“Not now.” Rebecca advised Claude. “Perhaps later.”
But it was clear from her tone that she doubted the passage of time would change Hermione’s mind. Casting Sebastian a final look that mingled pity and disgust, she led her young friend from the room.
When the ladies had gone, Claude rounded on his brother again. “You have no idea, have you, of the harm you’ve done—of what you’ve cost me?”
After what he’d just witnessed, Sebastian was beginning to grasp the devastating consequences of his actions. But he could only repeat the rote excuse that sounded feeble, even to him. “I was trying to pro—”
“Protect me?” Claude bellowed. “Or punish me for finding the kind of love you have never known and never will? All these years, you’ve been more than a brother to me—mother and father and friend all in one. But today, I am ashamed of you.”
With that final swipe, his handsome young features crumpled and he fled.
Sebastian reeled from Claude’s accusations. He would never seek to punish his brother for finding happiness and knowing love! Would he? Until today he would never have believed it. Now he was not so sure.
And could he be so riddled with bitterness that he would rather throw away his best chance of happiness than admit he might have been wrong? That appalling thought sent him flying down the main gallery, praying he would not be too late to catch Rebecca. Though after what he’d done, he feared he had no right to pray for anything.
When he clambered down the steep stairs from the portico, he saw his carriage still parked at the head of the lane. Rebecca was helping Hermione into the vehicle with the tender solicitude she might have shown an ailing or elderly person.
When he called for her to wait, she turned on him, her eyes flashing with righteous wrath. “Are you proud of yourself, Lord Benedict?”
Proud? Sebastian shook his head. He had never been more ashamed of his actions.
Rebecca raised her brows. “I thought you would be elated after accomplishing what you set out to do from the beginning. Arrogant, stubborn and ruthless, indeed. Only do not claim you acted in a worthy cause. We both know that would be a lie.”
“Please, Rebecca.” He teetered on the brink of a black pit of guilt and despair and only she had the power to drag him back from the edge.
“Who were you really trying to save today?” she demanded. “Your brother or yourself?”
“Myself?” What could she mean?
“Yourself,” she repeated, “from marriage to me. You must have known I could never wed a man who would stoop to something so vile.”
He wished he could deny it, if not to her, at least to himself. But her charge had a sickening ring of truth.
Rebecca shook her head slowly and sadly, as if she could not fathom anything so offensive. “You needn’t have gone to all this trouble, you know. I’d already made up my mind to refuse your proposal, in spite of how much I’d let myself care for you.”
“You had?” Why would she reject such a fine match if she cared for him?
“I knew you didn’t really want me.” Her gaze flitted away, but not before he glimpsed a bleak mist in her eyes. “I’m accustomed to that. I learned long ago that it’s best to leave without making a fuss.”
Before he could say another word, she turned and scrambled into the carriage.
The kindest thing he could do for her, he realized, was to fold up the step, close the door and watch in silence as his carriage bore her away.
Out of his life.
Forever.
Chapter Ten
A MONTH AFTER Rebecca and Hermione had driven away from Stanhope Court for the last time, life at Rose Grange was finally settling back into its familiar pattern.
She should have been happy about that, Rebecca told herself, or at least content. Instead she felt restless, often sad and sometimes angry. There were days when the only thing that induced her to get out of bed was the need to look after Hermione and try to cheer her, a little.
That was proving a challenge. Hermione spent far too much time in her room with the excuse of headaches or indigestion. Why she would have indigestion, Rebecca could not fathom for she hardly touched her food. She was growing alarmingly thin and pale, with dark hollows under her eyes.
It might have helped if she’d been willing to talk about what was clearly on her mind. But since that day she had refused to speak of Mr. Stanhope or his brother. Was Hermione trying to forget what she could not forgive? Rebecca knew from experience how futile, even dangerous that could be.
Now, as Hermione sat at the pianoforte, listlessly picking out yet another slow, doleful melody, Rebecca could stand it no more.
“Enough of this.” She surged up from her chair and dragged Hermione to her feet. “We are going to pay a call on some poor soul who is unable to get out and enjoy the fine summer weather.”
Hermione tried to resist. “What if we meet someone on the way? I know the whole village must be gossiping about my broken engagement.”
They’d heard that Claude Stanhope had departed for parts unknown. Lord Benedict was said to be in seclusion at Stanhope Court, seeing no one.
“Nonsense!” Rebecca tugged her through the door. “I’m certain everyone has tired of the subject and moved on to some fresher local scandal by now.”
She knew she must sound heartless, but this was the first spark of spirit she had seen from Hermione in days.
Still she was quite surprised when her young friend gave a wan smile. “Perhaps you’re right. I have spent too long wallowing in my misery. It will do me good to remember people with worse troubles. Let’s visit Mrs. Rollins. She is such a dear soul and I have neglected her of late.”
To Rebecca’s immense relief, they had a very pleasant visit with Mrs. Rollins—only a little subdued on Hermione’s part. The few people they met on their walk through the village were all kind and tactful. It gave Rebecca hope that it would be even easier to coax Hermione out the next time.
As they strolled home, arm in arm, Hermione glanced toward the church. Rebecca realized they were passing the spot where Sebastian had often parked his gig on Sunday mornings.
“How could he do something so heartless to me?” Hermione asked in a small voice, as if thinking aloud. “I never would have done anything to hurt him, or... his brother.”
“Of course you wouldn’t.” Rebecca slipped a comforting arm around Hermione’s shoulders. “But someone did hurt him very badly and he has never gotten over it. Bitterness warped his protective feelings for his brother into something hurtful.”
“Can you still defend him,” Hermione cried, “after what he did?”