Lord Clayborne's Fancy Read online

  “I find it difficult to picture him in other than buckskins. No, no, don’t scold me. I am only funning. I shall have to meet this budding paragon. My own recollections are otherwise. Will joining us on our picnics and rides in the country. But then we have not seen him for some time now. Has he been up to Cambridge?”

  “Yes, but he is down now and intends to devote his time to his estate. I thought at first Mama would not care for his attentions to me, but she has been most accommodating. I think she is in the way of finding him an eligible suitor.”

  “Does his mother approved of the connection?”

  “Mrs. Travers came to town in early May for a spell and she was very gracious to me. I am thinking things are in a way to being settled. Certainly Will seems to think so,” she added with a rosy blush.

  “I am so happy for you.” Rebecca kissed her sister’s cheek and hugged her. “It sounds a splendid match to me.”

  “Will has not approached Papa yet, as he wished to sort out the estate affairs first. When his papa died last year he was still at Cambridge and he has yet to involve himself in the business matters attached,” Meg said, knowing it was not necessary for her to explain to her sister that Mr. Travers, more interested in his books than in his estate, had no doubt left the estate business in rather a shambles, which it would take the inexperienced young man some time to right. “Of course, Mary will have it that I could not bring him up to scratch, but it is no such thing,” Meg declared indignantly.

  “Pay no attention to Mary. She was only teasing you, I’m sure.”

  Meg was inclined to be cross with Mary for not taking her romance seriously, but as she knew her youngest sister’s propensity for outlandish behavior and an unruly tongue, she decided to dismiss the matter, knowing full well it would do her no good to dwell on it.

  “That reminds me,” she exclaimed suddenly. “I met your friend Constance Exton in town and she asked especially to be remembered to you. She has gone with her family to Brighton for the summer and says she will write you in hopes that you will invite her to Gray Oaks for a few days so that she may have some peace.”

  Rebecca laughed. “Her mama is so insistent on pushing Constance at every marriageable man that Constance is quite in despair. I shall look forward to having her visit.”

  “I met your darling Captain Gray at Almack’s and he never stopped talking of you. And I saw him in the park one day. He looks so handsome in his uniform—the 10th Hussars is it?—with his funny moustache and sideburns.” Meg paused before she burst out, “And I saw Thomas a few days before I left home. He asked of you and sent his regards. His wife has just given him a son and both are well.” Meg, played with the fringe of her shawl and kept her eyes on her lap. “He seems to have settled down these last months.”

  “I imagine married life suits him, and I’m pleased they have a healthy boy. Now I must leave you to rest for a while. Join me in the Blue Saloon when you’re ready.” Rebecca got up abruptly, then hesitated at her sister’s anxious look. Taking Meg’s hand she said kindly, “You know, it is perfectly all right to talk of him. I no longer retain a tendre for Thomas and am happy to hear that all is well with him. Now, have a rest and we will talk more later.”

  Chapter Two

  It was perfectly true, as Lady Clayborne had said, that she no longer retained a tendre for Thomas Burns. He was one of the few young men she had met at Farthington Hall and his obvious admiration of her had led to a puppy-like devotion on her part. But she had soon found herself consoling him with the necessity of his marrying a young lady of fortune. The irony of it had not perhaps amused her at the time, for she had striven to be his friend at no small cost to herself. It had left her with a guardedness about giving away her heart again, though, and since she was not by nature inclined to light dalliance, her London season had not particularly recommended itself to her. She had enjoyed Captain Gray’s amusing stories and lighthearted escort, but she thought of him as a brother.

  Lady Farthington, disturbed at seeing her second daughter leaning toward bookishness and not at all taken up with the season she was providing at such immoderate expense, eyed Clayborne enthusiastically. She was impressed with his handsome face and fine figure, to say nothing of his title and wealth. It never occurred to her that such a gentleman would tolerate, and even encourage, her daughter in her wandering pursuit of knowledge, but such seemed to be the case, for he escorted Rebecca to several lectures which her mother would have preferred to miss had her chaperonage not been necessary.

