Lord Clayborne's Fancy (6 page)

“I really do not think I can bear it, Becka,” Meg gasped again.

“Of course you can, for it was highly instructive. You see, during all this shouting and mumbling the vicar had been sleeping quite peacefully. I am sure,” she admitted apologetically, “that it was my playing on the pianoforte which accomplished that. Nevertheless, when suddenly he awoke, he began reciting the twenty-third psalm, to the astonishment of everyone present. Most educational, I thought,” Rebecca proclaimed, as she finally let herself join in her sister’s whoops.

“Becka, there never was one like you to make the most of a sadly boring time. I can picture the whole, and I would have taken to my bed with the headache,” she confessed.

“Well, perhaps it was not so bad, really. Uncle Henry has the most exquisite sense of humor and we had many a laugh over it afterwards. And I have drawn a character of each of them of which I am inordinately proud. I shall show them to you one day.”

“Do you still do that? I remember the day Turnip found your drawing of her, and how we had to bear her Christian long suffering for weeks afterwards. And I have always kept the one you did of me, for though it is not perhaps flattering,” she reproached her sister, still giggling, “it serves to damp any pretensions I might feel on occasion.”

“I am sure it is a most unladylike hobby, but I thoroughly enjoy it. When in London I was inspired by Rowlandson’s cartoons. I pride myself that I have developed a style of my own,” Rebecca admitted.

Their discussion was interrupted at this point by the arrival of Miss Turnpeck, who could be heard outside the saloon door assuring someone that she had had not the least difficulty in finding her way about the house and that she was sure the two young ladies were having the nicest coze, perhaps even having ordered tea by this time of the afternoon. Rebecca guiltily rang then, as the old governess entered. Although the travelers had had luncheon trays in their rooms, she remembered Turnip’s penchant for nibbling biscuits all through the day, which appeared to do her not the least bit of damage, as she was thin almost to gauntness.

“Such a delightful home you have, Rebecca,” Miss Turnpeck twitted. “And the housekeeper—Mrs. Lambert is it?—so thoughtful of a guest. It was she herself, and not a maid at all, who took charge of settling me into my room. She tells me that her brother is the head gardener. I could see the most remarkable topiary from my window, and she says you read there frequently. May we have a walk in it some time?”

“Certainly. It is my favorite spot near the house. We shall walk there after tea if you wish,” Rebecca offered.

“Nothing would give me more pleasure. So thoughtful of you. Meg dear, I am convinced that you will enjoy it immensely. Perhaps your room does not look out on it as mine does? Well, never mind, you shall see it soon. Oh, here is the tea tray. I find I am quite parched!” Miss Turnpeck exclaimed.

Rebecca and Meg exchanged laughing glances, and Rebecca, her giggles of a few minutes before forgotten, assumed the role of lady of the house and poured for them as though she had done it often for the local gentry.

When Clayborne arrived to join them for tea, he politely inquired if the two ladies were now settled in. He was answered by Miss Turnpeck, at length, as he seated himself and accepted a cup of tea and some biscuits from Rebecca, forcing himself to return her hesitant smile.

“Miss Turnpeck has been commenting on the topiary and I plan that we will walk there in a bit, Jason. You might tell her how it was started,” his wife suggested, remembering how this had been related to his Uncle Henry, who had never heard the story.

“There was a Lady Clayborne, perhaps a century and a half ago, who surrounded herself with all manner of exotic pets. Not just dogs and cats, but monkeys and a tiger or so,” he explained in a lazy, exaggerated storytelling manner. “They even once had a giraffe and a camel, I am told, though I am not sure I credit that. It seems that the tiger broke loose one day and destroyed a large part of the animal population at Gray Oaks before he was captured. The then Lord Clayborne thereafter refused to have any other animals about except the hunting dogs and small cats, and his wife went into a decline, pining for her pets. In an effort to cheer his wife he instructed the gardener to train the growth into all kinds of animal shapes—some are quite fantastic—and it has been kept up to this day. You will see the giraffe and the camel she is supposed to have had.”

“And did it cheer his wife?” Meg wanted to know.

“Well, perhaps it halted the decline,” Clayborne admitted, “but I have heard that Lady Clayborne spent the better part of her days in the topiary talking to the animals and was at length considered mad!”

