Yearning Heart (5 page)
“Really?”
Rebecca placed her near-empty tray on the bedside table and stood up. “Then I suggest you get me some of your clothing to wear. I want to see my new home.”
Malvina threw back her head and laughed, causing Rebecca to smile at her obvious glee. The thought of the skinny young lady in her clothing was comical indeed.
“No, my lady,” Malvina said. “You would be lost in my garments.”
“Then I shall wear what I have.”
She walked to the closet and removed the black skirt and top, then pulled out the red shawl. A few minutes later, she stood in front of the mirror, checking herself over. She looked just as bad here as she did on the farm at Grinwold.
“Which way?” she said.
“Which way to what, my lady?”
“To Sir Stephen's property. His animals. Whatever he has that I am now a part of.”
“You are not part of his property and animals, my lady.”
You're wrong, Rebecca wanted to say. Not only am I a part of it, I
am
his property. After a few days, I shall be his wife, even more a piece of property. Replacement for lands he does not need.
Instead of speaking her mind, Rebecca went into the hall.
“You cannot go outside. It is raining,” Malvina said.
“Oh. Well, in that case, I suppose I can go downstairs. Or am I forbidden the use of other parts of the house?”
Malvina stared at the child in front of her, dressed in one of the plainest garments she had ever seen. Who purchased such clothing? she wondered. Colorless and without style. Then she thought of her master bringing Rebecca in unannounced. Was she a stray he had picked up some place, one who had no money or family? But to marry her?
“Why should you be forbidden to go any place you wish, my lady?”
Rebecca shrugged. What did she know about where or why she could go any place? She walked down the steps and at the bottom of the stairs, turned to her left toward the room where she had seen the harp. It was the same type instrument she had played while at school. Those two years between twelve and fourteen when she was happier than she had ever been.
A line from a poem she had composed ran through her mind. It had been for Richard, and she had set it to music her last year at school, had brought it home for his Christmas present. It had been on one of her sheets of vellum papa burned when he came upon her daydreaming beside the stream with the paper in her hand. She had never been able to duplicate exactly the words of the poem, so she had never given it to her beloved Richard. It went something like, ‘Let no one judge me for what I hope to be. Let no one see me for less than I am. Only ...'
“Oh, Richard.” She whispered his name as her forefinger drifted across the strings, leaving a soft melody echoing behind it. Three days ride from Grinwold meant papa would never allow Richard to take time off just to visit her. Twelve whole months before she saw her brother. For the others, it mattered not, but she sorely missed Richard.
A clatter of hooves brought Rebecca's attention to Malvina as she opened tall doors of the front hall. It was a few minutes before Sir Stephen entered the house, removing his hat and coat to shake them before handing them to Malvina. She took his black topcoat then several packages from the driver who stood just outside the door beneath the roof overhang.
Sir Stephen looked up to see Rebecca watching and smiled as he strode toward her.
“The skies have opened up,” he said. “We need the rain, but by heavens, a bit easier would be to my liking.”
His gaze went over her figure, completely hidden beneath the ill-fitting dress. She thought his expression softened a bit, and then he frowned, turning away.
“I went into the village to do some shopping,” he said. “They have little to chose from, but whatever I have must be an improvement over the clothing you have.”
Rebecca smiled at his back. “Yes, my lord.”
He whirled. “My name is Stephen. Do me the courtesy to learn to pronounce it before we become man and wife.”
She opened her mouth to repeat the automatic ‘my lord,’ thought better of it and set her teeth into her lower lip to prevent utterance of the words. His angry gaze swept over her once more before he turned and picked up the packages on the floor.
“You must try these on as I guessed at the size. Some may have to be exchanged.” With that, he strode up the stairs and down the hall to the bedroom where she had slept.
For the first time, she wondered where Sir Stephen slept. There were several closed doors along the hallway, but she had no idea which one might be his. When she reached her room the packages were open and garments scattered over the surface of the bed. Malvina stood nearby, touching the material with awe, glancing from beneath her eyelashes at Sir Stephen as he removed a small box from his pocket and laid it on the stand.
