Lord Clayborne's Fancy (16 page)

“Please, Mary, we will not talk of it. Let us go home now,” Rebecca said quietly.

But they were not to escape so easily from the gardens. As they were heading toward the exit, Mary gave a most ungentlemanly squeak. “Good God, Becka, there is papa’s friend Mr. Cummings. He will surely recognize us!”

Rebecca halted in confusion. Mr. Cummings was a neighbor at Farthington Hall and had known both girls since they were born. Her abrupt halt had drawn his attention and she watched with fascinated horror as his puzzled expression changed to one of amazement when he assimilated her blond wig. His eyes darted to her breeched companion and the amazement disintegrated into incredulity. He stood there open-mouthed, unable to voice his surprise or disapproval.

It had by now, however, occurred to both Rebecca and Mary to ascertain who his companion was. With a sigh of unholy relief Rebecca found that the female with him was not Mrs. Cummings but an overdressed painted lady whom he would be unlikely to own, so she grasped Mary’s arm tightly, nodded pleasantly to Mr. Cummings, and made to pass the couple.

Loath to allow the matter to rest here, Mr. Cummings could see that no good would come of his speaking, now or later. He uncomfortably acknowledged Rebecca’s nod and allowed the young ladies to pass, then took a handkerchief from his pocket, mopped his brow and muttered darkly and incoherently about what the world was coming to.

Mary choked on her laughter while her sister grinned and hurried them out of the gardens. “That was much too close for comfort,” Rebecca whispered as they climbed into a boat. “And Clayborne may be home before us.”

“I can get us in. There’s nothing to worry about,” Mary assured her, elegantly draping one leg over the other. When they arrived at Clayborne House she led Rebecca to the servants’ quarters, produced a key, and they slipped in undetected. There was no sign of Clayborne when they reached their rooms, so Rebecca pressed her sister’s hand, said, “Thank you, my love, you were magnificent,” and presented herself to the curious but unquestioning Harpert to be readied for bed.

Mary was decidedly pleased with their adventure, more perhaps because it suggested further possibilities for getting up a lark than because of what they had learned, but there, too, she was pleased. It was obvious that Clayborne had been dismissed by that hellcat of his and now Rebecca need not suffer. Had she known it, Mary would have considered Rebecca’s attitude incomprehensible, but her sister had not chosen to confide in her. So Mary spent the greater part of the next day in the stables blissfully unaware of the scene taking place indoors.

Alone in her room Rebecca was drawing a most satisfactory cartoon of Lady Hillston, dressed inaccurately in widow’s weeds, but placed obligingly in Vauxhall where the lady herself was portrayed as the source of the fireworks. So intent was Rebecca on this occupation that she did not hear the door open, and she was not aware of Clayborne until she heard an oath behind her. She stifled her first instinct to hide the cartoon, knowing that it was far too late for that, and turned as calmly as she could to face him.

Clayborne’s astonished eyes raked first her and then the cartoon, and, transferring the letter he carried to his left hand, he imperiously held out his right for it. Rebecca reluctantly parted with it, saying coolly, “You did not knock, my lord.”

“Obviously,” he replied curtly. “What is the meaning of this, Rebecca?” She could not make up her mind how to answer that so she said nothing. “I shall have an answer, and I shall have it now.”

“Frankly, sir, I would rather not answer, now or ever. I should let it lie if I were you,” she retorted with more courage than she felt.

“But you are not and I am waiting. I have all day,” he said, disposing himself comfortably in a chair near her and never taking his eyes from her face.

“Well, let me see. That is a cartoon of Lady Hillston. I am in the habit of drawing cartoons, sir,” she explained carefully, “as I find them most rewarding as an outlet for my spleen.”

“Do you now?” he asked, almost curiously. “I should be honored to see more of them.”

“But you shall not see any more of them. They are my own personal property, and I have no intention of exhibiting them to you.”

“Let us return to this particular cartoon. How did you come to draw a cartoon of Lady Hillston at Vauxhall?”

“Ah... Because I saw her there.”

“When?”

“Last night” Rebecca sighed.

“Let me understand this, ma’am. You were at Vauxhall last night. You surely did not go alone?”

“No.”

“Who accompanied you?”

“It does not matter, my lord.”

