Lord Clayborne's Fancy (22 page)

Mott’s traveling carriage and the carter’s wagon were piled high the next morning with boxes, trunks and the harpsichord. Little George scampered about, reminding everyone that soon he would have a pony of his own, but secretly slipped off to bid Bessie good-bye. Knowing that prolonged partings would not help matters, Constance gently coaxed the party toward the carriage, leaving only Rebecca outside with Clayborne. He handed her a wrapped package and said gruffly, “It is a traveling artist’s folder. I thought you might find some worthy subjects along the way.” Then he stooped quickly and kissed her cheek.

“Thank you, Jason. I shall treasure it. Take care of yourself,” and she allowed him to hand her into the carriage, where she sat back as Mott instructed the coachman to start.

Long after the carriage was out of sight, Clayborne stood staring off into the distance, and finally bestirred himself to return to his study. He found no peace there, nor anywhere in the house or stables. His entire staff were aware that Rebecca had left him, and much as he was dear to them, they had grown fond of their mistress, too, and blamed him for mismanaging things. It was the only day of his life when he swore at his valet.

* * * *

In the traveling carriage Rebecca tried valiantly to regard this as an exciting adventure and discuss their future with Constance, but she soon gave up the effort and retired to her own thoughts. Harpert had been instructed to bring with her plenty of items to amuse George and she set herself to this task wholeheartedly. George’s kitten curled up in Rebecca’s lap and she stroked it absently. Mott and Constance talked quietly and at length, without anyone paying the least heed, only occasionally interrupted by a question from George.

It was a long and tiring journey for them all, with two nights spent on the road at comfortable if unfamiliar inns. When they arrived in Chipping Campden midmorning of the third day, Rebecca’s spirits began to brighten somewhat. At the village inn they were met by a Mr. Quince, who accompanied them to the cottage, which had been aired and cleaned for their arrival. It was located a short distance from the village shops and was, like them, of the native stone of the area. Roses covered the exterior in a wild array, obviously unattended for some time, but charming nonetheless.

“It’s beautiful!” Constance exclaimed with delight.

“Well, ma’am, I fear there is need for a great deal of decorating inside,” Mr. Quince murmured.

No one paid him much heed as they hastened down from the carriage and into the charming little house. It was indeed as small as the estate agent had claimed it would be, and certainly had not seen any paint or wallpaper for half a century, but the young ladies were enchanted with it. Mott looked on skeptically, but George found it comfortable with its ragged carpets and scratched furniture.

Rebecca and Constance went from room to room, planning as they progressed, and Mott eventually commented dryly, “I can see you shall not be bored.”

“Are you satisfied with it, Constance?” Rebecca asked.

“It could not be better… for our purposes, you understand,” she explained to Mott as she laughed and picked up a broken stool in the kitchen.

“I understand perfectly,” he said with a grin, “if your purpose is to spend the next year of your life restoring it to habitable condition.”

“Tut!” Rebecca exclaimed. “It is not so bad as that. It shall be comfortable within the month, I promise you.”

“Then you may expect me back in a month to observe the miracle,” he retorted.

“Pay no heed to him, Constance. Let’s see the bedrooms next.” They climbed the short stairs to find the four small rooms off the hall. “You pick your room first and we shall have the coachman send in your trunk,” Rebecca suggested.

Constance chose a room overlooking the village street, and Rebecca one facing on the rear yard with a stream at the farthest end and a tiny stable beside it.

Harpert also chose a room on the back side, and soon their trunks were being deposited hastily in their designated places. While Rebecca went off to scout out George, Constance assured Mott that they would do well in their new home.

“I cannot like to see you out of touch with your brother,” he said with concern. “You will let him know immediately where you’ve located, will you not, Miss Exton?”

“I shall write him tomorrow, as soon as I find my writing paraphernalia,” she chuckled. “You are good to have seen us here, Mr. Mott, and both Rebecca and I are grateful.”

“I wish I could stay to see you settled in, but the journey is long for George and we should be on our way.” He took her hand and said, “You will allow me to return in a month, Miss Exton?”

“It would give me great pleasure, Mr. Mott,” she responded shyly.

