The Wedding Season Read online

  “They’re beautiful, thank you.” She lifted the flowers to inhale their fresh, sweet fragrance…and to hide her eyes so Sebastian would not glimpse the ache of longing in them and guess her feelings. “But you owe me no apology. What you said was true. I have no right to lecture you or anyone else about forgiveness.”

  “Perhaps not.” Sebastian turned his horse and urged it forward at a leisurely walk, while Rebecca’s mount fell in step. “But I know you meant well and some of what you said made an impression on me. Even if it had not, I had no call to speak to you as I did. My only defense is that anything to do with my marriage is a very sore subject with me.”

  “I understand.” Pleasant as it was to ride at his side, Rebecca wished they were on foot so she might cling to his arm.

  Sebastian gave a wry chuckle. “And that is the beginning of forgiveness?”

  She risked a glance at him and a smile. “I believe so. You understand that I meant well, which made it easier to excuse me for meddling where I had no right.”

  “Was that why you came here?” An unaccustomed glint of levity twinkled in his eyes. “So we might argue over who was more to blame?”

  “Not entirely.” Rebecca recalled the reason for her visit. “I also came to warn you that your opposition to their engagement is what has put Hermione and your brother in such haste to wed.”

  She repeated what Claude Stanhope had told Hermione. “I believe it is vital that they not rush into marriage. They need more time for the bond between them to ripen before they are joined for a lifetime.”

  “Does this mean you and I are on the same side now?” Reining his horse to a stop in front of the house, Sebastian swiftly dismounted then came to help Rebecca down. “We make much better allies than we do opponents.”

  She gave a little gasp when he clasped her carefully around the waist and lowered her to the ground with effortless strength. “I think we have always been allies in desiring the happiness of those we hold dear.”

  For a quiet, drawn-out moment, they stood with his hands around her waist and hers raised to his shoulders. It would have taken only the slightest adjustment for their present stance to melt into an embrace.

  Then a lad came running from the stables to take the horses.

  Rebecca and Sebastian sprang apart. But after an awkward moment, he gallantly offered her his arm and returned to their conversation. “If we are agreed that Miss Leonard and my brother should not rush into marriage, what can be done to prevent them? Do you think they might listen if we sat them down and talked to them, presenting a united front?”

  Much as the notion appealed to her, Rebecca felt bound to express her reservations. “I am afraid that would only serve to make them unite against us, which is the last thing we want.”

  Sebastian gave a dispirited nod. “What do you suggest then?”

  She hesitated, loathe to spoil this moment of closeness between them, as she knew her suggestion would. But she could not refrain from answering indefinitely, and she could see only one solution. “I think you must tell them you will withdraw your objections to their engagement.”

  “Withdraw my—?” Sebastian stared at Rebecca, wondering how his treasured ally had suddenly turned traitor. “You know I cannot do that. Is this some new stratagem you have contrived with them to get around me?”

  “I would not do that,” she insisted with a ring of sincerity he found impossible to doubt. “I hope you know me well enough to believe I never would.”

  His accusing stare softened, and he allowed one corner of his lips to arch slightly. “I suppose I do. I apologize for my suspicions but my answer remains the same. I cannot pretend to accept this engagement when—”

  Rebecca interrupted to finish his sentence. “—when every time you look at Hermione you are reminded of Lydia?”

  “I was going to say, ‘when I believe it would be a grave mistake.’ But your suggestion is not untrue.”

  They entered the house, walking down the main gallery. Absorbed in their conversation and Rebecca’s company, Sebastian had little conscious idea where he was headed. He could take his lovely guest into the sitting room and call for tea. But that would require her to let go of his arm, a deprivation he could not bear. So he walked past the sitting room…the dining room…the library, out into the gardens.

  Rebecca seemed not to notice where they were going as she concentrated on trying to persuade him. “I must have rehearsed half a dozen arguments on my way here, but now I see it is no use appealing to reason. It is your heart and soul I must win over so you will be free to do the right thing.”

