Julie Anne Long (6 page)

Connor nearly choked on a burst of startled laughter. “Oh, I think I may miss Edelston when we’ve gone, wee Becca.”

“But now do you see, Connor? If I suffer through too much more of Edelston I may expire or go mad with boredom.” She lowered her voice. “When are we leaving?”

“In four days, wee Becca—two days before the wedding,” Connor answered. “I will give you more instructions one day prior to our departure.”

“Why won’t you tell me everything
now
?”

“Because, wee Becca, I think it is all you can do now to maintain a secret, and if I gave you a head full of instructions and still more secrets to keep, I think your face would betray your thoughts to everyone who saw you.”

“Don’t you trust me?” She sounded wounded.

“If I didna trust you absolutely, we would not be having this conversation,” Connor said firmly. “’Tis a compliment I’m giving you, wee Becca. A talent for playacting is not an admirable skill in a female. I do not wish to burden you with the need to become an actress.”

“But what if I were a spy?” Rebecca said dreamily. “In service to my country? Then I would need to know playacting, would I not?”

Connor rolled his eyes. “You are not a spy, you shall never be a spy, and I have a few questions for you. Are you listening?”

“Yes,” Rebecca said obediently, which fooled Connor not at all. He gave her a quick mock-warning frown, and she grinned in return, but stayed quiet.

Connor spent a few moments brushing Sultan’s hindquarters before he spoke again.

“After we leave,” Connor said slowly, “there is a possibility that you may never see your family again. Not a certainty, but a possibility. You may never again live the comfortable and carefree life you live here. Have you truly given thought to this?”

Rebecca gazed somewhere over his shoulder for a moment, as though looking toward the future he described and assessing, and then met his eyes frankly.

“I have weighed the possible consequences, Connor. My life is not really carefree, is it, nor so comfortable, if I am essentially to be imprisoned by marriage to a man I neither like nor love? It would be slow death by strangulation, and I like to think that my family, if ever I could make them understand, would prefer that I leave. I would rather have risk and freedom. I have made my choice.”

Connor nodded, satisfied; he had needed to hear her say it aloud.

“Are we going to America?” Rebecca asked suddenly.

Connor stared at her thoughtfully, with some surprise, for a long moment.

“Perhaps,” he said finally.

“Because . . . you have mentioned America so many times, and I know they need doctors in America. Perhaps the need will be such that they will not be prejudiced against female doctors,” Rebecca said shyly.

“Perhaps,” Connor said again, and smiled, to soften his change of subject. “Now, tomorrow, bring a picnic hamper out to the stables. Pack in it just one gown and an extra pair of boots. You will have two such picnics, this week, wee Becca. Keep in mind, however, when you are choosing gowns and shifts and cloaks and what have you that we must travel light.”

Rebecca’s heart began to hammer.

“The wedding is Sunday,” she said.

“A pity we shall not be there for it, eh, wee Becca?”

“Lady Montgomery—”

“Yes, dear, that was very fine, very fine indeed,” Gillian, Lady Montgomery said absently.

Her young pupil beamed, encouraged, and bent to her trumpet again. The resulting blats and squeals were meant to be “Greensleeves,” and someday, Lady Montgomery thought distantly, perhaps they would actually sound like “Greensleeves.” This particular pupil, the daughter of a rich and eccentric Scottish landowner named Honeywell, showed no real aptitude for anything, but she made up for it by throwing herself into everything she undertook with a great deal of enthusiasm. Lady Montgomery believed in rewarding enthusiasm. Nothing worthwhile is ever accomplished, she thought, without enthusiasm.

She held a letter that had been delivered to her earlier. It was addressed to her in a hand that seemed vaguely familiar, and while her pupil practiced, she thought she would read it. Lady Montgomery had always been able to do a number of things at once; listening critically to a trumpet pupil while absorbing the contents of a letter posed no real challenge.

She fumbled in her apron pocket for her spectacles, and pushed them up to sit snugly on her nose.