  Not a particularly patient person nor a loving mother, Lady Farthington had bluntly pointed out to Rebecca that she still had her two sisters to find eligible matches for, that Clayborne must be considered one of the few gentlemen who would permit her bookishness, and that it was unlikely that Rebecca would find such another suitor once she returned to the country. She intimated to her daughter that she did not intend, with such an ungrateful child, to repeat the experience of another London season, for her sister Meg was to be brought out the next year.

  While aware of the pressure brought to bear on her, Rebecca understood the reasonableness of her mother’s arguments. She was not averse to Clayborne’s suit, as she was fond of him and he was unfailingly kind to her, treating her as a person of excellent understanding; there were no other men of her acquaintance, including Thomas, who could regard a woman as being possessed of any real intelligence. The idea that she and Clayborne should admirably suit took possession of her mind, and since she was determined that her head should rule her heart in this matter, she accepted him.

  Lady Farthington was in ecstasies. She was perfectly willing to ignore the rumor of Clayborne’s involvement with Lady Hillston. Her daughter, never much interested in the on dits, would not likely have heard of this and she made no attempt to enlighten Rebecca. In fact, she had made little attempt to enlighten her daughter on any aspect of her contemplated married life.

  “Your husband will, of course, expect you to perform your wifely duties,” Lady Farthington intoned, with a reminiscent shudder. “It is a wife’s obligation to accommodate her husband whenever he wishes her, and not to question his behavior outside the home. You are to behave always with propriety and never give your husband cause for complaint. Clayborne will wish an heir as promptly as possible to ensure the succession. I wish you better luck than I had,” her mother had commented with cold humor. Sir Rupert had never allowed her to forget that she had provided him with no son.

  “Yes, Mama, I shall endeavor to please Lord Clayborne,” Rebecca had replied optimistically. Confident in her ability to run a household and how to conduct herself socially, she had sought no further information. For a country-bred young lady she was rather naive, having taken more interest in the library than the propagation of the estate animals. Miss Turnpeck had instilled in her four charges the sum total of her experience of marriage, which was of course nonexistent.

  Rebecca’s own wedding night, therefore, had been something of a surprise to her, and it had turned into a nightmare. Since the only kiss Rebecca had received from a man had been from Thomas, and that fleeting rather than passionate, she had had no experience of desire, and she was pleasantly indoctrinated. Clayborne had entered her bedchamber to find her nervously twisting a lock of her black hair about her finger, unable to meet his gaze.

  “You look enchanting, my dear,” he said gently as he climbed in beside her and took her cold hand in his. “Don’t be alarmed. I shall take the greatest care of you. Only trust me, little one.” Tenderly he had kissed her hand, and then her lips as she turned her face to him. With patience he had slowly won her confidence, and kindled her own desire, overcoming her natural embarrassment and fear. Consequently it was with no little astonishment that she found herself pulled very urgently out of bed after their marriage had been consummated, and made to stand shivering by the bed while he lit a candle. Clayborne jerked back the covers and pointed to the bed.

  “Look at it!” he commanded harshly.

&n
bsp; “But... I don’t see anything,” she quavered.

  “Exactly!” he roared, and stomped unceremoniously from the room.

  Rebecca, left frightened and confused, had no idea what was expected of her now. At length, after inspecting the bed for some time without enlightenment, she climbed back in, shivering and weeping, and eventually cried herself to sleep.

  Afraid to face her husband, but even more determined to find some solution to the previous night’s startling events, Rebecca descended warily to the breakfast parlor the next morning. Although she had felt sure Clayborne did not love her when she married him, and she had held him only in fond respect, the very harshness of his countenance and the coldness of his eyes when she met him put her on her guard. “Good morning, Jason.”

