Thorns in Eden and the Everlasting Mountains (6 page)

“I
understand perfectly. It was my father’s goal as well. Who can blame them?”

“Perhaps
your view would be different if you had known our male cousin. Your father kept
you from everyone.”

“John
Nash sounds more like fiction than fact, and may disappoint you if you see him
again.”

 “I
do not think so.”

“Are
you in love with him?”

“Indeed,
not. Do you remember last week the young man who spoke to me and offered to
carry our packages to the coach?”

“The
lawyer?”

“You
don’t approve?”

“Of
course I do. But it’s not a question of my approval, but your father’s.”

Lavinia
frowned. “I know. He wants me to wed a man with a title and plenty of money.”

“One
should marry for love.”

“He
has not said he loves me. But I see it in his eyes.”

“Then
there is hope. There’s an understanding between you.” 

“Do
you know what would happen if I married David without my father’s consent?”

“He
would disown you?”

“I
believe he would. But I love David so much, it hurts. Why do we torture
ourselves with love?”

Rebecah
raised her face to the sun as it broke through. “I’ll be spared the agony, for
who would love me?” 

She
snapped the reins and galloped her horse ahead of Lavinia’s.

* * *

Soon
the sun skimmed along the horizon. The sky grew misty, painted with purple and
vermilion. At the door, March stepped into the fleeing light. Her sour
expression deepened while she tapped the toe of her shoe against the flagstone.

“Where
have you two been? Supper is over, and the master is indignant. No doubt you’ve
been riding through the countryside like a pair of gypsies.”

“It
was invigorating.” Lavinia stepped by the old woman into the light of the
window.

“This
arrived earlier.” March handed Lavinia a letter. 

She
took the letter in hand. “Do not tell my father.”

“What
letters you receive are none of my business, Miss Lavinia. I do not run to Sir
Samuel about everything that goes on in this house. I know my place.”

While
Rebecah removed her gloves, March approached. “A gentleman awaits you in the
music room.”

“His
name?”

“Sir
Cecil Lanley. In this house, we do not keep guests waiting.”

Rebecah pulled her
cloak off and handed it to March. Reluctant to see him, she walked unhurried down
the hallway and paused outside the door. She searched for time. She needed to
calm her nerves, rehearse what she would say to Lanley. Perhaps she should have
told March to tell the snobbish suitor she was ill with a headache. But he
would return. She had to get it over with.

Her fingertips touched
the latch. She turned the handle. The door moved in enough for her to hear
Lanley speaking. She stepped back, but kept the door ajar.

“I’ve anticipated
seeing Rebecah again,” she heard the drawn aristocratic voice declare. It still
had a nasal tone. “I intend to settle in the country, a suitable place for a
young wife. The diversions of London would leave her fatigued.”

His words affronted
her. Like her father and uncle, Lanley meant to isolate her in a lonely country
house. When she heard his insipid plans, her mind rebelled. It should be her
right to plan her life—not the right of others.

Inside
the sunlit room, Brent stood by the window. His hands were clasped behind him, while
he considered the man chosen by his brother to wed his niece. His mind drifted
back to a time long ago when he declared his affections to Sarah. He loved her
to the point of obsession, but she bruised his masculine pride too many times.
His love turned to dislike the day she married his brother.

When
he received word of Sarah’s death, the pain was bearable enough to conceal from
his new wife Kathryn, but fierce. And when his brother died, Sarah’s image came
to live under his roof. He found it difficult to love Rebecah, and saw Lanley
as a means to be rid of her.

But
the idea of his money and future connection to the family restrained his
feelings. Why Rebecah? Why not Dorene or Lavinia? Could he sway Lanley’s
choice?

 “You’re
rich and could have any woman in England.” His words caused Lanley to raise his
head. “Why not one of my daughters? They both have beauty and handsome dowries,
unlike Rebecah who has near to nothing.”

“I
haven’t the need for more money,” Lanley told him. “I wish to marry Rebecah
because I’m besotted. It’s much like choosing a thoroughbred, would you not
say?”

Brent
frowned at the comment. “It’s in poor taste to liken women to horses. Besides,
you wouldn’t know a quality filly if you fell over one.”