  Win his heart? It felt as if she had been doing that from the moment they met.

  “You think I do not understand how hard it is to forgive,” Rebecca continued, “because I have never been hurt. But that is not true. Indeed, before coming to Rose Grange, I was more accustomed to neglect and mistreatment than kindness.”

  The thought of someone hurting her made every muscle in Sebastian’s body tense. “Who mistreated you, your parents?”

  His father had been cursed with a volatile temper of which he’d occasionally borne the brunt. Perhaps that was what made him seek to control his anger. One of the things he’d most detested about Lydia was how close she’d come to making him lash out.

  Rebecca shook her head. “Never my parents. What little I recall of them was always gentle and loving. I believe the early foundation of their affection may have been what carried me through all that came after.”

  So she had lost her parents at a young age, too. Sebastian scarcely remembered his mother, who had died when he was a small child. The loss of Claude’s mother had been much harder to bear. She had been as devoted to him as to her own little son, and it was partly for her sake that he’d always tried to look out for his brother.

  “What came after?” As they walked, he could not keep himself from drawing closer to her.

  Rebecca kept her eyes downcast, watching the path as if she feared some obstacle might spring up to trip her. “They died of diphtheria the winter before I turned five. Papa was a poor clergyman with no family, so I was sent to live with my mother’s relatives. They were wealthy and titled and they had never forgiven Mama for marrying beneath her.”

  A great many things suddenly became clear to Sebastian, including why she’d been so indignant at his opposition to marriages of unequal fortune.

  “Did they harm you?” Instinctively his fists clenched. He wanted to thrash anyone who had dared lay a hand on her.

  “Beat me, you mean?” Rebecca shook her head. “They were far too well bred to stoop to that sort of thing. But they could use words to inflict injuries as painful as any blow and far longer lasting. I was never allowed to forget that I was an embarrassing, inconvenient burden to them. They passed me from one to another like a hot potato no one wanted to be left holding. No sooner would I begin to find my way around a new household, learn people’s names and become accustomed to the routine than I would be sent somewhere new to begin all over again.”

  “No wonder you prize familiarity,” Sebastian mused, recalling the first time she’d confided in him.

  They’d been in the same place then—the Fountain Garden his grandfather had hewn out of this hillside. There was a mysterious air of peace about this secluded garden that seemed to invite disclosure.

  “Finally, when I was nine,” Rebecca continued, staring out over the tranquil Cotswold countryside, “they decided I should be sent away to school. So off I went.”

  “Was that the school where you met those friends of yours?” Sebastian tried to recall if she’d told him any more than that about the place.

  She nodded. “The Pendergast Charity School for Orphaned Daughters of the Clergy. It is a shame the place did not live up to its impressive name. It was the most wretched institution—cold, damp, ill-staffed and ill-provisioned. For all that, I preferred it to the fine houses of my relatives where I had been infinitely better fed and clothed. At least there I had frie
nds who cared for me, and I was able to stay long enough to become accustomed to it.”

  Words continued to trickle out of her as if a dam had been breached. She told him more about the harsh deprivations of her years at the school and the forlorn confusion of being shuffled from one uncaring relative to another. His chest ached with a mixture of sympathy, grief and rage over what she had endured. He could not bear to think of her wanting for anything ever again, or going away to yet another new place.

  “So you see,” she murmured at last, “I do know how it feels to be hurt and to carry the bitterness of it around with you always.”

  She turned toward him then, tilting her head to meet his gaze. As he stared into her eyes, Sebastian thought he might get lost in them and found he welcomed the opportunity. They were Cotswold eyes—the warm golden brown of local stone, blended with the vibrant green of the rolling hills. This was where she belonged.

  “I know how difficult it is to forgive those who have hurt you,” she continued, “because I have never truly forgiven my relatives. As you said, the best I have been able to do is try to forget them.”

