Lord Clayborne's Fancy (31 page)

“Mary was quite taken with it. She told me, you know, that she had intended to spirit it off to a print shop, but then she felt better after Lady Hillston’s horse bolted with her, so she didn’t.” When Clayborne looked aghast at this she laughed and explained, “It was Lady Hillston’s comment about your playing nursemaid to Mary that annoyed her.”

“Of course. Thank God she didn’t. Though, on the other hand, I should have loved to have seen Alexis’s face when she saw it!”

He continued to go through the sketches, murmuring, “That is wonderful of Uncle Henry” or “Ah, yes, the dinner party,” as he went along. When he was finished he set them aside and looked at her quizzingly. “I do not think that is quite all.”

“No, for I have kept back the sketches of you. You must understand, Jason, that sometimes I draw in anger, that it makes me feel better to set pen to paper. You may see them if you will keep that in mind.”

“I promise,” he said calmly, but he did not feel very calm when he saw some of the drawings. There were those that were drawn with incredible tenderness, to be sure, but more where he was pictured as a very disagreeable man. He forced himself to look at them and see himself through her eyes, and he was shocked because he knew that she had not unduly exaggerated. “My poor dear. I hope these were drawn a while back,” he said, indicating the harsher ones.

“Yes, some months ago. You have been very kind to me of late.”

Clayborne drew his hand over his eyes and handed the cartoons back to his wife. He wanted to speak to her now, but he did not know quite what to say, and he did not want her to think that it was just the cartoons that had prompted him. “Would you like to go for a drive?” he asked abruptly.

Rebecca smiled at him, afraid he was embarrassed by the emotion betrayed in the cartoons. “I would rather ride with you, for I have promised Constance to exercise her mare while she’s gone.”

“I’ll have the horses saddled.”

They rode down a lane not far from the house, Constance’s mare rather skittish from lack of exercise, for the wedding had occupied not only the household, but the stable staff as well, with the extra horses and carriages of the guests. They were rounding a bend in the path when it happened.

George had halted his pony to retrieve his lance and swung back up so that the party could proceed. In high spirits now, as they approached the house, they urged their mounts gaily forward. The jingling of bells and the startling sight of the pony in bright trappings and hooded head, as well as little George masked and armed with shield and lance thrust forward, was too much for Constance’s mare. The terrified horse shied wildly, rearing abruptly and throwing Rebecca, who had not been concentrating on her riding, but on the need to reassure Clayborne. She fell to the ground, her head striking a rock, and lay still. Clayborne was at her side in an instant, while the jousting party sat stunned on their mounts. Mary’s face went white, and she stiffly dismounted to kneel beside her sister. “Oh, dear God, no,” she whispered. “We meant no harm, Rebecca.”

Clayborne’s face was ashen but he said gently to Mary, “She’s alive. We must send for the doctor immediately. Will you see to that while I carry her home? Are you all right?”

Mary blinked back the tears that had started to fall and choked as she said, “I can get the doctor. Rebecca has pointed out his house to me.”

“Good girl. Elvira, take George to the stable and send someone for the horses. Can you manage?”

“Yes, Lord Clayborne. George, give me the lance and shield and we will go faster.” George did as he was bid, but he was crying soundlessly.

“The doctor will help your aunt, you shall see,” she comforted him, not knowing whether to believe it or not.

Mary had already ridden away, and Clayborne’s and Constance’s horses had wandered off, so the two children started on their way, the sound of jingling bells mocking their passage.

Clayborne lifted his unconscious wife in his arms and walked off down the lane, the sickness in him growing until he feared that he could not contain it. For a while he did not realize that he was speaking, that his thoughts were being voiced automatically. “Please don’t die, Rebecca. I can let you go anywhere, but I cannot bear a life where you are not somewhere, laughing and riding and drawing. Only live and I will not press you to stay with me. I have not deserved you. I wanted only to make you happy when we married, and I ruined everything because I didn’t trust you.”

There were grooms coming now, sent by Elvira, and he merely motioned them down the path to the horses. Soon he carried Rebecca into the house and up to her bedroom, with an anxious Mrs. Lambert dogging his footsteps. Harpert hovered over her mistress, feeling about her head when Clayborne explained what had happened. She found a cut and swelling at the back and asked for hot water and towels. “Have you sent for the doctor?” she asked tersely.

“Yes, Mary has ridden for him,” Clayborne said, seating himself beside the bed and taking his wife’s hand in his. He watched as the maid carefully washed around the cut.

“It don’t look so bad, but head injuries is the very devil,” Harpert grunted. She proceeded to tuck the covers in around her fully clothed mistress and sat down on the other side of the bed. “I can keep a watch on her, your lordship.”

“I wish to stay,” he replied.

When Mrs. Lambert bustled off to look out for the doctor, Clayborne and Harpert sat unspeaking in the bedroom. It was all of a half hour later when Dr. Baker arrived. He had already been apprised of the nature of the accident by Mary, and went directly to the bed and probed the wound, checked Rebecca’s pulse and eyes, and felt for any broken bones.

“Concussed, most likely. Pulse is weak, but then it would be. Might be hours before she’s sensible, but she could come around any time. Hard to tell with a blow to the head. Can cause serious damage, of course. Must wish for the best. I’ll come by in the morning. If there seems a change for the worse, send for me, though there would be little I could do, I fear. Keep her warm and quiet.” And he was gone.