Lanley
wobbled his head. “Sink me if you’re not right.” He bent forward. “I know
absolutely nothing about them.”
 

 Repulsion
burned in Brent’s mind, for Lanley was indeed a bored, spoiled dandy,
overdressed and overused.

 “You
think my daughters are not good enough for you? Why would you prefer a girl who
is below them?”

“Lavinia
and Dorene are rich prizes. But I’ve been in love with Rebecah for a long time,
and promised to wed her.”

“Yes,
I know about
the promise
.”

“Would
you ask me to break my word? Do you disapprove of my suit?”

“A
man is only as good as his word, Lanley. You may do as you wish.”

The
door drifted in and Rebecah stepped inside. Lanley stared at her with his mouth
gaping. Brent watched with cold interest the influence she had on him, how he
twisted his handkerchief between his hands and shifted on his feet.

Rebecah
curtsied. Brent told her to come inside and close the door.

“Lanley
has traveled far to see you. You should apologize for keeping him waiting.”

“I
was out riding. However, I did not change from my riding habit, after I was
told you were here.”

Lanley
dabbed his mouth.  “With anticipation nagging at me, I admit the wait proved
difficult.” He smiled, his gums red, his teeth a creamy yellow.

Brent
moved Rebecah to the center of the room. “Well, I’ll leave you to renew your
acquaintance.”

Lanley
bowed his head. “Thank you, sir.
Adieu
.”

*  *  *

Brent
had left through a door leading to the study. Rebecah hoped he could not hear
beyond its walls. Lanley approached her, picked up her hand. He raised it to
his lips. They were cold as chiseled marble, unlike the liquid fire burning
within his eyes. Slim and dark, they were set against a gaunt face made ghostly
white from the rice powder he had applied. His hair lay hidden beneath a wig
tied by a black silk ribbon.

“Do
you like my new suit, Rebecah?”

“It’s
nice.”

“I bought
it in Holland.” The scarlet color cast a rosy blush beneath Lanley’s pointed
chin.

“Look
at the embroidery on my waistcoat, and these pure silver buttons.”

She
did not answer.

His
silk stockings shimmered, and his squared-toed shoes, polished to a high sheen
adorned with silver buckles, covered his large feet. Rebecah thought he looked
ridiculous.

Lanley
was the picture of wealth, a paragon of everything aristocratic. However, stripped
bare, this outer veneer covered a man of flesh and bones, weak and lacking in
spiritual depth and virtue. His god was his money, and he turned up his nose at
the poor, something she despised. 

Lanley
gestured for Rebecah to sit.

“I
prefer to stand.”

“I
thought my attire would impress you, help you see how prosperous I’ve become.”

“Oh,
you intend to stay long?”

Lanley
let out a puff of air from his cheeks. “I’m back in England for good. My father
passed on and I have an estate to run. Have you no kiss, no embrace for me? I
hoped you would be glad to see me. Are you not glad?”

“I’m
happy you are well. Did you have an enriching time in Europe?”

“I
had a splendid time.”

“The
room is stuffy. I shall open a window.”

Brushing
aside the damask curtains, she turned the locks and pushed the windows free.
The air rushed inside and quivered the cut holly on the table.

Lanley
drew out his lace handkerchief and sneezed in it. “I wish you would close them.
I easily catch cold.”

She
shut them wishing he would go away. She knew Lanley watched her, ravished the
way twilight outlined her body. As if she could break, he put his hands upon
her shoulders. She stiffened.

“I’ll
be patient. I realize we must get to know each other better. So, I promise to
woo you until you surrender.”

Rebecah
moved away. This was not what she wanted. The idea of living with a man she did
not love grew unbearable. They were worlds apart.

Lanley’s
brows pinched together. “Burn me raw, madam! Have I offended you?”

“I
wish you wouldn’t speak of marriage.”

“It’s
not uncommon you should feel shy at first.”

He
drew her close, kissed her cheek.

“On
my word,” he breathed out. “How beautiful you are, how soft like a rose petal
in June.”

She
turned out of his arms. “We should not be alone. Let me call Lady Kathryn and
my cousins. Surely they would be glad to see you.” 