  “Do not trouble yourself over it.” He clasped her hands between his. They felt small and cold, desperately in need of his strength and warmth. “Those people do not deserve your forgiveness.”

  She considered for a moment, then replied, “How many people do you suppose would ever be forgiven if they had to deserve it? I’m not certain I would.”

  “Nonsense,” he growled, compelled to protect her, even from her own self-doubts. “What have you ever done that would need forgiveness?”

  “What a short memory you have.” She flashed him a rueful grin that faded all too quickly. “The first time we met, I misjudged you and misled you. Most recently I have been a hypocrite, urging you to do what I could not do myself.”

  A fine mist rose in her eyes.

  “Don’t fret about any of that!” He released her hand and gathered her into his arms. “I don’t blame you. I understand.”

  Wasn’t that what she had advised him to do for Lydia?

  His effort to comfort Rebecca failed miserably. Or perhaps the anguish of all the painful memories she’d unearthed overcame her. A shudder went through her and then another as she began to weep in his arms. Even after she grew quiet, Sebastian found he could not let her go. It felt so right and natural to hold her like this.

  And when she tilted her face toward him, it felt right and natural to lean forward…

  Before prudence or wariness intervened to prevent him, he gave her a kiss that seemed to have been lurking on his lips all this time, awaiting just such an opportunity. To his relief and delight, Rebecca did not shrink from it but kissed him back.

  It was just the sort of kiss he expected from her—sincere and generous with a refreshing air of innocence. Like a long-lost key, her kiss slipped into his heart, unlocking all the tender feelings he had resisted and denied. Out they poured, washing away painful memories, filling the arid, empty spaces within him, overwhelming every other thought but those of her…and them.

  He could have stayed there forever, holding and kissing her.

  But too soon, Rebecca stirred, tensed and drew back from him. “I’m so sorry, Sebastian…Lord Benedict! I did not mean to take advantage of your kindness like this. I must go!”

  He caught her hand. “Stay with me, Rebecca! Not just now, but always. Marry me, please! Say you will be my wife.”

  No sooner had those words left his mouth than dark doubts assailed him. How long had he known Rebecca Beaton, after all? Not much longer than he’d known Lydia when he proposed to her. And Rebecca had even more mercenary reasons to accept him than Lydia had—she’d told him so herself.

  His heart sprang to her defense, insisting that Rebecca was nothing like his late wife. She was sincere, kind and understanding—a compound of all the best virtues!

  But that argument only made his reason all the more suspicious. The intoxicating ardor he felt for her was all too familiar, though even more intense than he remembered from the last time. By allowing himself to care so much more for Rebecca, he had given her infinitely more power to make him happy…or miserable.

  All those thoughts flashed through his mind while his proposal seemed to tremble in the fragrant air between them. Part of him yearned desperately for Rebecca to accept, while another part grew sick with fear that she might. In any case, it was out of his hands now. He’d blurted out the fateful words that had placed him in her power, and he could not take them back.

  “I…” She searched his gaze for some reassurance that this was what he truly wanted. “I…”

  As he steeled himself for her answer, equally fearful of either, she cried, “I must go!”

  Wrenching her hand from his, Rebecca spun away and ran up the path as if her darkest terrors were snarling and snapping at her heels.

  He wanted to go after her, but the tyranny of bitter memories kept him frozen there. In that moment, he realized the only thing worse than either of the answers Rebecca might give him was no answer at all.

  Chapter Nine

  What answer would she give Sebastian to his unexpected proposal?

  After several days spent thinking of little else, Rebecca was no closer to a conclusion than she’d been when she fled the romantic tranquility of the Fountain Garden.

  With all her heart, she longed to accept, for so many reasons. The most important of those was that she had come to care for Sebastian in a way she’d never expected to feel for any man. She admired his protectiveness, his concern for others and his willingness to use his high position to do some good. Yet he was no tiresome model of virtue. His company was well spiced with wry wit and informative, entertaining conversation. Besides that, she felt a deep connection to him on account of the losses and hurts they’d both suffered and tried to overcome.

