“Good,” she had commented, putting her arms up around his neck and raising her chin. “It is about time.”
She could even remember the kiss. It was the one that had got out of hand. His shirt had been unbuttoned to thewaist, her hands on his chest, and her dress had beenpushed from her shoulders, his hands on her naked breastsbefore they had come to their senses at the same moment.The incident had shaken them both. He had even suggested that they get married without further delay. Sheoften wondered what would have happened with their livesif she had said yes.
Rebecca was agitated by the memory. Would he remember too? If he did, there would be no shadow of doubt in his mind that her actions of the previous afternoon hadbeen deliberate.
Perhaps she should end her betrothal to Philip. It was not that she wished to be free to try to entice Christopherback again. There could be no question of that. Love himshe might, but she was not foolish or degraded enough towant to resume a relationship in which she had beentreated with such contempt. But could she in all fairness marry Philip when she had finally been forced to admitthat she still loved Christopher? And after the afternoonbefore, she did not know if she would be able to bearbeing touched by Philip. She had often wondered; she hadnever had so much as a kiss from him by which she mightjudge.
Should she tell him? But how would she tell him? What would she do afterward? Could she go on forever living onthe charity of Uncle Humphrey?
Her thoughts were mercifully interrupted by the sight of three figures approaching from the direction of the pasture.She smiled at Mr. Bartlett, who had Ellen on one arm andPrimrose on the other.
“Ah, Miss Shaw,” he called, “I see that my sister’s roses only serve to make you look more lovely. I onlywish the same might be said of me. But I fear that I merelylook like a thorn among roses.” He smiled at the twogirls.
“We accused Mr. Bartlett of being a hothouse plant,” Primrose called, “always in town and always riding everywhere. He had to prove us wrong by leaving his horse inour stable and walking all the way here with us.”
“We have talked to him all the way,” Ellen added, “to keep his mind from the terrible distance, you see.”
“The countryside breeds cruel maidens,” Mr. Bartlett said. “I would wager that these two will sleep dreamlesslytonight without sparing one thought to the blisters on myfeet.”
They all laughed. Rebecca felt her mood lift somewhat. She had been brooding on her own problems too long andforgetting that there were pleasant companions within easyreach.
It was almost as if Mr. Bartlett read her mind. “The Misses Sinclair have come all this way for the pleasure oftaking tea with my sister,” he said. “But I must confessthat this hothouse plant has become accustomed to thefresh air and likes it. May I walk with you, Miss Shaw?”
She smiled and moved toward him. His company would be a welcome relief from her own broodings. Ellen andPrimrose walked the rest of the way to the house whileRebecca and Mr. Bartlett began to stroll across the extensive lawns that stretched to the west of the house.
“This is an extremely pleasant place to be,” he said, holding out an arm for her to take. “The countryside isdelightful and the company most congenial. I am onlyafraid that I shall become so happy here that I shall outstaymy welcome.”
“I do not believe you need fear that, sir,” Rebecca said. “It seems to me that everyone is the happier for yourpresence here.”
“How kind of you to say so!” he said, patting the hand that lay on his arm. “You are a very kind lady, MissShaw. I have not been unaware of how much time youdevote to those less fortunate than yourself. We all mightlearn something from your example. Of course, perhaps Iam more sensitive to your good works because life has notalways been kind to me.”
“Oh?” she said.
“My family is not wealthy, as I am sure you are aware,” he said. “Maude, alas, was not able to bring much of adowry to her marriage. Lord Holmes is a generous man,and I do believe it mattered not at all to him that she couldoffer only her sweet self. But my father feels it, MissShaw, and I feel it. Staying here, for example, is pleasant;the hospitality of my brother-in-law is excellent. But itdoes pain me that I cannot return that hospitality.”
Rebecca smiled. “I know how you feel,” she said.
“I believe we are alike in many ways, Miss Shaw,” he said, “except that you have been more useful in your lifethan I have been. Both of us grew up, I believe, knowinghow to live frugally. I have never expected much by wayof the goods of this life. And I never had the opportunityto go to university or to travel. Even so, I might have beenhappy.” He sighed.
“Education and travel do not necessarily bring happiness,” Rebecca said reassuringly. “One can learn a great deal just from reading, I firmly believe.”
“Ah, you are right,” he said. “And what would one do without books, Miss Shaw? My happiness, though, mighthave come from love.”
She looked at him inquiringly.
“She was lovely,” he said. “Not perhaps beautiful in the eyes of the world. But to me she was perfection. Wewished to marry. The only stumbling block as far as I wasconcerned was that she was extremely wealthy and like toinherit a very large fortune from her papa. I hated to beable to bring no answering wealth to the marriage. But sheassured me that the fact made no difference, and I insistedthat before we marry a written agreement be drawn upwhereby her wealth would remain wholly hers. Alas, allour planning came to nothing.”
“She—died?” Rebecca asked softly.
“Not then,” he said with a twisted smile. “She was forced to marry a man whom her father preferred, althoughhe was my equal in both birth and fortune.”
“Oh,” Rebecca said, “you are talking of Mrs. Sinclair, are you not?”
He bowed his head. “I could have borne it had she been happy or even moderately contented afterward,” he said,“or perhaps even if he had taken her away where I wouldnot have seen her frequently and known how he abusedher.”
So, Rebecca thought, there was no escaping her thoughts. They were back on the topic of Christopher. And she hatedhim with a new vehemence. By what right had he comeback here to torment her again when she had won ahard-fought battle with her own feelings? And by whatright had he come to torment Mr. Bartlett, when that poorgentleman must be deeply grieving the loss of the womanhe had loved?
“I am sorry, Miss Shaw,” Mr. Bartlett said, his voice contrite. “I did not intend to talk about Sinclair or Angela.It is all past history and I have no wish to burden anyoneelse with my unhappiness. Come, let us talk of more cheerful things. Maude tells me that you are to attend theball the day after tomorrow?”