“Poor soul!” Miss Turnpeck cried with a delicate shudder. “I am sure there is nothing so comforting as having a little dog or cat about one. I have always had a cat, myself, even at Farthington Hall. They have been so good as to allow me to have one of my own, in my room. I would never have thought to bring it to the schoolroom, of course, but then the children always had all manner of puppies about until they would grow and be banished to the stables by Sir Rupert. I remember the mongrel you found, Rebecca. Such a scraggly thing he was! And you very nearly got run over for saving him from the wheels of that curricle. It was that young man—you remember him, don’t you?—Thomas Burns. We saw him several times after that, and at your sister Trudy’s wedding. Such a rackety fellow, dashing about Salisbury in that way. Why, he could have crushed you both! It does not bear thinking on,” she moaned, which conclusion the sisters had reached some moments before, and shared a conspiratorial glance.

“But you know,” Miss Turnpeck revived to say, “I do believe I have heard recently that the young man has settled down. Married shortly after Trudy, if I recall correctly, and they have a son now. Such a to-do as he made, blaming you for the whole. But then he was shaken by such a near accident, as he should have been,” she said sternly. “And he did calm down after a bit; quite charmed him you did, naughty girl. Yes, and he came by only the next day, as I remember, to see how the poor dog was getting on, and you, too, of course.”

By now Meg was looking distinctly uncomfortable and making faces at Rebecca, but her sister said only, “Really, Rags was a handsome dog once he was bathed and fed for a while. I missed him when he went away.”

“I never did believe that he ran away,” Miss Turnpeck declared stoutly. “I am sure I saw that young man near Farthington Hall on the day he disappeared.”

“Now why would he have taken Rags?” Rebecca asked as casually as she could as she rose to suggest, “We should have our walk in the topiary now while it is still warm.”

Clayborne observed this interchange with more interest than was apparent. He noticed Meg’s discomfort and his wife’s attempt to end the conversation, and he determined to find out more about this young man if he could.

“Will you join us for our walk, Jason?” Rebecca asked.

“No, thank you. I have business matters to attend to. Please excuse me.” With a formal nod to his wife, and a smile for Miss Turnpeck and Meg, he walked thoughtfully to his study.

Miss Turnpeck managed to entertain her companions by recounting stories of the various cats she had owned as they wended their way through the topiary, exclaiming at the ingenious figures portrayed there. The topic of Thomas Burns was not revived.

But he was the subject of Clayborne’s thoughts as he sat at his desk drumming his fingers on the chair arm. Clayborne was aware that Rebecca was not familiar with many men; it was her innocence that had first appealed to him when he met her. There had been Captain Gray, of course, but Rebecca had treated him much as a brother, amused but not intrigued by him. Her reaction, he felt sure, would have been far otherwise if she had loved him and had gone so far as to have an affair with him. From his own experience with Alexis, Clayborne was very familiar with the effects of such an infatuation.

The information he had gleaned at tea about Thomas Burns goaded his hurt and anger. Since there had been few young men in Rebecca’s life, he felt a great desire to learn more of this one, and surely providence had provided a wealthy source of information in Miss Turnpeck. Fearful of what he might learn, Clayborne was yet determined to pursue the matter.

Chapter Five

Meg’s visit settled into a pleasant routine. When the ladies breakfasted, Clayborne had already finished and left the house on estate business or fishing expeditions. Then Meg and Rebecca would take a stroll in the gardens or walk into the village to execute small commissions. Miss Turnpeck usually remained in the garden doing her needlework, and the sisters enjoyed the chance to be alone. After luncheon, from which Lord Clayborne also was usually absent, the ladles rested for a while and then Meg practiced on the pianoforte while Rebecca sketched and Miss Turnpeck read one of her innumerable guidebooks.

Clayborne joined them for the evening meal, which was fairly early since they kept country hours, and then they would adjourn to the Blue Saloon where the sisters sang duets, or they all played cards and conversed. Rebecca, considering all this relaxing but hardly exciting, suggested a picnic for the following day and was seconded cheerfully by Meg.

“Could you accompany us, Jason?” Rebecca asked. “You must know several spots in the neighborhood.”