“The priest will dine with us tonight, Rebecca, after he performs the wedding ceremony.”
She gasped. “Tonight?”
He looked hard at her. “Would you wait longer?”
Forever, she wanted to say, but she shook her head. Why wait? Finish with it.
“Good. ‘Tis settled then. Malvina will help you choose what to wear for the ceremony if something fits you.”
“And if it doesn't?” she said.
“Sir Oliver said you were a good seamstress. Make something fit.” He turned and stalked from the room.
“My lady, the dresses are beautiful.”
There was a strange note in the maid's voice, but Rebecca did not notice.
“Yes,” she said without looking. Her resentful gaze was on the empty doorway where Sir Stephen had disappeared.
She chose the white wool. After all, I am a virgin. She lifted her chin. Is that not what the romantic words say? The bride wears white to show her purity?
Malvina had washed her hair the night before, and now she brushed it until it lay like shiny gold satin on her shoulder. Then her maid helped her dress. The tiny hooks down the back of the dress took her a long time, and when she finished the task, she pulled Rebecca to the mirror where she could see.
The dress was lovely. It even made Rebecca look good, made her look older than her years. It emphasized her small waist and flared over narrow hips. It didn't matter what she looked like. Sir Stephen had bought her, he was stuck with her, and it was no matter that she looked like a milk maiden.
“My lady will make a beautiful bride,” Malvina said.
Rebecca's heart thrust against her ribs. Tonight, she would belong to Sir Stephen. Tonight, he ...
Malvina saw her uncertainty. “You are a virgin, my lady? Of course it will hurt the first time, but then you will be eager thereafter. You will see.”
Rebecca doubted. “There is much pain?”
Her eyes fastened on the maid's face. A strange expression appeared as Malvina knelt in front of her, and then it was gone.
“It is always so, my lady, but you are young. You will heal quickly. Sir Stephen is the gentleman, he is. He will not be so rough.”
How do you know this? Rebecca wanted to ask of Malvina. How can you know about Sir Stephen's gentleness in this—in this? She shut her eyes tightly, shivering.
Lady Elizabeth had never confided any of the duties of a wife in the bedroom. Rebecca had asked, but there was never the right time or the right place for her mother to discuss such things with her, so she knew nothing. She had no friends her age, no one to exchange gossip or experiences.
“What will happen, Malvina?”
Malvina shook her head.
“It is not for me to tell, my lady. Sir Stephen will instruct you.”
“You do not know,” Rebecca said.
Malvina laughed. “I am not the virgin, my lady.”
“You are married?”
Rebecca had not seen her maid except in her room and the hallways. She had always been alone.
“No, my lady.” Malvina took a pin from her mouth to tighten the waist of the white dress.
“Then how could you ...?”
She stopped, heat flooding her cheeks. She stared down at Malvina's heavy hair, the color of rusty metal at the roof's edge, its thick curls bouncing with energy.
“There.” Malvina stood up and turned Rebecca to face her. “Do not despair. It will not seem so bad once your lover's arms are around you and ...” She rolled her eyes and made as though to swoon.
Lover. But Sir Stephen was not her lover. He was her purchaser.
“You must open Sir Stephen's gift, my lady.”
Numbly, she did as the maid suggested, and stared at the thin chain curved over the satin liner of the box. A single exquisite pearl hung delicately from the center of the chain.
“It is beautiful, my lady,” Malvina said.
Another payment? Rebecca wondered. And soon I must repay everything. The emptiness in her chest hurt worse than the pain of leaving home. Did Sir Stephen consider her a bargain? Land is valuable, but Rebecca ...
I paid well for you, Stephen had said. Knowing papa, he most certainly paid dearly.
When she finally moved to the stairs and started down, Rebecca had locked her fright deep in her chest, and her head was high, determined not to let Sir Stephen know how afraid she was, that she was sixteen—lots of young women were mothers at her age. Had not Lady Elizabeth told her so?
Voices from the room where the harp was told her visitors were already there. She stepped to the doorway just as Sir Stephen looked up. She blushed, but he walked toward her, taking her hand to press it to his lips as his eyes rested on the necklace. He turned to introduce her to man behind him.