“But it does. Who accompanied you?”

Rebecca sighed again. “Mary.”

Clayborne looked truly thunderstruck. “You are not telling me that you and Mary went to Vauxhall without a man to escort you?”

“Well, yes and no,” Rebecca temporized.

“You either did or you did not. Do not fence with me, Rebecca. I will have the truth.”

“Mary and I went alone, yes, but it appeared that there was a man in our party.”

“Tell me the truth, Rebecca!” he roared.

“Quietly, please, Jason. There is no need to alarm the household. Mary was dressed as a young man, and no one... questioned the masquerade in the least. She did an admirable imitation of you, and I believe is rather talented,” Rebecca mused.

Clayborne raised his eyes heavenward and crushed the letter he held in his hands. “I cannot believe that you would pull such a prank. Mary perhaps, but not you.”

“Really? Why, I do believe I am flattered, my lord,” Rebecca murmured demurely.

For a moment it appeared that Clayborne would shake her, but he overcame the impulse and asked ominously, “And why, pray tell, did you go to Vauxhall? If it were some wild start of Mary’s, surely you could have put an end to it.”

“Please believe me that it was in no way Mary’s idea. She is not in the least to blame for you cannot regard her considerable enjoyment once there to have been accountable for the scheme.”

“Then I am to understand that you initiated the scheme. And I ask you again, ma’am, why did you go to Vauxhall?”

Rebecca hesitated, and decided that lying would not help the case, for surely Clayborne must know the reason, hound her for it as he might. “I went there,” she said, moistening her lips nervously, “to see you and Lady Hillston.”

“And why did you think to see me there with Lady Hillston?”

“Mary heard you were going to Vauxhall last night. Quite by accident, I assure you.”

“But she did not hear that I was going there with Lady Hillston.”

“True.”

“Rebecca,” he said with exasperation, “will you please simply tell me the whole?”

“I had rather not.”

“I realize that, but I will have it, whether it pleases you or not.”

“Very well. You see, when I was feeling unwell at the Stonebridges’ rout the other night I reluctantly overheard two women discussing you and Lady Hillston.” She swallowed convulsively and continued, “Then I asked Mary if she had seen you with anyone in the park, and against her will, mind you, she related what she knew.”

“She overheard my conversation with Lady Hillston?” he asked incredulously.

“One of Mary’s most endearing qualities is her keen hearing, my lord. She has a great deal of experience in eavesdropping. Perhaps you did not know.”

“You might have mentioned it, but I had forgotten,” he rejoined sardonically. “Please continue.”

“Well, that is really about all. When she heard that you were going to Vauxhall we drew the obvious conclusion, and that is why we went.”

“You went to spy on me?” he roared again.

“Hush! I should not call it precisely spying. You see, I did not wish to rely on hearsay, so I was determined to learn the truth for myself. I did,” she admitted scrupulously, “encourage Mary to tell me what she had heard. She would never divulge such a thing on her own, you know, for she hates a tattle. But then she is my sister and did not refuse me.”

“Admirable, no doubt.”

“The fault, Jason, if there is one, is mine. You have no reason to be cross with Mary.”

“We will leave that for the present. Were you successful in your endeavor?”

“You mean, did we overhear you and Lady Hillston?”

“Precisely. Overhear, eavesdrop, spy, what you will.”

“Yes.”

“And what did you hear?”

“Now, Jason, I really think it unnecessary to repeat that. I might just say that we came upon you when she was making plans for a visit to Winthrop Manor and we departed when she joined Major Frome’s party.” She stared sadly down at her hands, not sure why they were moving so restlessly in her lap, as she was willing them to be still. “I’m sorry if you were hurt, Jason. But I must confess that she did not seem worthy of your regard.”

“You are impertinent. Nevertheless, it is true. She has never been worthy of regard.” He studied the cartoon carefully, as she watched anxiously, and finally he grinned. “You are very clever with a pen.”

“Thank you.”

“Tell me, Rebecca,” he turned serious once more, “what had you intended to do if you learned of a continuing liaison?”

“You misunderstand, Jason. My intent was to discover for myself if what I suspected was true—that you married me with your affections engaged elsewhere,” she said sadly.

Clayborne looked startled and then annoyed. “What difference could that possibly make now?” He had no intention of telling her the truth.