  He rose formally at her entrance and remained standing until Griggs had seated her, but he said nothing. The length of the breakfast table separated them, and she watched with trepidation as Clayborne indicated to the butler that they would serve themselves from the sideboard, and that Griggs would not be needed further. When he had left them alone, Clayborne asked coldly, “Do you wish eggs and kippers?”

  “I will help myself, thank you.” Unsteadily, she rose and poured herself a cup of coffee, spilling a few drops on the sideboard. The display of food was unnerving and she took only a piece of toast before reseating herself. There was nothing she could say to him without conceivably arousing his wrath again, for how was she to know what his fancy might find offensive? Whatever was he thinking of, worrying about a bed at such a time? Had she married a maniac? Silently, she nibbled at her toast, her gaze apparently caught by the fascinating design on her plate.

  “I could have the marriage annulled,” he stated flatly.

  Rebecca’s startled eyes flew to his face and her hand, holding the piece of toast, paused in midair. “Why?”

  He ignored her interruption and proceeded sternly, “I have given the matter considerable thought and have decided not to. Not only would it be a great embarrassment to you and your family, but I would be made to look a fool, which I do not welcome. However, if a child is born prematurely I may reconsider the matter.”

  Rebecca’s head whirled as she tried to assimilate this speech. Her confusion turned to embarrassment, and finally to a white-hot anger. Rising so abruptly that her chair tipped over, she gasped, “You cannot believe... You must know that I... Why, you insufferable toad!” and she ran from the room.

  Clayborne was left seated in solitary splendor, considerably offended by this appellation, and convinced that, man of experience that he was, though he had never been with a virgin himself, he could not be wrong. His pride, severely wounded, permitted him to make no allowances for his wife’s assumed deception. It did not matter that she was young or that she might have been deceived herself. He threw down his napkin, strode out to the stables and was not seen for the better part of the day.

  This disappearance, of course, caused some comment in the household, as had the disclosure of the maid in charge of her lady’s chamber. The general appearance was of a marriage not yet consummated, which elicited knowing nods and suggestive glances among the household staff, but caused no further comment. This state of affairs would probably have continued for some time had not Clayborne, the speculative glances finally having penetrated his consciousness, taken matters into his own hands. He waited in his connecting room one morning until he heard Rebecca leave hers and then, taking his penknife with him, he cautiously entered. Forced to skulk about his own house, he thought indignantly.

  The room was deserted, and there was surprisingly little evidence of its occupation. No clothes, and few personal possessions, were scattered about the room. A locket lay on the bureau and he curiously flipped it open. There were miniatures, one of Rebecca and Trudy, the other of Meg and Mary, all smiling cheerfully. He snapped it shut, not willing to see that glowing look on Rebecca’s face. It was not the expression she had worn the past few days, and it reminded him uneasily of the weeks in London when he was courting her. Then she had seemed full of vitality, possessed of every virtue. Now he knew better, and he was sickened by the deception.

  Angrily, he returned the locket to the bureau top and turned to the bed. His wife was, or had become, a restless sleeper. The sheets were pulled out and the pillows were sadly crumpled; the counterpane hung at a precarious angle, mostly on the floor. “I hope she gets no sleep at all, plagued by her guilt,” he murmured fiercely. Perhaps she had accepted him so that she might pass off someone else’s child as his heir. He would not have it! With a ruthless gesture he cut his finger with the knife and allowed the blood to drip on the sheets, mesmerized by the spreading stain.

  The sound of movement in the hall recalled him and he quickly strode from the room, careful to close the door silently behind him. His finger continued to bleed for several minutes, even with a handkerchief pressed tightly against it. Fatalistically, he hoped it would leave a scar.

  The task had irritated him, and the subtle air of satisfaction in the household which followed it merely roused in him an even greater anger toward his wife. Rebecca had no way of knowing what he had done. When she next returned to her room everything was in order and, though the staff seemed especially pleased with her, she only vaguely noticed, since Clayborne seemed less pleased than ever. He no longer joined her in the breakfast parlor, or for a midday meal, which he had done at first to alleviate any disagreeable rumors amongst the staff. Rebecca turned to the management of the household, but even here she was reminded of her husband’s strange behavior.

