“Rather,” Rebecca suggested, “they would see you as a discerning young lady who chose with care instead ofsnatching the first eligible male she cast her eyes on.”
Harriet burst out laughing. “It is no use trying to argue with you, Rebecca,” she said. “I should know by now.You always have an answer for everything. But it does notmatter. I mean to have Mr. Christopher Sinclair. I shalltake part in the Season next year as his wife. I can see usnow. We will be the most handsome couple in theton,Ibelieve.”
Rebecca smiled. “If you do not go and dress yourself in one of those gowns soon, Harriet,” she suggested, “youare going to miss this picnic altogether. You know that ittakes you at least twice as long as anyone else to get readyto go into company. And you will put your papa into athundering mood if you are very late.”
“Pooh,” Harriet said, “he is always late himself.” But she got to her feet and wandered in the direction of thedoor. “Do you think I should get married here whereeveryone we know will see me, or wait for a societywedding in London?” she asked.
“Harriet!” Rebecca exploded. “You are being quite ridiculous.”
The girl grinned unexpectedly. “Mrs. Harriet Sinclair. Mrs. Christopher Sinclair. Do you not like the sound of it,Rebecca?”
“Harriet!”
No, Rebecca did not like the sound of it at all. In fact, she did not like many of the thoughts and feelings that hadhaunted her for the past several days. She had continuedwith her usual activities since her uncle and aunt’s dinnerparty. She had taught; she had visited Mrs. Hopkins, whowas confined with her eighth child and who had no one tohelp her with the other seven, all of whom were youngerthan twelve. Rebecca had tidied the house for her, washedand fed the children, and played with them until almost awhole day had passed without her realizing it.
On yet another day she had visited Cyril’s home after school was over for the day. It had basically been a socialcall; she had taken with her some freshly baked muffins.But really she had been hoping to talk to the boy, to winhis confidence away from the public setting of the schoolroom. He was a puny and timid twelve-year-old who didnot respond well to attention in class, even if that attentionwere kindly meant.
She had been glad of her visit. Cyril, shy at first, even perhaps dismayed to see her, finally brought forward arough wooden bench that he had carpentered himself. Itwas for his mother to rest her feet on during the eveningswhile she was doing the family darning, he explained. AndRebecca found that she was able to direct the conversationtoward his problems at school.
“I could read for sure, maybe, miss,” he had saidapologetically, “if the words would just stand still.”
“Stand still?” she prompted gently.
“The other boys don’t notice, miss,” he said, “but them words dance about too quick for me.”
“Do they, Cyril?” she asked, her attention focused fully on him. “Are all the books the same? Are someeasier than others?”
“Them ones with the letters and pictures is easy,” he said after thinking for a moment. “The letters is too big tomove around. But in them other books, when the letters issquashed into words, they chases one another all over thepaper.”
Rebecca smiled. “I shall see if I can find you a book in which the words are large, Cyril,” she said. “Then Iwager you will read as well as any of us.”
“Aw, miss,” he had said, “I’m just dumb, like the reverend says.”
Rebecca leaned forward and smiled at him. “I am going to prove both of you wrong, Cyril,” she said.
It was true that in the day since that visit Rebecca’s mind had been much preoccupied with the new problemshe had discovered with the solving of the old one. Cyrilobviously had very poor eyesight. She did not know whythe truth had not struck her earlier. It was easy now torecall that the boy always held his book unnaturally closeto his face. She had scolded him for doing so on more thanone occasion. But it did not help to know the problemwhen the solution was not at all obvious. The boy neededeyeglasses. But how could poor farm laborers afford tobuy eyeglasses for their son? And there was no money leftin the school fund even if she could justify using it forsuch a purchase.
Really, though, Rebecca had to admit to her own chagrin, the bulk of her thoughts during those days had centered around Christopher and his unwelcome return to the neighborhood. She had always known deep down that shehad never recovered fully from his defection. She hadloved himforso long that he had become part of her verybeing. And it had all happened when she was young and impressionable. It had not been an adult experience thatshe might have shrugged off more easily. She had knownas soon as she heard that he was coming home that oldwounds would be opened, that she would not be immuneto him.
Yet she had hoped. She had hoped that when she saw him she would find that her fears had been unfounded. Ithad been possible that both he and she would have changedso much that there would be nothing left of the old feelings. And doubtless that was true for him. She was awarethat she must have changed almost beyond recognitionboth in looks and manner. But he was Christopher still.His looks had matured, but he still had the same upright,proud bearing. And those very blue eyes would always beChristopher’s.
She had not got over him at all, in fact, and she was disgusted with herself when forced to admit the truth. Shehad been aware of him in a very physical sense duringevery moment of that dinner party. And she was shockedand horrified to realize that the feeling she had had onseeing him with Harriet was not so much concern for thereputation of her cousin as jealousy. Pure and simplejealousy! She wanted him bending over her at the pianoforte, exercising that charm of conversation on her.
She almost hated herself. She certainly hated him for breaking his promise and coming back again. He hadtreated her so badly, abandoning her like that, breakingtheir engagement—even though it had been unofficial—afterall that had happened between them in those months afterthey discovered their love for each other. Surely he couldhave done one honorable thing and stayed away from herfor the rest of their lives.
She wished desperately that she did not have to attend this picnic. Yet for some reason Philip wanted to go. Infact, he had talked with something like enthusiasm aboutthe occasion when she saw him two days before. And heseemed to be impressed with Christopher. He talked almost admiringly about his sincerity and friendliness. It wassurprising, really. Philip was usually so sensitive to snobbery and hypocrisy..And surely he should have been ableto see both in his new acquaintance.
Rebecca finally finished the repair to the hem of her dress. She would have finished long before had she notkept falling into a dream, she scolded herself. She gotresolutely to her feet and began to change her clothes forthe afternoon’s outing. It was really useless telling herselfthat she did not wish to go and would not do so if it werenot for Philip’s wishes. Of course she wished to go. Howdreadful it would be not to be there but to be wonderingevery moment what was happening, imagining with whomhe was walking and talking.
Rebecca stopped guiltily in the middle of performing the awkward task of buttoning her dress at the back. She hadbeen thinking almost exclusively of Christopher in the lastfew days. Yet she was engaged to marry Philip. She mustspend the afternoon concentrating on the friendship andmutual respect they had for each other. She would befoolish to let go of those things when she had nothing togain by brooding over Christopher. Her feelings for himwere purely regrets for a past that might have been. Hewas not now the sort of man whom she would wish tocaptivate even if that were possible.
Rebecca spent five whole minutes before the shelf of her closet in an agony of indecision over which of her veryplain bonnets she should wear. She wished she had something just a little prettier or more frivolous. Perhaps shewould be quite reckless and buy one for the annual fair inthree weeks’ time.
Rebecca was very glad to ride the mile to the river from the Sinclairs’ house in the gig with Ellen and Primrose.She had driven over there with Lord Holmes, Maude, andHarriet in the closed carriage. And the baron had insistedthat all the windows remain closed for fear of a draft.Rebecca had thought she would explode before the two-mile distance had been covered. However, most membersof the party had driven or ridden to the picnic site whilePrimrose was showing off her new horse. By the time theyreturned to the house, only the gig, a very irate Ellen, andMr. Carver remained.
“Oh, do come along, Prim,” Ellen called out crossly as soon as they were within earshot. “We will miss all thefun. You could have shown Miss Shaw your horse at someother time.”
“I am afraid the fault is mine, Ellen,” Rebecca said with a smile. “One look was not enough for me. I had togo right into the stall and get to know the horse. He is abeauty.”
