Thorns in Eden and The Everlasting Mountains Page 10

  “Yes, David. All I want for Lavinia is for her to be happy.”

  “Thank you, Rebecah. We shall not forget it.”

  * * *

  The following day, Samuel Brent looked from his window at a hired coach outside on his drive. The coachman put Hugh inside, then shooed Jess away with a kick of his boot.

  Hastily clad in a winter cloak, Rebecah rushed to the boy, as the coachman mounted his seat and dragged the reins through his hands. Brent observed her closely. She hugged Hugh, kissed his head, and then Hugh kissed his cousin’s cheek. She held his small hands, and Brent could tell she was speaking to him.

  He wondered what she was saying.

  His face grew rigid. How could she defy him? But then, the sudden memory of having once loved and lost, and having married not loving, whipped through his mind like a tempest. The reality of it for Rebecah pounded at the door of his locked heart. For a moment, he wondered if he were wrong. Was he dooming her to an unhappy life with Lanley? Gathering his will, he tossed the idea aside. In time he learned to love Kathryn and she him. So, it would be the same for Rebecah and his daughters.

  He balled his fist and knocked it against the windowsill. A vow trembled on his lips. He would not allow her to see John Nash again. He would banish him from stepping anywhere near Endfield.

  Endeavoring not to listen to the pounding in his head, he gripped his hands together until the knuckles turned white. It is not possible she cares so much for a traitor. She must know the truth. She will learn to hate him.

  The coachman cracked his whip and the horses lunged forward. Brent frowned hard and turned away. A moment and he heard Rebecah’s footsteps outside the door. She paused a moment and then went on. He knew she and the others were hurt he had sent Hugh away and wanted to tell him so. But of course they could not. He wouldn’t hear of it. His pride steeled him and he swallowed a large glass of port wine.

  “I had to do it.” He tossed down the glass. “The boy is in need of an education. A governess would spoil him. It’s the right thing to do.”

  Hugh, like most boys, grew inquisitive and bright. A cast of the old philosophies and old conventions, Brent failed to see it. After all, his father had sent him away to school when he was a lad. Rarely had he seen his father more than twice a year. Attention and affection softens a boy and will make him grow up to be a weak man. Strength came from firmness, aloofness, and reserve.

  As much as he tried to justify his actions, Brent knew he had flaws in his reasoning. His beliefs were broken and his soul empty. He stared in the mirror hanging over the settee. His haggard face frightened him. Left alone without his wife terrified him.

  A painful revelation flooded his mind. His family was torn without Kathryn, and his own son a stranger. What legacy had he left his heir? His daughters would marry as would his niece, and then he’d be abandoned to live out a lonely existence in his large house with its aging furniture and dusty old books and carpets.

  He sank into a chair in front of the fire, and covered his face within his hands.

  “Oh, God, help me.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Rain lingered over the countryside for a week. Fog entwined both day and night. Previous snows melted and rivers and streams swelled. Roads were muddy and full of ruts and holes. Rooks crackled in the trees and the drenched earth smelled of mold and trodden leaf.

  Rebecah stood out on her balcony in the early morning light. She watched clouds part to the north, giving way to a blanket of blue. She breathed deep the crystal air. Hope beat in her heart. Soon she would be with the one she loved and leave this place. But why hadn’t she received his letters?

  She looked back inside her room to see her valise sitting near the door. A sudden sense of dread seized her. Perhaps they had been intercepted.

  She tightened a loose ribbon hanging from her bodice. Then she went downstairs. Quietly she approached the study. Her uncle sat in an armchair by the fire, as he had done each day since his wife had passed, in the dark with the drapes closed. He took no care in his appearance. His beard was days old and his hair hung limp against his neck and shoulders.

  She hoped to speak to him…or simply listen. Feeling sorry for her uncle, she wondered if it would help.

  “It’s extraordinary this letter arrived,” she heard March say. “The courier insisted he give it to Miss Rebecah.”

