke for her ears only.

“Good-bye, Becky,” he said, his eyes roaming her face. “I can leave with an easier mind knowing that your uncle has left you an annuity that will keep you in moderate comfort. You will continue with the school?”

“Yes,” she said. There was a raw ache in her throat.

He retained his hold on her hand. “Be happy,” he said. His eyes were holding hers almost desperately.

“Yes,” she said.

He removed his hand and turned abruptly away from her. “Are you ready, Luke?” he asked.

Mr. Carver patted Harriet’s hand, which was still linked through his arm. “Yes,” he said. He turned to Maude. “Thank you, ma’am, for the hospitality you have shown me during m’stay,” he said. “And accept again my deepest sympathies.”

He raised Harriet’s hand to his lips and turned to leave. He and Christopher walked away toward the stables, to which a groom had taken their horses when they arrived. Harriet and Rebecca stood looking after them while Maude got to her feet and invited Philip to take tea with them in the drawing room.

“Horrid man,” Harriet said. “Why would he choose to offer for me only on the day he must leave and when I need him so with Papa gone?”

Rebecca did not answer. It was doubtful that she even heard. She was engulfed by mingled panic and indecision, and by a terrible depression. She would never see him again. He would come riding out of the stable in a moment and disappear down the driveway, and she would never see him again. Ever.

When the two men appeared on horseback, Harriet sighed and waved her hand. Rebecca swayed on the spot for perhaps half a minute, and then she lifted her black skirts and flew across the lawn as fast as her feet would carry her. There was no conscious thought in her mind, no idea of what she would do if she could reach him in time.

Christopher saw her coming and pulled his horse to a stop. He bent from the saddle as she got closer and reached out a hand for her. Even his movements seemed to be involuntary. “What is it, Becky?” he asked, searching her wild expression with concerned eyes. “What is it, love?”

She put her hand in his, but when she stood staring up at him, words would not come.

He let go of her hand, dismounted from his horse, and handed the reins to an interested Mr. Carver. “Take him back to the stable, will you, Luke?” he asked. “You might wish to take tea unless you would prefer to go home ahead of me.”

Mr. Carver did as he was bidden, and Rebecca was aware with one part of her mind that Harriet was hurrying across the lawn toward the stable. She stared numbly at Christopher.

He tucked her hand through his arm and began to walk with her toward the driveway. “What is it, love?” he asked. “What can I do for you?”

“I have to tell you,” she said. “I cannot let you go without telling you that I lied. I do love you. I do, Christopher, and at this moment I do not care what you did to me in the past. I can’t let you go. Don’t leave me. If you truly love me, as you said you did a week ago, don’t leave me. I have no pride left. I love you.”

She did not know what she expected. She had not planned this scene and had had no chance to form any expectations. But she began to turn cold when his only reaction was to walk steadily on without a word. They were well along the driveway, out of sight of the house, when he finally spoke.

“I cannot see any solution, Becky,” he said. His voice was quite toneless. “We love each other. I would give my life for you. But we cannot marry, love. At the moment, perhaps, you do not care. But you would some time in the future, probably quite soon. You would remember that I once put my family before my love for you, and you would be bitter again. And I would not be able to defend myself, because I know you have every right to despise me. You were my betrothed. I had offered myself to you. And then I married someone else.”

“What do you mean when you say you put your family before me?” Rebecca asked. “What did your family have to do with what you did?”

He looked down at her. “Is it possible that you never heard the real story?” he asked. “I would have thought the truth would have come out long ago, though at the time I chose to give you no reason for my actions. I preferred to have you think me a fortune hunter than to know the truth.”

“I know nothing,” Rebecca said, looking up at him wide-eyed, “beyond what you told me in the churchyard when you came home.”

He took a deep breath. “I had to do it, Becky,” he said. “There was no alternative except the ruin of my family. I had known for many years that my parents found it difficult to keep going, but I had not realized how desperate things really were until shortly before I went away to London. Papa was in so much debt that there seemed no way out at all, except to sell everything. Even then, he would barely have been able to pay his debts. I thought of everything, Becky. I thought of all the employment I could get and of taking my family to live with me. And at the same time I wanted to marry you and to start raising my own family. Nothing would answer. It could just not be done. I could not possibly have supported everyone on the salary of a schoolmaster or physician or clerk.”

Rebecca stared at him. “You said nothing,” she said.

“I could not worry you with my problems,” he said. “It would not have been fair. And I wanted so much to be able to set the world at your feet.”

“I never wanted anything but you,” she almost whispered.

He covered her hand with his briefly. “I know that, love,” he said. “But I did not even seem to have the freedom to offer you that much. I should have been hanged for all the promises I made you, especially at Cenross. I think I must have been trying to force my own hand, making it almost impossible for myself to give you up.” He laughed harshly. “So I ended up doing everything wrong. I promised you the world and I left you.”

“You could have told me,” Rebecca cried. “I could have helped you, Christopher. I could have worked too as a teacher or a governess. Why did you not tell me?”

He gave her a grimace of a smile. “I chose not to,” he said. “I went to London to find what prospects there were of employment. And I discovered a gold mine!” His voice had become harsh. “I met Angela and her father, and for some reason her father made it very obvious to me that she was available. He was a man with one ambition in life: to reach the top of the social ladder by any means possible. He did not need a wealthy man—he had enough money for an army. He wanted a man of genteel birth. So I married her.”