“Gregory. And may I call you Constance?”

“If you please, Gregory.” Their quiet moment was interrupted by a whooping George, who erupted into the room bearing an enormous outdated hat which he announced he had found in the attic.

“It would ever be like this,” Mott sighed.

“I know.”

Rebecca followed George in and shooed the males out of the cottage, thanking them profusely for their escort and asserting that they should not be delayed another moment on their long journey. Mott assured her he would write Clayborne of their successful journey and did not delay his departure longer.

The rest of the day was spent unpacking and shopping in the village for candles and food. Rebecca arranged for a village lad to come each day to care for Firely, and they made inquiries about a horse for Constance. Harpert prepared a simple but delicious meal for them and Rebecca and Constance sat down to plan for their new home in earnest.

“We can each do our own bedrooms. I shall purchase some material for Harpert and anything else she may need. She shall be in charge of the kitchen needs, and you and I can work together on the downstairs rooms,” Rebecca suggested. “We need to keep the fourth room upstairs as a box room anyway.” She grinned. “So much for Jane Austen’s Robert Ferrars and his spacious cottages.”

“I can hardly wait to begin. Mama did not allow me the least say in anything to do with the house in London and I am bursting with ideas.”

“We shall not have a feather to fly with by the end of the week,” Rebecca warned her.

“Speaking of feathers, the harpsichord will need to be requilled. I shall send to London for some condor feathers.”

Rebecca lay in the unfamiliar bed that night wondering if she had done the right thing. She had come to want more than anything to settle matters with her husband, but she could not bear the anguish he lived with, inadvertently caused by her. To watch him suffer and not be able to reconcile himself was too painful for her. Perhaps the strong attachment for him which had grown in her these last weeks would diminish when she was away from him. And certainly he would be able to remake his life when he saw that she was sincere in her desire to give him the freedom to do so. The future stretched bleakly before her in spite of all the plans she had made for her new life.

Chapter Sixteen

It was almost a week before Clayborne received the awaited letter from Rebecca, in which she advised him of the safe journey and the condition of their new home, the pleasant countryside and the kindly neighbors. She spoke of the projects they planned to undertake and Mott’s comments on the cottage. Her thanks for the artist’s folder were again expressed and she had sketched a drawing of the cottage for him, with Constance in an apron waving from the window. She told him she had written her sisters and she enjoyed her rides on Firely. With the hope that he was well and that all flourished at Gray Oaks she signed it “Fondly, Rebecca.” There was no indication that she would write again, and the letter had been forwarded by the Chichester solicitor.

Clayborne tried to read between the lines but eventually accepted the letter as it stood: Rebecca was happy and busy in her new situation and had no intention of involving him in her life henceforth. Since he had lived in anticipation that she might have regretted her decision, this letter merely cast him down further. He found it unbearable to remain in the country where the gossip was all of Rebecca’s departure, and decided to escape to London where it was unlikely to be known as yet. He had no doubt that it would be known soon enough, but he could always go on to Yorkshire if things got too much for him in the city.

London did not prove to divert his black mood, for the balls were insipid, the card parties boring, and there were few outlets for his restless energy. He took to attending Jackson’s Boxing Saloon daily and became proficient in the sport. Though he saw Lady Hillston flirting with anyone wealthy enough to be of interest, he made no move to approach her. Hours were spent in his library with a book open in his lap, but he stared vacantly into the empty grate. At White’s he gambled, and because he did not care in the least, usually won. Occasionally he drove out to the races but could not remember which horse he had bet on.

When he had been in London for a week, he was surprised and a little uneasy to run into Sir Rupert Farthington. This was not particularly propitious, for when he asked, “How do you do, Sir Rupert?” that vague, short-sighted gentleman replied, “Very well indeed. And you, sir? Oh, yes, it is Clayborne. Married to one of my daughters, are you not?”

Rather taken aback, Clayborne replied, “Yes, sir, your daughter Rebecca.”

“Of course. Of course. Is she in town? I should visit her I suppose. And her mother will wish to know, of course.”