Harpert grunted again and offered to sit with her mistress, but Clayborne preferred to be alone with her, sending Harpert to reassure the young people. The maid, unoffended, said she would send him up some dinner on a tray, and when the food came he managed to eat a little of it before setting the tray aside.

As dusk set in he was still sitting there quietly stroking Rebecca’s hair and holding her hand. Harpert looked in to see if anything was needed and to tell him Mary wanted to know when her sister was conscious. Clayborne agreed and urged her to rest, for she might be needed later. The maid nodded and left.

When the moon had risen and Clayborne had lit a candle there was a faint stirring on the bed. Rebecca’s eyes opened slowly and there was a vacant look about them which caused Clayborne a moment of panic, before they focused on him and she smiled faintly.

“I should have been paying more attention. Careless of me. What were they up to?”

“I think,” he said wryly, “that they had planned to give us a jousting exhibition.”

“And I have spoiled their fun. Mary will be very annoyed.”

“Mary has been most concerned about you, as we all have.”

“Well, my head hurts and my stomach feels funny, but I doubt there is anything to worry about.”

“Shall I send for some food for you, or a drink?”

“No, I could not face that just yet.”

“Rebecca, do you feel well enough for me to talk to you a bit? I know this is not the time but I have been waiting for the right time and it never comes. I cannot bear to wait any longer.”

“Of course, Jason. But you must not speak out of pity for me, you know, for I shall be all right. I’m sorry to give you such a scare.”

“Pity? It is an emotion I cannot even conceive of in connection with you. Perhaps I should have told you,” Clayborne said slowly, “that I was in love with you when I married you.”

Rebecca’s startled eyes searched his face and knew that he spoke the truth.

“I did not wish to tell you because I knew you didn’t love me and I was afraid of frightening you away. I was so used to thinking myself possessed of an endless passion for Lady Hillston that I didn’t recognize it myself for some time.” He paused and sighed, rubbing his forehead as if to clear his thoughts.

“When I thought, on our wedding night, that you had deceived me, I was truly shattered. I thought that I had again chosen to love someone who was not what I had believed her to be. No, perhaps chosen is not the right word. Never mind. You know that I went back to Lady Hillston in my hurt and rage. I did not do it to cause you pain. I did it as some sort of punishment to myself, I suppose. By then I was well aware of Lady Hillston’s real worth.”

He stopped talking for a while, trying to best phrase his next words. Rebecca did not speak, but she kept her eyes on his, her countenance unreadable.

“I tried to tell myself a hundred times, a thousand times, that you were just such another. At first your attitude enraged me, and I was sure I could hate you as easily as I had loved you. But it was not so. I could not bear to be near you then; but when Meg came and I was home again, I knew that I would always love you. You must not think I let you go so easily to the Cotswolds because I wanted to rid myself of you. I let you go because I loved you and could not bear to see what I was doing to you.”

“Yes. It was then I knew that you loved me. I had not known before,” Rebecca said quietly.

“You knew then? But why did you go if you knew?” he asked in anguish.

“Because you believed that I had deceived you. There will never be any way I can prove that I did not,” she said sadly.

“I am a proud, stubborn man, Rebecca. As long as I thought there was no other possible explanation I refused to believe you. I have learned that there are other explanations, and I do believe you now. No, don’t say anything. I realize my lack of faith in you has destroyed our chance for happiness together. You have trusted me through all of my rages and slights, and I am ashamed of myself. If you will accept it, I shall deed Gray Oaks to you; it is not entailed. You may live here always as your own home. I shall live elsewhere and be content that you are happy. Oh, and the setter is old enough to leave his mother now.”

“The setter?” Rebecca asked, confused.

“Your anniversary present. He was too young then, but you can have him tomorrow. I thought of him because, well, because of the dog you gave to Thomas Burns.”

“Now how could you possibly know that I gave Rags to Thomas?”

“I know you. It was the only explanation. I have felt terribly jealous of Thomas,” he admitted wretchedly.

“Well, you need not have. I was infatuated with Thomas, even though I knew he was to marry. It was silly of me and it did not last long, but there was a singular lack of men around Farthington Hall,” she said, “and I was flattered by his admiration of me. Giving him the dog was a sort of farewell gesture. I shall be pleased to have a setter of my own. But you know, Jason, I shall not want to live here at Gray Oaks alone.”

“Perhaps Mary could live with you. Or another of your friends,” he suggested helpfully.

“No, I don’t think that would be satisfactory. I am a married woman. I did tell you once what I expected out of marriage, did I not?”

“I remember the occasion well,” he admitted with a lopsided grin.

“And you still do not think you could accommodate me?” she asked wistfully.

“I am certain I could, wretch.”

“It is the strangest thing, you know, for I feel sure you could, too. And should you still expect me to observe the proprieties and offer you obedience?” she taunted.

“No more than would put a strain on you, I feel sure.”

“Then the matter is settled?” Rebecca asked.

“Not quite. I think you still have something to tell me, little one.”

“You must ever have your way,” she sighed.

“But I need something to ease the pain of being called an insufferable toad,” he retorted.

“I love you, Jason. I seem to have loved you for a long time,” she admitted shyly.

“Do you suppose it would hurt your head if I...”

When Mary peeped in at the door and saw her sister passionately kissing his lordship, she withdrew, giggling, but they were oblivious to the interruption. Mary was delighted that her sister was recovered and that the young people would be able to stage their jousting exhibition very soon after all.

Copyright © 1980 by Elizabeth Rotter

Originally published by Warner

Electronically published in 2005 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.