“It makes all the difference. You see, it means when you married me you knew that our marriage had very little chance for success. When you add to that the fact that you believe I did not come to you as a virgin, you get the shambles that our marriage has been for almost a year.”

“You are trying to shift the blame to me,” he said stiffly.

“If there is any blame, Jason, it is all yours. I have nothing with which to reproach myself. I’m sorry for you if you were hurt by Lady Hillston, and I’m sorry if you were hurt by me inadvertently, but I know the whole now and I must plan accordingly.”

“Plan what?” he asked angrily.

“What to do for myself. I don’t know for sure, but I will be thinking about it, and I will let you know when I make a decision.”

“There is no necessity for any decision. You are my wife, and you shall act as my wife.”

“No, Jason, I don’t think so. But I will have to decide.”

“Are you threatening to leave me?” he asked incredulously.

“If you wish to put it that way, I suppose I am.”

“You cannot be serious! What would you do? Where would you go?”

“I tell you I have not decided. We will discuss the matter further when I have had time to give it some more thought.”

“We will discuss it now,” he ordered.

“I think not, Jason,” she replied calmly, and then could not help adding with due gravity, “I fear I am overwrought, my lord, and must rest for a while to recoup my strength.”

“Stop your nonsense, Rebecca. You have never been overwrought in your life, and certainly not now, when you might have the grace to be!”

“You are unkind. Tell me, Jason, why did you come to my room in the first place?”

“Why? Oh, yes, I have had a letter from my brother-in-law asking if I will have my nephew George to Gray Oaks for a week while he’s away on business. He’s bringing George to London tomorrow and would rather we had him than the boy’s grandmother, who is rather elderly. Would you be willing to have the lad?”

“It is thoughtful of you to consult me, and I would be happy to have him. I think it is time we returned to Gray Oaks.”

“Obviously it is well past time. The carriage is back. I will have no more such pranks as you and Mary pulled last night. It is really beyond anything,” he continued, working up to a nice pitch. “What if you had been recognized? You would not have been able to show your face in London.”

“I cannot imagine a worse fate,” Rebecca retorted. “In fact, we were recognized, but nothing will be heard from that quarter, I assure you. Mary made an admirable young man, and she knows almost no one in the city as yet. It was most unfortunate that we should have run into a neighbor, but he won’t mention it.” Her lips twitched. “I was perfectly safe in Mary’s escort.”

“Have you no respect for the proprieties, Rebecca?”

“Very little. Of what use are they to me? However, I shall attempt to respect them for your sake while I reside under your roof. I found it necessary this once to contravene them a bit, but I hope I shall have no further reason to do so.”

“We will leave for Gray Oaks in the morning.”

“Should we not wait for little George?”

“We will leave as soon as he arrives then,” he retorted.

“He may be tired, poor tyke,” she said solicitously.

“Oh, for God’s sake, then we will leave the next day. You are enough to try the patience of a saint, Rebecca.” Clayborne rose from his chair, a frown creasing his brow and his eyes dark with frustration. “And keep your sister out of the stables!”

“Unfair Jason. Your quarrel is with me.”

Clayborne did not reply, but turned on his heels and stalked toward the door. Rebecca called after him, “I should like to keep the cartoon, Jason, if you do not mind.”

“Well, I do mind!” he bellowed, but he retraced his steps, slapped it down on her writing table with a glare at her and stomped out of the room.

Chapter Twelve

After Clayborne’s strategic withdrawal from his wife’s room, he wandered about the house, deeply upset. Eventually he invaded the drawing room where Miss Turnpeck and Meg had just greeted a morning caller.

“So nice to see you again. What brings you to town?” Miss Turnpeck asked the visitor.

“A small commission for my wife. She will have it that a christening gown for the baby must come from London, and that I must be the one to choose it. Much I know about such things,” the caller said with a laugh.

“Oh, Lord Clayborne, here is someone you know,” Miss Turnpeck greeted his arrival cheerfully.

Since Clayborne had never laid eyes on the young man before and the caller looked equally bewildered, Meg hastened to introduce them. “Jason, this is our friend Thomas Burns from near Salisbury. Thomas, this is Lord Clayborne. I have sent for Rebecca and Mary for we are all old friends.”