  “A secret correspondence?”

  “I snatched it out of his hand.”

  “You’ve never taking such liberties before, March. I’ll trust your intuition this time.”

  Brent tore the letter open. Rebecah stepped back, feeling her heart beat harder. The letter had to be from Jack. About to burst into the room, in hopes of getting the letter before her uncle could read it, she halted with her hand on the door when Sir Samuel spoke.

  “How dare him,” he stormed. “That turncoat intends to meet my niece tomorrow at dusk. Well, he shall find himself alone. I tell you now, March, if he so much as darkens my door to see her, slam the door in his face.”

  “Yes, Sir Samuel.”

  Rebecah’s hands clenched to see him tear the pages to pieces and throw them in the fire.

  “Where is Rebecah? I want to speak to her.”

  Hearing footsteps, Rebecah backed away. March opened the door wide. A flash of sunlight came through the window and revealed the widow’s gaunt face, expressionless mouth, and sad eyes. What, or who, had made the old woman so bitter, so old and stern, so sad, was a mystery.

  “Miss Rebecah, Sir Samuel bids you come in.”

  The library was warm with a fire. Brent motioned to Rebecah to close the door and come inside. Struck by the worn condition of his eyes, she felt compassion for his loss, though he showed her none.

  She sat opposite him, avoiding his stare. Then, rallying her strength against him, she raised her eyes and fixed them upon his.

  “It has occurred to me perhaps this time of grief for the family has lead you to think your marriage to Lanley will somehow be delayed.”

  “There should be an allowance, Uncle, for the time of mourning.”

  “I’m aware of the custom. But there will be no delay. You can look forward to your wedding at the end of the month, after the bans are read.”

  She felt the blood rush from her face. “But I’m not ready to marry. It’s too soon.”

  “We’ve discussed this before. I think you want to argue for other reasons. What are they?”

  “For one, I do not love him.”

  “A poor excuse these days. Tell me the rest.”

  “I have no other reason other than what I’ve told you. It should be enough.”

  “Strike me deaf, Rebecah! I’m too tired to argue.” He covered his brow with one hand in an anxious gesture. “You will marry Lanley. By law, you are constrained to be submissive. You are not an independent being.”

  “You cannot force me to wed him.”

  “Oh, I cannot, you say? Shall I pack you off and send you to Lanley’s aunts?” Brent rubbed salt into the wound.

  “No, Uncle. Lavinia needs me.”

  “She is recovering and has Dorene and March to look after her. You can hardly use her as an excuse, now can you?”

  “Perhaps the suit should have been Dorene’s, not mine.”

  “It would have been if not for your father’s agreement. The truth is you’re blinded by your love for another man.”

  Rebecah lifted her eyes away from his. “Is it wrong?”

  “You are letting your emotions rule you.”

  She placed her hand against her chest and grew cold at his heartless words, words that frightened her like a dagger caressing her skin. She felt the throb of her heart increase against her palm.

  “Lanley is a gentleman of means, that is true. But money does not guarantee happiness. I am thinking of him as well. Must he have a wife who does not love him?”

  “Lanley hasn’t a care whether you love him or not.”

  “Send me anyway but not to Lanley…”
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br />   “Have you failed to see your duty?”

  “I have a duty to my heart and to God, sir.”

  “Then you are a fool. Would you defy what your father commanded on his deathbed?”

  “I do not love him, Uncle Samuel.”

  “Love is unimportant.”

  “It is everything.”

  “You argue now, but soon you will see the sense of it.”

  “I would be living a lie if I did.”

  “You will be obedient!”

  “At least give me more time.” Rebecah looked at him with a plea. She hoped her eyes cut him deep.

  “I learned you visited Ashburne. Your aunt consented?”

  “Yes. She sent me to put the house in order.”

  “And did you?” She did not answer. “Nash followed you there. Do not deny it. Dorene said you admitted it.”

  “He did not follow me. He was on his way to Standforth and the snow prevented him from going on. He took shelter at Ashburne. Nothing happened.”