“Rebecca, this is Father Umbreth. He will perform our marriage ceremony.”
Rebecca nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“My lady,” Father Umbreth said. He was young. Rebecca thought all clergymen were old like the one who droned on and on every Sunday morning at the small chapel near Grinwold. The black cloth collar emphasized his paleness and made his brown eyes even darker. She read sympathy in his smile, but it did nothing to dissolve the lump in her throat.
Then she was standing by Sir Stephen, Malvina and cook behind them, repeating the words and finally, Sir Stephen placed a wide gold band on her finger and gave her a matching one to slide on his strong tanned one.
“I pronounce you man and wife,” Father Umbreth said, and her new husband bent to touch her mouth with his.
Her breath caught as a tiny thrill sped from her lips to the bottom of her stomach, rippling through her to leave her shaking.
Was she going to be sick again? Surely not. Surely she would not embarrass Sir Stephen that way. Papa would take a strap to her should she dare, but would Stephen? Her husband, Stephen.
She gazed up at him, meeting the suddenly blazing blue of his eyes. His lips were parted, and he stared at her as though he had not seen her before. His hands at her waist tightened and, as though realizing they were not alone, he released her, stepped away and tucked her cold hand in the crook of his arm.
“Allow me, Lady Rebecca,” he said formally, and led the way into the great room where cook was waiting to serve them.
Chapter Three
She thought the evening would never end, yet she was afraid it would—and much too soon. Father Umbreth was to stay the night, it seemed, and he and Stephen talked about the church and business. The gossip about King Henry and Queen Eleanor quarreling over their children, the whispers about the king's many women as he traveled afar from his court. About sheep, the wool processing business, farming, markets— everything except the fact that Stephen now had a new wife who sat wondering what was expected of her.
Idly, Rebecca followed the comments on the appointment of the Archbishop of Canterbury by the king and Stephen's opinion doubting the benefit from it.
“Sir Thomas was King Henry's friend,” Stephen said. “But conflict is building between them as the laws of the church and the laws of the land differ.”
“Ah, Stephen, do you not believe the church should be first to benefit from our lands? After all, it is the right of the church...”
Rebecca stirred and smiled a little as her husband's rich laughter filled the room. Half asleep, she watched him. He was a handsome man. She had never really looked at him fully, not for long. She was unwilling to stare when he was watching her, and when her resentment blazed, she did not see clearly. Now she did.
His hair was a shade darker than Rebecca's. His mouth wide, teeth white and well- cared for, and she thought the one a bit out of line made his mouth more attractive. His lips were the color of rich wine, not pinkish and soft like papa's, but firm. How would they feel against her mouth?
Startled by the realization that she wanted to know, she pushed away the thoughts and listened to Stephen answer Father Umbreth.
“You do not get me between my two loyalties, Father. In all fairness, do not seek my answer to such a question. It is the king's subjects I am responsible for, not the kingdom of God. I leave that to you and with my blessings.”
Father Umbreth's reply droned on and on, and Rebecca lost interest in the conversation.
* * * *
“You are tired, Rebecca.” The voice was close to her ear.
She sat up, realized she had been dozing. On her wedding night, in the company of the priest and her new husband. Rebecca cringed to think she had fallen asleep in their company. Papa would—when would she stop thinking what papa would do or say? She belonged to Stephen now.
“I am sorry, my lord,” she said and looked around the room, empty except for the two of them.
“Father Umbreth has a long ride ahead of him tomorrow and has gone to bed. Would you like to go to your room now?”
Sir Stephen's voice was quiet, without censure. His big hand covered hers where it rested on the arm of her chair.
She wet her lips. “Yes, please.”
It was only a whispered response, but her husband smiled and tugged at her arm to help her from the chair. Her legs trembled, but she stiffened them, putting one foot in front of the other. She was not ready for her wedding night, but she might as well get it over with and after tonight, she would know what was expected of her as a wife.
At the door to her room, her husband hesitated. “I will send Malvina to help you undress.”
