Vowing to broach the subject as soon as Hermione finished playing, Rebecca fell prey to all manner of doubts about the wisdom of accepting Sebastian’s proposal. If only she could be certain that he cared for her the way she had come to care for him. But the manner of his asking made it clear he’d been motivated by pity rather than love. Though he tried to pretend otherwise, she knew he was a man of deep compassion. He must have been moved by her tale of woe and wanted to spare her any further deprivation or insecurity.
Considering the depth of her feelings for him, could she be satisfied with a marriage that promised comfort, security and companionship, but not love? And what of Sebastian—would he soon come to regret a second marriage he’d made in haste, out of kindness? Might he be as miserable with her as he had been with his first wife, though for different reasons?
She could not forget the look in his eyes when he realized he had proposed to her—a deadly mixture of panic, regret and dread. Yet she’d sensed very different feelings from him when he’d held her in his arms and kissed her. If he did not love her yet, she believed he was capable of loving her... if only he could banish the shadows of his past.
The final notes of the music Hermione had been playing faded away. Its tone had matched Rebecca’s yearning, pensive mood.
“That was lovely, my dear.” She applauded softly. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you play it before. What’s it called?”
Hermione started at the sound of Rebecca’s voice, as if she’d forgotten she was not alone in the room. “It’s a Division by Jenkins, a sweet melody but rather sad.”
Rebecca nodded. “Just what I was thinking. I wonder what the composer had in mind when he wrote it?”
Rising from the pianoforte, Hermione walked over and sank down on the far end of the settee. The troubled look on her delicate features mirrored the beautiful, plaintive music she’d been playing.
“Is something the matter?” Rebecca slid closer to her on the settee. “You don’t seem to be your usual, cheerful self of late.”
A qualm of remorse gripped her for having neglected her young friend in recent days.
“Oh, Miss Beaton.” Hermione’s lower lip trembled. “Are you still angry with me after the way I spoke to you the other day? I know you would never let Lord Benedict turn you against me, but I’ve been so anxious and confused. I’m sorry I took it out on you! Can you ever forgive me?”
“Dearest girl!” Her throat tightened at the realization of how Hermione had misinterpreted her preoccupation. “I cannot still be angry, for I never was to begin with.”
When Rebecca opened her arms, Hermione dove into her embrace. “As for forgiving you, I would of course but there is nothing to forgive. I knew you could not mean what you said about me taking Seb-... er... Lord Benedict’s side.”
“I was certain I m-must have offended you.” Hermione did not sound entirely convinced by Rebecca’s reassurance. “You’ve hardly spoken a word to me since then.”
“Nor to anybody else.” Rebecca smoothed back the hair that had tumbled over Hermione’s forehead. “I’ve had a great deal on my mind. Nothing to do with our talk the other day. I’m sorry I have been so distracted.”
“What have you been thinking about?” Hermione asked. “Finding a new position and going away?”
“Partly.” Rebecca hesitated, uncertain how much to tell her young friend. But she needed to confide in someone and this might make Hermione think more carefully about her engagement. “The fact is… Lord Benedict... has asked me to marry him.”
The news jolted Hermione upright. “Lord Benedict? Are you joking? I know he has been very attentive to you, but I thought it was only so you would use your influence on me. I don’t understand how he can want you for a wife when he claims I am not a suitable bride for his brother!”
Rebecca shook her head. “This is not something I would joke about. As for the other, I wish I knew how to reconcile that contradiction but I am at a loss.”
“What answer did you give him?” Hermione demanded. “I know you have a far better opinion of him than I do and it would be a brilliant match for you. But do not forget the advice you gave me. Marriage means committing the rest of your life to this man.”
“That’s what frightens me.” Heaving a sigh, Rebecca rose from the settee and crossed to the window overlooking the garden. “That is why I have not given him my answer yet. I have been thinking of almost nothing else ever since.”
She gazed out at the garden where she and Sebastian had first met. Some of the flowers in bloom then had gone to seed while new ones had blossomed to take their places. She marveled at how much their acquaintance had ripened in such a short time. What if those feelings faded just as quickly? “I know you have not seen the side of him that I have. But I believe I would never regret marrying him if I could be certain he would not regret marrying me.”
“If he were any other man,” Hermione muttered, “I could assure you with complete confidence that would never happen.”
Her young friend had hit upon the difficulty, Rebecca mused. Lord Benedict was unlike any other man she’d ever met. While she admired and treasured his uniqueness, it was not without its dark side.
Just then the Leonards’ housemaid appeared bearing a message. “A footman brought this from Stanhope Court, miss.”
“Thank you, Mary.” Hermione bounded up from the settee with her hand extended to receive the note.
“No miss.” The girl held the folded, sealed paper out toward Rebecca. “I was told to deliver it to Miss Beaton.”
“Me? Are you certain?” Taking the note gingerly, as if it might grow teeth at any moment, Rebecca confirmed it was indeed addressed to her.
As she broke the seal and began to read, Hermione dismissed Mary, who looked frankly curious. “What does it say?”
“We are summoned to Stanhope Court.” Rebecca labored to read Sebastian’s spiky scrawl for the first time. “Lord Benedict will send his carriage to collect us.”
Turning the note over in her hand, she murmured, “He must have gotten tired of waiting for my answer.”
That did not explain why he wanted both of them to come.
“Have you decided what you will tell him,” asked Hermione.
Rebecca shook her head. “I shall soon have to make up my mind.”
A chill snaked down her spine. Whichever choice she made, she was afraid she might end up regretting it for as long as she lived.
“The ladies will be here soon.” Sebastian glanced from the mantle clock to the housemaid. “You know what to do?”
“’Course, sir.” She pursed her lips in a suggestive smirk that turned his stomach. “Not a hard task, is it?”
“I’m sure you’ve had plenty of practice.” Sebastian strove to conceal the worst of his aversion.
He needed this creature’s assistance, though he wished there had been some other way. Unfortunately, time was fast running out for his brother and several sleepless nights had left his mind too muddled to devise a better plan.
“Practice?” She laughed the way women did when they wanted to flatter a man that they found him witty. “Why, you and me could have a dress rehearsal right now if you like?”
“That will not be necessary.” His lip curled. “Your part may not be difficult but proper timing is essential. So keep your wits about you.”
“I will, sir.” She walked past Sebastian, deliberately brushing against him. “You can count on me.”