“Oh, yes, please, Jason. We used to have the most delightful picnics when we were young, didn’t we, Miss Turnpeck?” Meg asked.

When Clayborne hesitated, Rebecca felt annoyance rise within her. Had she not entertained his Uncle Henry? Had she not refurbished several rooms for him? Had she not overseen the house for months while he took himself elsewhere?

Seeing the angry flush on his wife’s cheeks, Clayborne hastened to agree, well aware that at Christmas his wife had played a role for him and he owed her no less, if certainly no more, than to do the same for her. “I know a delightful spot on the road toward Arundel. Will you arrange for the picnic hamper, Rebecca?”

“I’ll speak with M. Dussart first thing in the morning,” Rebecca promised with a grateful smile.

“There is nothing quite so enjoyable as an alfresco entertainment, is there?” Miss Turnpeck asked cheerfully. “We often explored the neighborhood of Farthington Hall on our picnics. So many interesting historical sites to see! And on the road to Arundel, you say? Now there, I understand, is quite a magnificent structure. Not that we would be able to see it! Oh, no, I realize that we are far too distant for such a treat. Surely one of the most famous castles in the country, though, and I have read somewhere that they are contemplating extensive renovations. Or was that Warwick Castle? Well, it hardly signifies, does it? I myself have often thought that these large, old buildings must be exceedingly drafty, and just think what an army of servants one would need to care for such a place! And the fireplaces! I haven’t the least doubt that nine out of ten of them smoke most execrably. And it is not pleasant—do you think?—to sit in a room where the fireplace smokes. One’s clothes are tainted with the odor, and I am sure that the soot would discolor even the darkest of fabrics. You must not think, Lord Clayborne, that the fireplaces at Farthington Hall smoke. No, no, I have no experience of such a thing happening there, to be sure. The Hall is a comparatively modern building.”

As Miss Turnpeck paused for breath. Rebecca and Meg hastily pleaded tiredness and escaped to their rooms.

When Rebecca was in bed and reading the latest canto of Byron’s Childe Harold by the light of her candle, there was a light tap on the interconnecting door between her room and Clayborne’s. Considerably startled, she called, “Come in.

He wore a full-length dressing gown of red brocade with a long rolling collar which showed a black satin lining. Rebecca’s eyes widened in wonder at its magnificence as he hesitantly approached her bed.

“I do not mean to disturb you, Rebecca. I came merely to apologize for my reluctance to join your party tomorrow. I am aware that you were most kind to Uncle Henry and have every right to expect me to assist in entertaining your sister. In future I shall,” he promised, and turned to leave.

“Stay a moment, Jason. Please sit down,” she urged. “I wish to speak with you for a moment.”

With a gesture of acquiescence, he pulled a chair near her bed. Although he was not scowling, his face was a mask she could not read. “As with your uncle, I would prefer that my sister and Miss Turnpeck regard ours as a normal marriage. However, you have not been at Gray Oaks above thrice since Christmas and I do not believe play-acting will solve anything.”

Rebecca did not allow herself to be distressed by the grim look developing on her husband’s face. “Jason, I have read everything in your library that I could lay my hands on to try to understand what happened on our wedding night that so disillusioned you. There is nothing that will explain it to me, and I have no one I can ask but you. You will have to tell me.”

“I have no desire to discuss the matter with you, ma’am.”

“No? Then I shall be left in ignorance and avoided by you for the rest of my life, sir?”

He made a gesture of dismissal and rose to leave.

“Before you go, Jason, I wish you to understand one thing. I have no intention of allowing this farce to continue. I love Gray Oaks, but I am only twenty years old and I do not intend to be incarcerated here for the rest of my life in atonement for a crime I did not commit. No, stay.”

She spoke firmly as he made a move to go. “Either you make the effort to clear up this matter for me or I will return to Farthington Hall when Meg leaves. I do not care about the scandal it will cause for me, or even for you. I will not remain where I am treated as a leper.”

It was possible, he thought, that even having been with a man she would not know how he could tell. So he told her, in a cool, emotionless voice. “When a woman is a virgin there is a thin barrier which must be penetrated for a man to enter her. The tearing of her maidenhead causes a slight amount of bleeding, and once torn it does not regenerate.”