“I do not condone his actions in the least, but I do have a little compassion for what made him act as he did. I hope someday you can too. Otherwise I am afraid you could end up the same way. That would be a great pity indeed.”
She felt on firmer ground talking about forgiveness these days. One good thing to come out of all this was that she’d taken the first small step toward making peace with the hurts of her own past. She had written a letter to her Aunt Charlotte, not asking anything, but opening the door for further contact. Of course that had been almost three weeks ago and she’d received no reply. Perhaps her aunt wanted nothing more to do with her than she had when Rebecca was a child.
But at least she’d tried. Somehow, making the overture had lifted a burden from her soul.
Hermione gave a choked little sob. “I’m afraid I may be more like Lord Benedict than I care to admit. I made noble-sounding excuses for breaking my engagement, and I did mean them. But some spiteful part of me knew it might turn Claude against his brother. It felt like the only way I had to strike back at him. For that, I hurt the man I claimed to love and threw away my only chance for happiness!”
The tears Hermione had locked tightly inside her now began to flow. Rebecca sensed they were not so much for the injury Lord Benedict had inflicted upon her, but remorse for her actions.
“I’m certain you will have many more chances for happiness.” Rebecca produced a handkerchief and handed it to her young friend. “Indeed, I think we both will.”
Did remorse for one’s own failings and compassion for the flaws of others breed hope, Rebecca wondered. Suddenly she felt more hopeful than she had, not just in the past weeks, but in many years.
“I wonder what’s for dinner?” Hermione asked as they reached Rose Grange. Her tears had dried and she sounded much more like her old self. “Our walk has given me an appetite.”
The housemaid met them at the door. “A letter came for you, Miss Beaton.”
“Thank you, Mary.” Rebecca’s stomach tightened as she stared at the elegant, flowing script and realized it must be from her aunt.
Bracing herself for what it might say, she began to read. As she scanned the words, a smile slowly tugged at the corners of her mouth. By the time she finished, she was beaming while blinking back tears.
“It must be good news,” Hermione speculated as she removed her bonnet and gloves. “Is it from one of your school friends?”
“My Aunt Charlotte,” Rebecca murmured, still somewhat bemused. “Lady Atherton. She is widowed now and living in Bath. She would like me to come for a visit.”
“That is good news.” Hermione tried to appear enthusiastic. “You could do with a change of scene.”
“I reckon we both could,” Rebecca replied. “Would you like to come with me? From the tone of her letter, I am certain Aunt Charlotte would welcome your company. I know I would be grateful to have someone familiar with me.”
“Could I?” Hermione did not have to feign her excitement now. “We used to go to Bath when I was a child, but I haven’t been in years. I would love to visit there again.”
Seizing Rebecca in an impulsive embrace, she whispered, “I believe you were right about having more chances for happiness.”
Though she nodded in agreement, Rebecca could not suppress a pang of sorrow for the happiness she might have known with Sebastian. Much as his actions had injured her and Hermione and his brother, she was certain he’d hurt himself worst of all.
The only thing worse than having his happiness ruined by others, was the knowledge that he had done it to himself. During the past three months, Sebastian had discovered that, to his grief and shame. The only good thing to come from it was a hard but worthwhile lesson about forgiveness. With that, he had found the first true peace he’d known in a very long time.
Now, as he marched through Bath’s Sydney Gardens on an unseasonably warm autumn afternoon, Sebastian feared he might be about to lose that hard won serenity. Coming face to face with Rebecca Beaton again would be a brutal reminder of what he had willfully destroyed through his arrogant, stubborn, ruthless actions. He only prayed he had not ruined her happiness, too, by rejecting her love and devotion even more cruelly than her relatives had rejected her as a child.
His prayer was not a mere wish that events might unfold as he desired, but a humble, heartfelt petition lifted to a Higher Power who understood him better than he understood himself. One that could still love and forgive him in spite of what he’d done. The hardest part about learning to trust and embrace that Divine Grace had been recognizing that it also forgave those who’d hurt him.
His steps slowed as he scanned the crowd that had turned out to enjoy the pleasant weather and promenade their fashionable finery. Was it too soon to put his fragile enlightenment to the test by facing two of the people he had most deeply wronged? What if Hermione Leonard threw his overture back in his face, as she had every right to do? What if he looked into Rebecca’s dear eyes and saw only the corrosive bitterness he had caused? Might he fall back into his old destructive habits and lose the small spark of faith that had been his salvation?
That fear terrified him to the darkest depths of his soul. Yet Sebastian knew he could not let it stop him if there was the slightest hope he might mend a tiny part of what had so callously shattered.
Just then the twirl of a parasol caught his eye and he recognized two familiar figures on the main promenade. Yet, they looked different than he remembered, Sebastian realized as he approached them—Rebecca especially. Instead of the plain, dark clothes in which he was accustomed to seeing her, she was decked in a golden yellow walking dress with a smart little brown jacket and cunningly trimmed bonnet that framed her face to perfection. Miss Leonard looked very pretty too, in shades of pink.
It appeared the eligible gentlemen of Bath had taken notice of two such beauties in their midst, for a trio of dashing young bucks had engaged the ladies in spirited conversation. As he hung back, reluctant to interrupt, Sebastian found himself torn between pleasure at seeing Rebecca look so well and a sinking mixture of jealousy and despair. Was he already too late?
Before he could answer that question to his own satisfaction, Miss Leonard glanced his way and gave a violent start of recognition. Did the poor creature think he meant to insult her in front of her new acquaintances and spoil her chance to secure a husband?
When she smiled and called his name, her generosity of spirit humbled him. “Lord Benedict, what a surprise to see you in Bath. Gentlemen, may I present Viscount Benedict. My home in the Cotswolds is near his estate, which has the most beautiful gardens I’ve ever seen.”