Dear Aunt,
she read while Miss Honeywell blatted away. Dear
Aunt!
Who on earth—

I pray you continue in good health. If I did not have a good deal of faith in your remarkable constitution and a very pressing reason to make myself known, I would not risk startling you with this letter. However, at the moment, I have both. The Aunt Gillian Montgomery I remember would be pleased, and even amused, I think, rather than distraught to hear from me, and would find it in her heart to forgive me when I appear in person to tell my whole story.

I am alive and well, Aunt, not killed in battle as previously assumed. I am sound of mind and sound of body. And though I hardly dare hope you will receive me, I write to beg a favor: I bring a friend, a young woman, who wishes to escape a hateful impending marriage. Her mind will delight you, I am certain of it, and I think in her you will find an eager pupil and kindred soul. When you meet her, I know you will not think my action rash; rather, I think you will believe as I do: that I have done the right and only thing that could have been done under these circumstances.

I apologize if this places a burden on your conscience, but I beg of you, do not mention this letter to anyone. I do not intend to take up my title or properties, or to displace Richard from his current role. I will deliver my friend into your safekeeping and then depart the continent. You may expect us in Scotland before the end of June. I remain your Loving Nephew,

Roarke

She read the letter twice, first to understand the content, then merely to savor it, and then Gillian Montgomery slowly lowered the letter to her lap.

Well, then. The young scoundrel was alive. Memories began flapping about in her mind, haphazardly, like sleeping bats disturbed by a blast of sunlight.

Roarke had been her sister Elise’s eldest son, and Lady Montgomery had always blamed the old duke for his death. But now she smiled to herself:
Ah, your son, he pulled one over on you, you vicious old sod,
she thought.
He lives.
And thanks to you, he does not want his legacy. He does not even seem to know that his brother no longer lives. Perhaps I can change his mind. But perhaps the best revenge would be to help Roarke live the life he wants to live, rather than the one you tried to force upon him.

On the whole, Lady Montgomery found revenge amusing. Her school for girls was revenge of a sort; her conservative Scottish husband had died and left her with piles and piles of money. A good Protestant, he would have been aghast to find Miss Honeywell playing trumpet in his parlor.

I will see what I can do for Roarke and for his young friend
, Lady Montgomery thought. And her heart leaped at the thought.

There is a possibility you may never see your family again
.

Connor’s words rang in Rebecca’s head as she left the stable. She’d meant what she’d said to him; she
had
weighed the possible consequences of leaving. She did truly believe it was the right thing to do.

But that didn’t mean it would be an easy thing to do.

On the way back to the house, she’d made another decision, and it, too, was a risky one. But again, Rebecca felt it was the right thing to do. She wanted to say good-bye to Lorelei; in a way, she felt she could not leave until she had Lorelei’s approval and understanding, for it was possible her disappearance would affect her beautiful sister’s future.

She found Lorelei in her bedroom, her bed covered in a spill of colors and fabrics, silks both muted and brilliant, glossy satins, fine laces and gauzes: her wardrobe for the London season. Lorelei was standing over all of it, a look of disbelieving rapture on her face.

“Lorelei—”

“Oh! Rebecca! You startled me! I was just planning my ensembles. What do you think? Do you like the lavender silk with the pink slippers, or perhaps with the darker—”

“Lorelei.”

This time, Lorelei noticed the note of quiet urgency in Rebecca’s voice. She looked up in surprise.

“I have something to tell you,” Rebecca began carefully.

“Rebecca, are you unwell? Shall I call Mama?”

“Good God, no! It’s . . . Lorelei . . . please just listen. If there was a way I could . . . avoid marrying Lord Edelston . . . would you approve?”

Lorelei looked uneasy. “Well . . . it is not for me to approve or disapprove, Becca, but . . .” Lorelei took a deep breath. “I care more for your happiness than I do for my honor, if that is your question,” she finished staunchly.

The words throbbed in the air between them.

Rebecca took a deep breath. “Lorelei, I do not intend to wed Lord Edelston.”

“But when—how—the wedding is
Sunday
!”

“I intend to . . . miss the wedding.”

Rebecca stared meaningfully into Lorelei’s crystalline blue eyes, willing her to take her meaning.

And after a moment, Lorelei did take her meaning. “I have some money, Rebecca,” she said slowly. “You may have it. But, oh, Rebecca,
please
be careful.”

Lorelei lifted the lid of her jewelry box and extracted a pound note.