  Mrs. Lambert, pleased to have a woman about the house again, chatted comfortably with her new mistress as she discussed the various arrangements. “A blessing it is to have you here, my lady. Not that his lordship is not the soul of conscientiousness, but really one cannot expect him to take an interest in what we plan to preserve this autumn or whether the laundry maid is doing an adequate job. And he is as like as not to merely glance at the household accounts and assure me that they seem in perfect order. To be sure, I hope they are, but there is nothing like having the lady of the house, who is more knowledgeable on such matters, take them under scrutiny. Before poor Miss Caroline left to marry she ran the household smooth as one could wish.”

  “Lord Clayborne’s sister?”

  “Yes, poor lamb. She died giving birth to her first child, and I have never even seen the boy. They live in Yorkshire, him and his father. I believe his lordship plans to take you there soon.” Mrs. Lambert eyed Rebecca sympathetically. “You mustn’t think his lordship unfairly preoccupied, my lady. There is much to see to about the estate before you leave. And him not used to having a wife around, don’t you see.”

  “I understand perfectly,” Rebecca replied woodenly, her eyes fixed on the stacks of linen she was inspecting. Having discovered that her husband, although perhaps not precisely deranged, had in some manner not entirely clear to her conceived the notion that she had not been a virgin on their wedding night, Rebecca had no intention of allowing Mrs. Lambert, or anyone else, to see her confusion. “If you will set aside any sheets that need mending, I will see to them.”

  After a morning spent over this drudgery, Rebecca decided to escape to the stables. For fear of running into her husband she had stayed close to the house, but her longing for a ride irresistibly drew her out. She had not previously inspected the stables at Gray Oaks, but had been introduced to Hawkins on her arrival the evening of her wedding day. Perhaps he would recommend a horse for her and she might explore the estate for an hour or two, without ever seeing her husband.

  Her luck was out. The moment she stepped into the darkened interior of the building, she saw him conversing with his head groom, who deferentially tugged a forelock at sight of her. Clayborne turned slowly to face her, his countenance expressionless. “You have met Hawkins, Rebecca, but I do not believe you have seen the stables.”

  “No. I have been busy with household matters. This was my first opportunity for a ride and
I had hoped that you or Hawkins might recommend a mount for me.”

  “Lawks, recommend a mount!” Hawkins chuckled. “And his lordship having gotten you the sweetest little mare ever I laid my eyes on!”

  Clayborne abruptly gave the groom a task which would take him to the farthest stall and answered Rebecca’s questioning look in a detached voice. “There were no horses here suitable for a lady, so I purchased one for you. Some weeks ago, you understand.” Without another word he led her to the glossy chestnut mare.

  Never before had she had a horse of her own, often not even an animal worthy of the name to ride. She ran her hands down the sleek sides and allowed the mare to nuzzle her shoulder. There was a lump in her throat when she whispered, “Oh, thank you, Jason. She’s beautiful. May I ride her now?”

  “Hawkins will saddle her for you. She has the name of Firely, but you must please yourself as to that. I will go with you to see that she is not too spirited for you to ride.”

  Her very real gratitude was shaken by this brutal handling of the situation. A week ago he would not have done more than beg her permission to accompany her, and watched with concern to see that she was indeed capable of managing the mare. Rebecca sternly repressed the desire to retort, and said meekly, “Very well.”

  When they were out on the lane he politely requested that she put Firely through her paces, much as he might have done with one of the stable lads, she thought angrily. But again she restrained her annoyance and did as he bid, though for some yards she felt rigid with the effort. Not for long could one resist the superb gait of the horse, however, and soon Rebecca had forgotten Clayborne’s irritating presence and given herself over to the exquisite freedom of galloping across the meadows. She did not intentionally attempt to thwart or disobey him but was caught up in Firely’s enthusiasm for a run.