Christopher smiled, a rather tight grimace that did not quite reach his eyes. “Miss Shaw, may I present Mr.Lucas Carver?”
Mr. Carver leaned down from his horse and stretched out a hand to Rebecca. His shirt points dug even moredangerously into his cheeks, she noticed.
“Pleased t’make your acquaintance, Miss Shaw,” he said.
Christopher had pulled himself together by the time Rebecca and Mr. Carver had exchanged civilities. “Wemust allow you to continue your walk, Becky,” he said.“It is good to see you again.”
She inclined her head to both men and watched them ride away from her before continuing on her way. She wasover the stile and well across the pasture before she cameout of her daze. She had met him again, had talked to him.And she had survived. Here she was walking home as ifnothing out of the ordinary had happened.
She stopped suddenly and looked down at herself, aghast. What would he have seen? How had she appeared toChristopher after six and a half years? She had been a girlof nineteen last time he saw her. She was a woman ofsix-and-twenty now. She had changed, she knew. She wasstill only of medium height, still very slight in figure. Shestill wore clothes of simple, unfashionable style. But herface and her hair must have appeared very different tohim. Her face had paled and thinned over the years. Shehad lost her youthful look and sparkle, she knew. Her grayeyes, when she looked at herself in the mirror, lookedback at her calmly with the look of a woman who hadexperienced the vicissitudes of life and not been destroyedby them. Her fair hair was no longer worn in loose curls.Years ago she had grown it longer and confined it in aloose knot at the base of her neck.
She looked her age, she knew. And her appearance was eminently suited to her station. While she tried always tolook neat, she did not feel it appropriate to aim for elegance or prettiness. She was betrothed to a village vicarand she taught at the village school. She was six-and-twenty years old. She was usually un-self-conscious abouther appearance. Why would she care now? Why care thatChristopher Sinclair had seen the changes? If Philip likedher the way she was, why worry about the opinion of anyother man? After all, he had changed too. He was clearlynow a man of nine-and-twenty rather than the very youngman she had known.
The changes in him were all improvements, though, some inner part of her mind told her, unbidden. He hadbeen a very good-looking boy. Now he was an unusuallyhandsome man. And a selfish, unprincipled man, she mustconstantly remind herself.
Yes, he had been a very good-looking boy. She had always been aware of the fact. Being three years youngerthan he, she had always looked up to him as an older,heroic male. But perhaps she had been fully aware of hisgood looks and attractiveness only when he had comehome after his first year at Oxford. He was nineteen,vastly self-assured, and inclined to patronize the sixteen-year-old daughter of the vicar. He had been friendly, hadsought her out whenever circumstances brought them intothe same company, and had talked to her a great deal. Butperhaps the friendship at that time owed more to the factthat there were very few other people in the area close tohis age than to any special preference for Rebecca.
That had had to wait another two years until he came home after his final year at university. Rebecca had acquired poise in the few years since the death of her mother.She had also recently become more conscious of her looksand had had her hair styled so that the length and heaviness that had pulled it straight were replaced by soft curlsover her head and down her neck. She had fashionedherself some light muslin gowns for the summer instead ofthe usual cotton ones.
Christopher had noticed the changes immediately. He had looked at her with admiration when they met the dayafter his return home.
“Well,” he had said, “aren’t you the fine lady, Becky! You must be beating back the suitors from the door.”
“Silly,” she had replied, pleased. “Where would they come from in a place like this?”
He had grinned. “I must be thankful that we do not live in a large place,” he had said. “Does this mean I haveyou all to myself?”
His voice had been teasing. And that manner had set the tone of their relationship through most of the summer.They had met a good deal during various visits, and theyhad frequently walked and ridden together. But there hadbeen nothing more than a very casual friendship until thenight of the annual village fair.
They had spent part of the day together but had drifted apart several times to pursue their own interests or tomingle with other acquaintances. It had been a hot day, sothat by the time the dancing started in the evening everyone was feeling rather tired and very thankful for thecoolness that came after sunset. The dance Rebecca hadwith Christopher had been a particularly strenuous one.They had been laughing but panting at the end of it.
“Come and walk with me, Becky,” he had said, pulling her arm through his and really offering her no choice.“Mrs. Pugh has been eyeing me purposefully for the pasthalf hour. I shall feel obliged to ask her to dance if I stay.I should much prefer to walk with you.”
“I am suitably flattered, sir,” she had said with mock primness.
“I should think so, too,” he had assured her. “It is a signal honor, you know, to be preferred to Mrs. Pugh.”
And they had talked on, exchanging light banter, while they strolled along the village street and out onto thecountry lane that led eventually both to her uncle’s houseand to his own. They had not noticed leaving the lights ofthe village behind because the moon was bright. Onlywhen there was a lull in the conversation had they becomeaware that the sounds of the village too had receded intothe distance.
Christopher had looked down at her and smiled, and she smiled back. The silence was suddenly oppressive. Conversation, which usually flowed between them withoutthought, suddenly refused to come. And their steps sloweduntil they stopped walking altogether.
“I should take you back home,” he said, turning to face her.
“Yes,” she agreed.
But they had not moved. They continued to look at each other. And then his mouth came down to cover hers in alight and slow exploration. It was not the hard, toothgrinding kiss that she remembered from years before. Hedid not touch any other part of her. And then he raised hishead and they looked at each other again.
“I have gone and done something very silly, Becky,” he said, flashing her a grin. “I have fallen in love withyou. You will think me very foolish, will you not, oldfriend? I have been fighting it all summer.”
“I don’t think you are foolish, Christopher,” she said, gazing earnestly back at him. “I have loved you for a longtime.”
“No. Really, Becky?” He became serious again.
“Yes, really.”
He had laughed and then reached out to cup her face in his hands. Neither of them said anything for a while asthey gazed into each other’s eyes and he traced the line ofher lips with his thumbs. She smiled.
And then he had kissed her again, drawing her against him, moving his hands in gentle caress down her spine andaround to her breasts, teasing her mouth open with his lipsand tongue, and finally kissing her closed eyes, her temples, her chin, her throat. And this time, she knew, he didknow how to kiss, and by instinct and by love, so did she.