“A wager I won from Susannah Carson. She thought her nephew would be a boy. I guessed otherwise. Her new niece was born last week.”

“Wagers? Trysts? Whatever shall we do with you, Lorelei Tremaine?” Rebecca teased. “I do not believe the vicar would consider these events stops on the path to righteousness.”

Lorelei placed the pound note in Rebecca’s hand with a squeeze and an intent, imploring look. They shared a moment of awkward silence.

“I didn’t come for money, Lorelei.”

“I know. But you will need it.”

Rebecca smiled slightly. “I just wanted you to know that I . . . I will miss you.”

Tears began to well up in Lorelei’s eyes. “Oh, Rebecca! ’Tis all my fault! If only—”

“For heaven’s sake, Lorelei,” Rebecca teased again. “I thought we decided to blame Edelston.”

“But . . . when I marry an earl . . . Becca, I want you to be there.”

“I want to be there, too, Lor.” Oh,
wonderful
, now
she
was going to cry, too. “You will not tell Mama or—”

“Never. Perhaps it is
their
fault.”

Rebecca was not inclined to disagree with her at the moment. “I just wanted to tell you that I know what I am doing, and that I will be very safe.”

“When will you—?”

Rebecca shook her head. “Better that you don’t know, I think. Mama and Papa will winkle it out of you somehow, and see you as an accomplice. Try to be happy for me, Lorelei. I can promise you I will be happier away from Edelston than with him.”

“All right.” Lorelei’s voice was soft and sad.

“And take care of Pepper for me.”

“All right.”

“And . . .” But Rebecca could no longer speak for tears, and there really wasn’t much left to say, anyhow. She kissed her sister’s smooth white cheek and dashed out of her room.

Rebecca scanned the top shelf of the library bookcase for her father’s infamous
Caldwell’s Book of Anatomy
, meaning to take a farewell look at all the lovely gory line drawings and arcane words before she was forced to abandon the book forever. Her face was fierce with concentration, and as she searched, in vain, her foot tapped out an irritated little rhythm. Rebecca’s whole body habitually participated in whatever mood she happened to be in.

It was the eve of her departure. For the last few days, she had tried, in her mind and in her heart, to bid farewell to the things she loved, the garden and apple tree and the horses and dogs, to Mama and Papa and Lorelei, who
would
insist on gazing at her forlornly. Fortunately, her parents seemed oblivious.

But all of the things she loved had already taken on a new and distant and even slightly sinister cast; each seemed a bar, however benign, of the genteel prison she had recently learned she occupied. Perhaps she would ache for them later.

Her irritation at the moment, in truth, was directed at Connor, and it had been growing in magnitude all morning. Although it never crossed Rebecca’s mind to doubt whether Connor would indeed successfully spirit her away from Tremaine House and the nightmare of her impending nuptials—Connor was, after all, preternaturally competent—she was a trifle irked that he hadn’t allowed her to participate in the planning of her own escape. Rebecca had made the decision to leave impulsively, but she had also reconsidered her decision later, at length and with a good deal of gravity, and had stuck by it with admirable maturity. Connor, she thought, should have been impressed by her coolheadedness and made her a full partner in his scheme. Instead, he was behaving much like her father or even Edelston would: utterly confident she would mindlessly do exactly as she was told. Connor, of all people, should know better, she thought.

She longed for an opportunity to demonstrate her own resourcefulness. As she rotated about in order to scan the opposite bookcase, her eyes lighted on the heavy service-able gray overcoat draped over the back of the library chair. Papa’s overcoat, she thought idly.

Inspiration struck.

Glancing stealthily toward the library doorway, Rebecca plunged a hand into the left outside pocket of the coat. Quite empty. Undaunted, she transferred her hand to the right outside pocket and rummaged about. Nothing.

Finally, she gingerly lifted the coat from the back of the chair and felt for an inner pocket. When her hand moved over a lump that made a promising rustling noise, her heart began beating in wild triumph.
Money!
She could contribute money to their journey, if nothing else. She slipped her fingers into the slash of a pocket . . . and pulled out a one-pound note. Very anticlimactic. Rebecca sighed. She had been hoping for a much higher denomination.