Anthony cleared his throat, breaking me from the trance Rebecca had pulled me into. "Gentlemen, this is Miss Rebecca Eaton. She is my cousin from Ravenston. Her father is Lord Eaton, Baron of Crowley."
I barely heard the words from the ringing in my ears. My heart begged to pump and my lungs ached to breathe, but I couldn't comply. All I could do was stare at her, gazing at her eyes, her smile, her lips, which parted in a greeting.
"My lady." Hartwell bowed, and I felt like boxing his ears. He was being polite, or at least I presumed he was, but truth be told, I had forgotten all about the other two men with me. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"Same to you, my lord." She smiled my smile at him, and I knew I had to intercede.
"My lady. You look lovely this evening." I bowed a wee over dramatically and was rewarded with a giggle for my efforts. Miss Rebecca seemed to fancy me — or at least my sense of humor — as much as I fancied her. Sadly, I lost that many years ago in my need for justice.
"Thank you, my lord." The greeting caused me to halt my joyfulness and cringe, hoping she wouldn't see. Of course, I wasn't a lord.. No, I held no title, but I didn't want her to know that. I believed if I could just get her to notice me, see the real me, fall in love with the real me, then she wouldn't care about titles.
The only issue was the other two men with me. One knew something even I didn't know at the time. Have I told you that part of the story yet? No? Ah, well we will get to it soon enough.
"Miss Rebecca," Anthony greeted in his most formal of voices. The one he usually reserved for the important people in the world — or the most important occasions. "This is Simon Hartwell. His father is the Marquess of Enhurst."
Rebecca smiled politely at Simon. The candles lit her eyes to appear to make them shine, but they did not. She looked at him like someone would look at a friend. Nothing more. He got the wrong idea. He thought she meant more than she did. He had very different ideas on her very innocent expression.
I felt bad for him, quite honestly, at the time. His face turned as red as the belt around Miss Rebecca's tiny body. "It is good to meet you. Wexley here speaks of you often." He answered and bowed again, a little more stiffly than I had. A little more formally. A little less whimsically. She didn't giggle at him. I saw no sign of affection in her countenance and I can see her as clear as day even as I sit here with you.
It surprised me that Anthony had spoken to Simon about Rebecca at all. He had never mentioned her to me, and we were best friends. Oh, he said her name on a couple of occasions, but only in the retelling of some childhood story. You see, Rebecca and Anthony grew up together. They played together as children. They were more like siblings than cousins and he wanted nothing but the best for his "little sister."
If I stop in my retelling, think nothing of it. I will tell this story to you, finally, so you will understand exactly what has to be done and why. If it bothers you, I am not sorry for the content of the story is very dire.
Back to it then…
Anthony introduced Rebecca to Simon, who looked very uncomfortable in the situation. I, on the other hand, tried to not let my fear show on my face. I wasn't afraid of Rebecca, exactly. She was the tiniest thing I had ever seen. I knew she couldn't harm me. But I feared for my tongue and saying something out of place or juvenile or clumsy.
"And this…" He nodded in my direction. "Is Frederick Dodsworth."
I nodded again. The clock ticked so slowly on the mantle behind me, that I could hear nothing else. People stirred around me, loud conversations from some of the gentlemen who had partaken in the alcohol a bit too early — Christmas tradition and all. But I heard none of it. All I saw was Rebecca turning her attention towards me. I heard the clock beating in my ears. I felt the sweat forming on my brow. I could smell the candles burning. I could taste the iron of the blood that seeped in my mouth as I bit the side of my cheek, waiting. Hoping. All of my senses were heightened. Everything. I couldn't speak because I needed her to say something first.
Would she figure out simply from the introduction that I wasn't a titled man? No one at university knew. No one. Not even Simon Hartwell. I had made up some fantastical story about a dead father who was an Earl. Everyone believed it. And only one person in the world knew the truth. And that man was the man standing not two feet from me, who could, at any moment, let Simon and Rebecca in on the secret. I would still have been welcomed to the party, of course. Money was money no matter how it came to be, but I wouldn't be welcomed as a suitable match for Rebecca.