“No, she is not in town,” Clayborne declared exasperatedly. “I think you had best come home with me, Sir Rupert, for I have something to discuss with you.”

Sir Rupert appeared very reluctant to accept this invitation, but Clayborne refused to allow him to join his cronies at White’s until he had spoken with the negligent parent, offering him a choice vintage Madeira as inducement. When Sir Rupert was settled with glass in hand, Clayborne caught his attention by announcing, “Rebecca has left me to set up her own establishment.”

The older man goggled at him and protested, “No such thing. You must be mistaken!”

“I assure you I am not,” Clayborne replied patiently.

“Why should she do such a thing? M’wife assured me you were all the crack, well-breeched and nice spoken. Made Rebecca a ladyship, too. She’s a good little puss. Wouldn’t go causing any trouble.”

“Sir Rupert, I tell you she has left Gray Oaks.”

“Then perhaps she has gone to Farthington Hall,” he suggested hopefully.

“She has not gone to Farthington Hall. She has let a cottage in the country with a young woman she met in London last year.”

“Really? Where is this cottage?” Sir Rupert asked belligerently.

“I have no idea. She would not tell me and she assured me that she has no intention of telling you or her mother either.”

“Whatever has come over the chit? I know what it is, you have frightened her. You young men, always rushing your fences! She’s a shy chit, Rebecca, where it comes to men. Bookish, you know. You’ve made too many demands on the poor little thing,” he said indignantly.

Goaded, Clayborne replied, “Quite the opposite, I assure you.”

“Huh? What’s this? So you are taking your pleasure elsewhere? You have hurt the poor young lady’s feelings, no doubt. Women do not understand these things.” He was full of reproach.

“Sir Rupert, I have no intention of trying to explain why Rebecca has left me. You shall learn that from her, if at all, which I doubt. I merely wished to apprise you of the situation and give you the name and direction of the solicitor in Chichester who will forward any mail to her.”

He turned to the desk and dipped a pen, scratching on crested paper for a moment before handing the sheet to his father-in-law. “I shall not detain you longer. I hope you will convey my respects to your wife.”

Sir Rupert was ushered out of Clayborne House darkly muttering “Young sprig!” and Clayborne wondered if he was to expect a visit from Rebecca’s mother. He was beginning to feel relieved on this score by the next day, when she was announced and he reluctantly had her shown into the library.

Lady Farthington had not been informed of her daughter’s waywardness until two hours before, owing to Sir Rupert’s absentmindedness. She had been shocked and appalled, coming directly to Clayborne House on finishing her lengthy toilette.

Lady Farthington entered the room with handkerchief to eyes to indicate her great distress. She would not actually shed tears, for she feared it was bad for the complexion and knew that it reddened the eyes, and she was justly proud of her large blue eyes. Regarding Clayborne with a tremulous, wistful smile perhaps appropriate to a younger woman but not suitable to her age or the flintiness in her eyes, she began her attack.

“I understand, Lord Clayborne, that Rebecca has set up an establishment of her own somewhere in the country.”

“That is true.”

“With whom is she sharing this cottage?” Lady Farthington queried, wrinkling her nose distastefully.

“Constance Exton. I believe you are acquainted with Miss Exton.”

“To be sure. Just such another as Rebecca herself, bookish and uninterested in society. Plays the harpsichord rather well, though, as I recall. But her mother is a harridan.”

“Just so,” Clayborne said.

“What is the cause of this escapade, Clayborne? Is it known of yet in London?”

“As to the cause, you shall have to inquire of Rebecca herself. I do not believe word has reached town of it as yet.”

“And what do you intend to do when it does? You will be a laughingstock and I shall have to retire to the countryside! I shall not be able to present my beautiful Mary in the spring!”

“It will be no more than a nine-days’ wonder, Lady Farthington. I am sure Mary will not suffer from it at all. She is quite beyond worrying about such things, I feel sure,” he mused,  remembering her part in the escapade at Vauxhall.

“I shall be the judge of that,” Lady Farthington snapped. “What do you intend doing about the situation?”

“There is nothing I can do, ma’am. Rebecca has an allowance sufficient to maintain herself in this cottage and she shall do just as pleases her.”