  Then there was his fine house and comfortable fortune. She wished she could claim they did not matter to her, but that would be untrue. For someone like her, who had moved so often and felt the humiliating deprivations of living on charity, the security of a home like Stanhope Court and freedom from the grim shadow of want would be cherished blessings indeed.

  Another blessing was that she would never have to be parted from Hermione. They would be even more like sisters than they had been, connected by family ties rather than terms of employment. If she agreed to wed Sebastian, Rebecca knew he could have no grounds to continue opposing his brother’s engagement to Hermione.

  The thought of Hermione made Rebecca glance toward the pianoforte, where her young friend was practicing a romantic but rather melancholy air. It occurred to her that Hermione had been very subdued these past few days. She chided herself for being so preoccupied with Sebastian’s proposal that she had not noticed until now. Was Hermione having more second thoughts about marrying Claude Stanhope so soon? Was she worried about how her future brother-in-law might treat her?

  Vowing to broach the subject as soon as Hermione finished playing, Rebecca fell prey to all manner of doubts about the wisdom of accepting Sebastian’s proposal. If only she could be certain that he cared for her the way she had come to care for him. But the manner of his asking made it clear he’d been motivated by pity rather than love. Though he tried to pretend otherwise, she knew he was a man of deep compassion. He must have been moved by her tale of woe and wanted to spare her any further insecurity or deprivation.

  Considering the depth of her feelings for him, could she be satisfied with a marriage that promised comfort, security and companionship, but not love? And what of Sebastian—would he soon come to regret a second marriage he’d made in haste, out of kindness? Might he be as miserable with her as he had been with his first wife, though for different reasons?

  She could not forget the look in his eyes when he’d realized he had proposed to her—a deadly mixture of panic, regret and dread. Yet she’d sensed very different feelings from him when he’d held her in his arms and kissed her. If he did not l
ove her yet, she believed he was capable of loving her…if only he could banish the shadows of his past.

  The final notes of the music Hermione had been playing faded away. Its tone had matched Rebecca’s yearning, pensive mood.

  “That was lovely, my dear.” She applauded softly. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you play it before. What’s it called?”

  Hermione started at the sound of Rebecca’s voice, as if she’d forgotten she was not alone in the room. “It’s a ‘Division’ by Jenkins, a sweet melody but rather sad.”

  Rebecca nodded. “Just what I was thinking. I wonder what the composer had in mind when he wrote it?”

  Rising from the pianoforte, Hermione walked over and sank down on the far end of the settee. The troubled look on her delicate features mirrored the beautiful, plaintive music she’d been playing.

  “Is something the matter?” Rebecca slid closer to her on the settee. “You don’t seem your usual, cheerful self of late.”

  A qualm of remorse gripped her for having neglected her young friend in recent days.

  “Oh, Miss Beaton.” Hermione’s lower lip trembled. “Are you still angry with me after the way I spoke to you the other day? I know you would never let Lord Benedict turn you against me, but I’ve been so anxious and confused. I’m sorry I took it out on you! Can you ever forgive me?”

  “Dearest girl!” Her throat tightened at the realization of how Hermione had misinterpreted her preoccupation. “I cannot still be angry, for I never was to begin with.”

  When Rebecca opened her arms, Hermione dove into her embrace. “As for forgiving you, I would, of course, but there is nothing to forgive. I knew you could not mean what you said about me taking Seb—Lord Benedict’s side.”

  “I was certain I m-must have offended you.” Hermione did not sound entirely convinced by Rebecca’s reassurance. “You’ve hardly spoken a word to me since then.”

  “Nor to anybody else.” Rebecca smoothed back the hair that had tumbled over Hermione’s forehead. “I’ve had a great deal on my mind of late. Nothing to do with our talk the other day. I’m sorry I’ve been so distracted.”