He looked down at Rebecca, but she kept her head lowered.

“I would not have done it for myself, Becky,” he said. “Surely you will believe that. I do not think that I would even have done it for my parents. After all, it was Papa’s compulsive gambling habits that had got them into the fix. But I looked at Julian and the girls, so young still, so oblivious to the ruin that was facing them, and I could not deny them the future when it was in my power to do something about it.

“Things have improved now. My actions jolted Papa back to a sense of his responsibilities, I believe. He has recovered well enough that he no longer needs my constant support. But at the time that marriage seemed absolutely necessary. I had to choose, Becky, between you and my family. And I chose my family, leaving you an abandoned woman. You see now why I cannot marry you? I would never be able to rid myself of the shame of my past. And you would not be able to forget, either.”

“I would not want to forget,” Rebecca said quietly but very firmly. “I want to remember always what you did, Christopher Sinclair. But why did you not tell me at the time? How could you have imagined that it would be worse for me to know the truth? Had I known, I would have urged you to do exactly what you did. You must know that. You do not imagine, do you, that I would have been selfish enough to keep you for myself when a whole family would have suffered as a result? I thought you knew me better.”

Christopher jerked to a halt and pulled her roughly into his arms. “God, Becky,” he said against her hair, “you cannot know how filled with self-loathing I was for those five years of my marriage. I had to forget you, force you from my thoughts and my heart. I could not have stayed sane else. And besides, it seemed only fair that I marry Angela with the intention of making a proper marriage of it. I wanted to be able to give her all of myself. I tried. And I was never unfaithful to her, even when I realized that I had married a fiend and a slut.”

Rebecca shuddered within his arms.

“I was justly served,” he said. “She had married me too merely for convenience. She wanted respectability and easy access to the most exclusive of bedrooms. I discovered so many of her affairs that I eventually lost count. After the first few months ours was a marriage only in name. She had no attachment to anyone except perhaps to that scoundrel Bartlett, who I think had had hopes of marrying her himself, but who hung around even afterward because she lavished money on him. She seemed to believe it was his child she died bearing.”

“Oh, Christopher,” Rebecca said, looking urgently up into his face, her arms clasped around his neck. “And I thought I had suffered! Oh, my love, I wish I had known. No, I do not mean that, of course. I would have died, I think, if I had known the whole truth. But if I had just known why you left me. The worst part of these years has been thinking that all my life I had been deceived in your character. But you are far more wonderful than I ever dreamed.”

“Oh, no, Becky,” he said with a shaky laugh, burying his face against her neck, “no, do not put me on a pedestal, love. I will never be able to forgive myself for encouraging you to trust my love in the full knowledge that I might have to give you up.”

“Christopher, I love you,” she whispered into his ear. “You will not leave me, will you? Please say you will not leave me. We can still have a life together. We are not so very old. I can still have a child or two.”

He laughed and lifted his head to look down into her earnest face. “Becky,” he said, “are you offering for me, love? Are you going to visit Papa and ask for my hand?” 

She laughed uncertainly back at him. “If that is the only way to have you,” she said, “then I shall do so. I shall even go down on my knees to you and ask formally, if you wish.”

He chuckled and caught her to him in such a tight hug that she felt as if all the air had been squeezed from her lungs. “Becky,” he said, his cheek against the top of her head, “is it really possible that you can love me enough to forgive me? Will you have regrets later, love? I do not think I could bear that. Are you willing to marry me?” 

“You have to marry me,” she said into his neckcloth. “You have been alone with me, without a chaperon, for all of fifteen minutes. My virtue is hopelessly compromised.” He turned her face up to him with one finger beneath her chin. His face was very serious. “I love you, Becky,” he said, “and I could think of no more fitting sentence for my wrongs than to be allowed to spend the rest of my days trying to make you happy. Will you marry me, my love?” 

“Yes Christopher,” she said, “Oh, yes.”

His mouth on hers prevented any further talk for several minutes. And Rebecca’s heart sang. This was not a sad or desperate kiss like the others they had shared since his homecoming. This was a kiss of love and affection, of promise, and—of passion. They broke away from each other, breathless.

“Ah,” he said, “that brings back memories. I suppose I shall have to wait for you a deuced long time?”

“Not a full year,” she said quickly. “Not that long, Christopher. Uncle Humphrey was not my father or my husband. I won’t have to wait a year for an uncle, will I?”

“I shall take you to London at Christmas time,” he said, ‘‘and we will wed quietly. I don’t believe that will be unseemly, Becky.”

“Christmas time,” she said and they smiled warmly into each other’s eyes.

“That’s an eternity!” they both said together, and they touched foreheads and laughed.

“A compromised woman you may be, my love,” Christopher said, “but I will not have you a fallen woman. And you are in grave danger, believe me. Let us walk back to the house. Do you think the tea will still be warm in the pot?”

“We can find out,” Rebecca said. “And I am just bursting to tell someone. The whole world, if possible.”

He took her hand in a warm grip and turned her back in the direction of the house. “Let us go and tell the world,” he said, smiling at her. But he did not immediately move. “But before the world is let in on the secret, love, one more kiss?”

Rebecca smiled and lifted her mouth to his.