  “Too much happened between you.”

  “Do not condemn me for something I have not done.”

  “Lanley will hear none of this, I assure you. It would bring shame to us.”

  “Shame will come if I marry a man I despise.”

  She glanced at the fireplace, at the bits of Nash’s letter turning to ash. Would her uncle confess to her what he had done?

  Brent clenched his teeth. He stood and lifted her by the shoulders. She let out a cry. “You will wish you never laid eyes on John Nash. He is responsible for your father’s death.” He shook her violently. “Do you hear?”

  “It’s a lie!” Rebecah threw back her head. Tears filled her eyes.

  “It’s the truth and I can prove it.”

  “No, you’re trying to turn me against him.”

  Squeezing her arm, he pulled her over to the table in the corner of the room. “Read it.”

  Upon the glossy finish, beside a gilt candlestick, lay a letter with a broken red wax seal. She picked it up and opened it. Immediately she recognized her father’s handwriting.

  My Brother,

  Though we have been estranged these years, a separation I regret, you remain my only brother. Who then can I send my beloved daughter to, save you? Therefore, I bequeath the guardianship of Rebecah into your hands. I’ve left her no fortune. I pray you forgive me. An arrangement has been made for her to wed Lanley. This is my last request.

  Shield her from any contact with John Nash if he should dare to tread upon English soil again and invade our family with his traitorous person. While in Maryland, I had a confrontation with two men. John Nash was one of them. I do testify he shot me, an act done out of a heart rebellious to a divinely appointed Empire, and treason toward His Royal Majesty the King. The confrontation had been heated, and in the confusion surrounding us, we met eye to eye. I ask that what I believe is the truth, be held in secret for the sake of the family's reputation, and the grief it could bring to Rodney Nash, a man I’ve always admired.

  For the sake of my daughter, she must never befriend this man, for certainly in the normal course of this life she may encounter him.

  I remain your brother,

  Richard Brent

  Rebecah gasped. A long shuddering moan escaped her lips. The room grew narrow and dark, the air stifling. Cruel, gray horror shadowed her face as if she stretched out her hand and touched the side of a brier.

  Her eyes were wide and tearless, her face pale. The reality of it seized and tore, rippled through her in a surge of pain to break her. Something died within; a thing once beautiful shattered and turned ugly. Love crumbled away, like a rose once dewy and soft, succulent with life, pressed, then turned to dust.

  “He robbed you of your father,” Brent said. “He courted your emotions with such passionate vigor. How could he have been so kind, and yet hide the truth?”

  Rebecah stood in the glare of sunlight coming through the window. Her eyes remained fixed on the letter in her hand. If only she could close her ears and cause the words on the page to fade.

  “How did you come by this letter?” she asked, in a voice sad and quiet as the wind brushing against the windowpanes.

  “Margery Holmes sent it to me. I read it the day I buried my lady. It was found among a stack of Richard’s papers.”

  “Had Margery read it?” Rebecah asked.

  “Of course not.”

  “Are there others?”

  “Should there be?”

  “I just thought…”

  “Richard had no reason to lie.”

  “No.”

  “You don’t understand what it took for me to hold back when Nash stood in my presence at my lady’s burial. I did it for Rodney, for he has been a good friend to me, and his wife is my lady’s cousin. Bad blood is what Rodney got for marrying a colonist before Margaret. I could have Nash arrested and hung.”

  She shot him a glance of desperation. “No, for their sakes!”

  She hurried over to the fire and threw the letter into the flames. It caught and the fire consumed it. Then she regretted what she had done.

  Brent’s eyes widened. His face stiffened. “Do you know what you’ve done? You’ve destroyed the evidence.”

  She got to her feet. Her legs felt like lead as she went up the stairs. Once in her room, she shut the door and turned the key in the lock.

  She looked around the room and listened. How she hated the stark quiet.