She
went forward but he grabbed her hand. “I did not come here to see them. You
remember the plans made for us by our fathers?”

“Yes,
I remember. They were made at an age when I had no understanding of marriage. I
had no say in it.”

“My
patience is running dry. I’ve made great efforts in wooing you, and you’re cold
to me.” He looked away hurt and put the handkerchief against his lips.

“I don’t
mean to hurt you. But you refuse to listen. This is no trifling matter you
speak of.”

“Perhaps
it is because we’ve not seen each other in so long.”

“How
can I be warm when I’m not in love with you?” 

One
corner of his mouth turned upward. “Gad, my dear. Love is found in novels and
plays. We live in the real world.”

“Then
you understand.” Of a sudden, she felt hopeful, thinking she had made progress,
that he had the maturity to see the difference.

He
yawned. “I understand.”

“Then
you agree with what I’m saying?”

 “I
see. You do not love me, and therefore would not naturally show affectionate
toward me. In time things will change.”

She
was baffled. He was unsteady as a rotting fence. The first strong wind and down
he would go. “Other ladies would be flattered by your proposal, and there are
plenty looking for a husband like you. You should not but your hopes in me
alone.”

Lanley
played with the lace on his cuff.  “Gentlemen pay for those women whose names
are unspoken in good society. As for the rest—aristocratic prudes.”

Rebecah
shook her head. “You’ve given me one more reason not to desire you for a
husband.”

Rigid
with insult, Lanley narrowed his eyes. “I see your game. You intend to play
hard to get.”

Rebecah
wanted to hurry away. He grabbed her hands, forced her into a chair and dropped
to one knee beside it. She drew back, snatched her hands away and hid them
behind her. He pled with such awkward vigor she thought she would go mad.

Again,
she told him she did not love him, and it would be unfair to both of them to
live together as husband and wife. “You deserve love as well.” She tried to
explain, but he only grew more sullen. “I would make you unhappy.”

“Is
there another you’ve given your love to? Would you dare throw me over for
someone less deserving?”

“There
is no other.”

“Then
there’s hope.” Lanley breathed out. “I’ll write you a poem tonight. It will be
my best yet.”  His visage changed instantly, and his cheeks under rouge,
brightened his flesh.

“No,
please. I do not want your poems…”

“Cut
me down to my bare bones, Rebecah. I shall not give up. I know you’ll have me
yet.” He bowed low, with his hand over his heart. Then he turned and walked out.

Rebecah
sank back in the chair. The tramping of horses and the turning of coach wheels
passed down the drive. A moment later, the door opened and her uncle stepped
inside.

“Lanley
left sooner than I expected. When I asked him to stay for dinner, he turned me
down. He looked distraught, and I know it is your fault. What did you say to
him?”

A
chill raced through her. “I cannot give him the happiness he seeks.”

“You
will agree to this marriage. If you don’t, I shall throw you out into the
streets like the poor wretch you are.”

He
leaned over and she smelled brandy on his breath. “You’re so much like your
mother. The next time Lanley pays you a visit, you will be gracious and
attentive. Better still you will pen him a letter accepting his proposal.”

Rebecah
stood and rushed for the door, but he stopped her by grabbing her arm and whirling
her around to meet him. She gasped. The way his eyes looked at her made her
tremble.

“You
will do as I say,” he commanded.

“Throw
me out. But I cannot love Lanley.”

“I don’t
care if you love him.”

A
sob escaped her lips. He flung her away and she steadied herself against the
wall. “Why do you treat me so cruel? I’m your own flesh and blood.”

“Do
you think I care? Think of it to beg, to be hungry and cold, and to be in
ragged clothes. Is that what you want?” He spread his hands out to her.
“Choose.”

Lifting
her eyes to look into his, Rebecah mustered her courage. “I’ll never go hungry
or be cold.”

The
door opened and in stepped Lady Kathryn. “What are you doing, Samuel?” Her
ladyship put her arm around Rebecah. “Why is Rebecah crying? Where is Lanley?”

“I don’t
answer to you, Kate.” His violent temper blazed through his eyes. He went
toward the door and left the room.