She tried to assuage his pride. “Yes, my father admired your intelligence. Your capable mind—”
“Nothing’s changed. I am still that same lad.”
Many things had changed, Rebecca knew. He was no longer a promising lad of fifteen, but an embittered man of five and twenty.
Robb crossed his arms. “Too bad your father liked me more than you did.” He slowly shook his head, lips curled in disgust. “You’re wasting your time with Sir Frederick, you know. He’s not going to remarry. The first go was bad enough, from all accounts, to turn him off the institution.”
Rebecca shrugged. “What is that to me?”
“I know you consider yourself his ... special ... friend.”
“That was years ago. And he was a friend to my entire family, especially to my father.”
“He didn’t give your father a horse.”
Offense flared but she bit her tongue. She could not dispute it. Instead she asked, “Why do you dislike him so much?”
“Because he has everything I want, or could have, without lifting a finger. It isn’t fair.”
“Life isn’t fair,” Rebecca said. “God never promised it would be.”
“If you say so.” Robb climbed back into the fly and drove it into the stable yard.
Rebecca remained where she was a moment longer, turning to watch Sir Frederick and his horse grow smaller and smaller and finally disappear over the hill.
She could not deny that she had long dreamed of being Frederick Wilford’s wife. But those were the foolish dreams of a foolish young girl. She took a deep breath. Robb might be resentful and jealous, but he could be right about one thing. Perhaps it was time to lay aside those old dreams and get on with her life.
Returning inside, Rebecca saw Miss Newport in the hall. The lithe, beautiful performer sat at the hotel’s grand pianoforte, running her fingers experimentally over the keys.
Finding the hall otherwise unoccupied, Rebecca decided to accomplish one more unpleasant task. “Miss Newport?”
The woman looked up but kept playing softly. “Yes, Miss Lane?”
“I am sorry to disturb you. But I have been asked to pass along a message.”
“Oh?”
Rebecca stepped nearer and lowered her voice. “From Mr. Oliver.”
The woman’s arched brows rose. “Mr. Oliver? Is he not sequestered in his room?”
“Yes, well, he ... em, asked a chambermaid who knew I hadmet you, and I agreed to deliver the message. Pray forgive the interference. He asks that you go and see him.”
Miss Newport pursed her rouged lips. “Why would I?”
“I wondered that myself. He is in room three. But don’t go on my account. I agreed to pass along the message—how you respond is completely up to you.”
Miss Newport struck a jarring chord, then squared her shoulders. “You have delivered the message, Miss Lane, and may consider your duty dispatched.” She rose. “Now, please do take tea with me.”
Rebecca was taken aback by the abrupt invitation but saw no reason to decline.
Selina Newport spoke to the clerk, and then the two young women sat in armchairs near the fire. While they waited for their tea, Lady Fitzhoward walked into the hall, and Miss Newport asked the older woman to join them as well.
Rebecca worried her wealthy employer might not wish to associate with an actress, but she displayed no such reluctance. She thanked Miss Newport and selected a chair. In short order, a waiter delivered a tea tray and, seeing the newcomer, quickly procured a third cup.
As she poured for them, Miss Newport began, “You mentioned having a brother, Miss Lane. I envy you. Are the two of you close?”
Rebecca hesitated. It seemed odd that she should ask about John again. “In childhood, yes. But we...” She looked down at her teacup and murmured, “We are grown now.”
