“Like what?” he whispered.
Rebecca paused. “Well,” she said slowly, thinking back. “I was very angry. In ways I didn’t understand. And, scared too, I believe.” She blinked and, looking down, registered the confusion in his expression. “I couldn’t save her. Even with help from the village, I was too… too late. I could hardly eat. I had horrendous nightmares in the little time I did sleep. My temper grew unmanageable. My father didn’t know what to do with me. He finally sent me to school. Likely to give himself some peace. But something changed when I got to school and met my very good friend Gabby.”
“What did she do, your friend Gabby?”
“She got me to talk. I told her what happened, and the change was miraculous. I was still sad about Miss Velinda, but when the words came out of my mouth, I realized I could look at what happened with some well-needed perspective. Gabby reminded me how young and little I was. She said the villains would likely have had me too.” Rebecca leaned closer to him. “Is this making the least bit of sense?”
She waited with her breath held. What did she truly know about helping a child except correlating it to her own experience?
“Yeth,” he said quietly.
“After I told my friend what happened, I was suddenly able to sleep. And food never tasted so good.” She squeezed Owen’s hand. “I know you can talk, darling. Your vocal chords are working. I heard you laugh.”
He blinked and a large tear fell over, sliding down his cheek.
Rebecca waited.
“He kilt thomeone.” His whisper was so low, had she not been leaning in, she couldn’t have made out the words.
“That bad man who was after Oliver?”
Owen nodded.
“He thought he was chasing you, didn’t he? He didn’t know you had a twin.”
“Yeth,” again the minutest sound.
“I don’t suppose you know who the man was he hurt?”
He shook his head.
“Was this at Vauxhall?”
“Yeth. He wath a gentleman.”
Rebecca thought of Finch Cromwell. Ill-dressed and a man from the dregs of London, who’d charged her and Oliver in St. James Park. A gentleman? That, she was not so sure of. Not impossible, of course. While she knew the nobility attended Vauxhall, they didn’t usually mingle with the commoners, but she kept her opinions to herself. One thing she was learning about these twins, they were inordinately sharp. “Did the mean man do anything,anythingto hurt you, Owen?”
He shook his head. “I run fath’d.”
She scooped him up in her arms and hugged him as tight as she could, thrilled and touched when his arms went around her neck and he clung back just as tightly. “I’m so glad, darling. So, so very glad.”
~~~
Sebastian straightened away from the door, disturbed by the few words he’d been able to make out. Rebecca’s governess had been attacked and she’d been nearby. His heart pounded so hard against his ribs, he thought they would break. At the least, they would be badly bruised. He made a mental note to learn what happened to the culprits. He moved away from the door, glancing about.
And met the shrewd eyes of one Peter Thatcher. Before he could utter a word, the boy dashed down the stairs after his caretaker.
Eight
Sebastian awaited his party in the private dining room the innkeeper had shown him with great aplomb. He couldn’t quite believe Rebecca’s nerve in dousing Sebastianin the facewith a full cup of dirty bath water. Even more astounding was his reaction—not one of outrage or frustration—but one of… fun. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed for no reason. Even more astonishing was that he’d been the one who’d instigated the situation, jumped into the fray with both feet. Most definitely out of his well-ordered, pragmatic character.
The door opened and two tow-headed boys enthusiastically entered, followed by their larger than life mother, looking no worse for the wear after their water-ridden warfare.
“I’m thrilled to see you survived your unfortunate ordeal,” the duke said to the children.
The boys grinned. Peter’s full-fledged, Percy’s shy and sweet.
“You got her good, Your Grace,” Peter said.