  With tears streaming down her face and her breath coming up in short gasps, she stretched herself across the bed, folded her arms under her face and wept. Her heart broke. Her hopes and dreams of lasting love shattered.

  CHAPTER 17

  Rebecah threw on her gray riding frock and wool cloak and headed out to the stable desperate for open spaces. It would do no good crying in her room. She would ride out to Merry Marsh, sit in the sanctuary of the church and watch the sunbeams come through the stained glass windows.

  The scent of fresh hay filled the stable. Star snorted and shook his golden mane. Tears of grief rose in Rebecah’s eyes and she leaned her head against the horse’s broad neck. She’d been ill all night, sleepless, trying to accept the fact Nash was not the man she thought him to be. She wanted what she felt for him removed, replaced with cold repulsion. Perhaps then, it would not hurt so much.

  Nightmares haunted her during the night. Lanley’s face stood inches from hers, his hot breath touching her skin. ‘Let us cinch the marriage,’ he urged. ‘I must touch you. I must.’ And he would reach toward her.

  In her dream, Nash stood in her doorway with his back turned, while Lanley spoke his words of lust. He would walk out, fading into a fog. She’d hear a pistol fire and her father’s voice calling.

  The intolerable night ended and a new sun prevailed on her to escape the house and face what promised to be an unbearable day. She waited impatiently, watching the groom saddle her horse. Once he was finished, she waved him off and he left for other duties.

  A frisky border collie waved its tail, brushed against her, and whined for a caress. Rebecah patted the dog. “Hello. Where did you come from?”

  “She’s mine.”

  When she looked up to see Nash, a sharp pain raced through her.

  “Come, Toby. I hope she didn’t frighten you. She followed me.”

  He leaned against the stable door. She could not help but notice the new suit of clothes he wore. She sensed the brown coat and knee-high riding boots were meant to impress her. He looked hurt, disappointed, and moved toward her.

  “It would ease my mind if I knew you were delayed.”

  What could she say? She stared at him, her heart thumping. She had to keep her guard up no matter how smooth he spoke, no matter how handsome he looked.

  “I waited an hour.”

  “I don’t need to explain,” she told him, looking away.

  “Yes, you must. Is it because of Lady Kathryn? You are grieving for her?”

  She hung her head. “Death is
never easy to bear. The sting lingers for a long time, sometimes the rest of your life. You wish somehow to avenge it. But you cannot, can you? You can never punish what brought it enough.”

  “What is wrong, my love?”

  She knew by his tone, cold dread was rising.

  “You must go and never come back.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t understand. Why are you saying this?”

  “Ask no more questions of me. Let us part here and now.”

  “Part? We love each other.”

  “You must accept what I asked of you.”

  “What, that everything has turned to dust and ashes, over and done, without any explanation?” He reached for her and when she moved, he grabbed her by the hand and pulled her against him. “What has happened? Tell me.”

  “Let me go.” She twisted, but his grasp was firm.

  “You know I love you and would not do anything to hurt you.”

  At an inconvenient time, Lanley walked through the stable doors. Or was it? It was bitter, heartless humor. He appeared washed of color with the gray of day pouring down upon him. He gave Rebecah a smile, a short bow.

  “My dear.” He took a step forward. “I hoped to find you alone, so we might go riding together. I’ve come all this way, you see.”

  Rebecah moved away from Nash. “And so you have, Cecil.” She forced a smile, calling him by his first name for the first time.

  A slow breath slipped from Lanley’s lips. A look of surprise lifted his brows. “Then you’d be glad to accompany me?”

  “The groom saddled me a horse. I meant to ride alone.”

  “Oh, you cannot do that. A woman ride alone? It’s unheard of. I see Mr. Nash is here.”

  “He was just leaving.” Lifting her skirts, she walked past him.

  “Rebecah, where are you going? Come back at once.”

  She wanted to turn on her heels and lash back. Instead, she kept walking. To stay another moment would be unbearable—she did not want Nash to see the tears in her eyes.