Unfortunately the Old Testament lesson was no help at all in keeping his mind off her. “Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil. She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life.”
It seemed to Sebastian as if the writer of that ancient proverb was mocking him. He had not been able to find a virtuous woman—quite the contrary. Though he had once given Lydia a present of rubies, his heart had never been able to safely trust in her.
And yet, the Scripture held out the promise of another kind of woman—strong, productive, wise and honorable. An appealing image rose in his mind of Rebecca as a woman of ancient Israel, clad in a flowing robe and veil. He could picture her spinning wool, baking bread, tucking a child in for the night. That vision provided healing balm to his heart, raw from the painful memories he had gouged out of it.
The moment the service concluded, Claude sprang forward to speak to Miss Leonard and her father. Sebastian hung back, not wanting to get caught up in their exchange of meaningless pleasantries. He was not prepared for Rebecca to take up a position at the end of his pew and wait patiently for him to venture out.
“Miss Beaton.” He acknowledged her with a respectful bow, hoping she would not guess the kind of fancies he’d been entertaining about her. “I hope you are well.”
“Well enough.” She cast him a hesitant smile, as if she was not certain whether it would be welcome. “I wondered if I might ask a small favor of you?”
Could he refuse any favor she chose to ask of him? Sebastian feared he might be powerless to. “Do you wish to claim payment for sketching my portrait? Would it not have been simpler to accept my offer of money?”
Her smile disappeared, leaving Sebastian to reproach himself for having chased it away. “I am not seeking an exchange. The sketch is yours to keep whether or not you oblige my request.”
“What is this favor, then?” He tried not to feel suspicious but where women were concerned, it had become second nature.
“Would you consent to walk with me back to Rose Grange? I assume you and Mr. Stanhope came here in your gig. I believe he might like to offer Hermione a drive home.”
Sebastian was far from certain he could trust his brother not to make a dash for Gretna Green. Still, he could not keep from offering Rebecca his arm. “It is no favor you request, Miss Beaton, but one you confer. I would be honored to escort you home.”
They exchanged a few words with his brother and Miss Leonard on the way out, just enough to acquaint the younger couple with their intentions.
“Capital.” Claude looked like a schoolboy who’d just been given a treat. “We’ll meet you back at Rose Grange, then.”
Once the others were out of earshot, Sebastian grasped for some harmless topic of conversation.
But Rebecca appeared to have other ideas. “I must confess I did not ask you to walk me home only for Hermione’s sake. I have been thinking a great deal about our conversation the other day and I felt I must speak to you.”
Despite his best effort to remain impassive, Sebastian flinched. “Must we spoil a nice walk by dredging up all that unpleasantness again?”
It was pleasant to walk beside Rebecca, adjusting his gait to hers, savoring the subtle pressure of her hand on his arm, drinking in the mellow music of her voice. If only she would talk about something else.
Apparently that was too much to ask. “I appreciate you taking me into your confidence and I do not wish to distress you. But for the sake of Hermione and your brother, and most of all for your sake, I feel I must.”
Perhaps reluctant to let him reply in case he might protest further, she hurried on. “I believe it is vital for you to forgive your late wife.”
Her suggestion fell like a fresh blow on an unhealed wound.
“Forgive Lydia?” He nearly gagged on those words. “She must answer to a far higher power. My blame or forgiveness will not matter now.”
“Not to her perhaps,” Rebecca persisted with well-meaning stubbornness, “but to you and those around you. The bitterness you still harbor toward her is creating a blight upon an otherwise fine character. Though what happened is in the past, it still affects your actions to this day.”
“You mean my opposition to Claude’s engagement. I thought we agreed to cease any further discussion of that subject rather than risk ill feelings between us.”
“I shall be sorry if you think badly of me for raising this matter. But it is a risk I must take because I think so highly of you.”
Sebastian could not resist the warmth of her concern. It touched him more deeply than he was comfortable being touched, yet somehow it soothed the very feelings it inflamed. “What you ask is impossible. Lydia used me. She broke my heart and put me through two years of torment. Even if it would do any good, I would not know how to begin to forgive her.”
Rebecca seemed encouraged by his response, which was quite the opposite of what he’d intended. “Understanding is always a worthwhile place to start. If you cannot understand Lydia, at least try to have a little sympathy for Hermione... and me.”
He already had far too much sympathy for her. “I don’t understand what you have in common with them.”
“When we last met, you asked if I could swear Hermione would wed your brother if he were poor. When I could not, you assumed I meant she does not truly care for him. That is not what I meant at all. You see, it is not possible for a person of limited means to approach marriage in the same way as one with a comfortable, secure income. A woman especially, since she has few opportunities to earn more than a pittance.”
Sebastian seized the opening she’d provided. “That is precisely why I feel marriages of equal fortune are preferable.”
Rebecca shook her head. “Just because a woman must consider her future does not mean she would wed only for fortune. Since we met you have often commended my prudence and good sense. If I had an opportunity to wed, would I be prudent to marry a man who could not provide for me?”
“Of course not!” The notion of Rebecca wed to another man tore at him, especially if the match would doom her to a life of hardship.
“But that is the only kind of man who would be of equal fortune to me,” she reminded him. “Now consider another possibility. If I were to receive a proposal from a man who could provide well for me, giving me a home of my own at last and allowing me to raise my own children rather than always other people’s, would you condemn me for accepting him?”
Though he still shrank from the thought of her as another man’s wife, how could he blame her for pursuing a union that would give her the kind of life he wanted for her? “I hope you do not doubt my answer to that. I could not be so unfeeling.”