One Snowy Night (27 page)

But of course
he meant to come, she reassured herself. He must simply have been delayed - by
business, perhaps, or by affairs connected with Mr Willingham’s arrest. She
must give her attention to her other guests until he arrived.

Having seen
everyone settled round their card tables, amply supplied with refreshments, she
slipped out of the room, meaning to give an order for more wine to be brought
up. The party had proved successful and she did not want the supply to run low.
But she was stopped short by the sight of Miss Serena Quentin talking to Miss
Lavinia Madely, for Miss Quentin was proudly displaying a ring.

Surely she had
seen that ring before? thought Rebecca with a lurch beneath her breast. The
gold flashed in the glow of the candles, and the letter "J" caught
the light. Rebecca closed her eyes, before opening them again and steeling her
nerve. For it was Joshua’s ring that Miss Quentin was wearing.

At that
moment, Miss Quentin turned round, and with an arch smile, said, ‘Miss Foster!
What a surprise you gave me! I did not see you there. But it is a good thing
you are here, for you may be one of the first to congratulate me! I am not
meant to say anything at present, but I cannot resist. Mr Kelling and I are to
be married!’

Rebecca felt
as though she had been stabbed.

‘Married?’ she
asked. Her voice came out as a whisper.

‘Yes,’ crowed
Serena. ‘Is it not splendid news? I am so happy I could cry!’

‘It doesn’t
look much like a betrothal ring,’ put in Miss Lavinia Madely spitefully. Her
mouth was pursed and she looked severely displeased.

‘Of course
not,’ said Miss Quentin, her air of triumph unshaken. ‘That will come later.
Diamonds, I think, or possibly emeralds, to match my "heavenly green
eyes" - for that is what Mr Kelling calls them,’ she said. ‘But he wanted
to give me something to be going on with, and what better than his beloved signet
ring? I do declare, it seems like only yesterday he was forbidding me to take
it from his finger, and saying that only his future wife would be permitted to
do such a thing. And now I am his future wife, and I am wearing his ring!’ She
looked at Rebecca archly. ‘Well, Miss Foster? Are you not going to congratulate
me?’

‘Of . . . of
course,’ said Rebecca. She had to acknowledge the meaning of the ring, but her
mind cried out against it. Joshua? Betrothed to Miss Quentin? It couldn’t be.

And yet, why
not? Miss Quentin was extremely handsome. Joshua had often been in her company.
They were both ruthless. Why should he not have offered her his hand?

Because she
had thought . . .

But she had
been mistaken, she told herself harshly.

She had hoped
he was in love with her - hoped he had been about to offer her his hand - but
the hope had proved false.

There was a
rushing sound in her ears, and she felt tears stinging the back of her eyes. ‘If
you will excuse me,’ she said, ‘I need to instruct the butler.’

And drawing
herself up to her full height she continued on her way with her head held high.

Once out of
sight of the two young ladies, however, her shoulders slumped as she took in
the full enormity of the situation. Joshua was betrothed to Miss Quentin. She
would not have believed it possible. And yet Miss Quentin had been wearing his
ring.

Her head was
throbbing; her heart aching; and she wanted nothing more than to retire to her
room, to lay down on her bed, and to shut out the nightmare. But it could not
be. She could not retire. She and Louisa had a house full of guests, and she
must see to their needs, entertain them with light-hearted conversation, and
appear to be cheerful and perfectly at ease.

Her heart
shrivelled at the thought of it, but it could not be helped. Louisa had been
looking forward to the card party since it had first been decided upon, and
Rebecca did not want to spoil the evening for her, particularly as Louisa was
so radiant. No. She must put on a bright smile and behave as though nothing was
wrong.

The one
comfort was that Joshua had not attended the party, and Rebecca fervently hoped
that he would not now arrive. To congratulate him on his betrothal would be
more than she could bear. If fortune favoured her his business would keep him
away from the party, and it would not be long then before she returned to
Cheshire
. Once there she would
have no call to see him - she could simply declare that she had seen all she
needed to at the mill and that she had decided to conduct her future business
with Joshua by post. And then she would be able to recover in the safety and
seclusion of her country house.

Or at least,
she would be able to try. For she could not conceal from herself that it would
be impossible to recover from such a blow. On the outside, perhaps. But on the
inside? Never.

She shook her
head in an effort to drive away such hopeless thoughts. Allowing herself a few
minutes in an ante-room to collect herself, she went on to instruct the butler
before returning to the sitting-room, where the card tables were in full swing.

‘Ah! There you
are,’ beamed Louisa. Then her smile faded and she said in concern, ‘My dear.
What is it? Are you ill? You don’t look quite the thing.’

‘It’s nothing,’
said Rebecca. She tried to speak reassuringly, but her voice came out shakily.

‘It is the
excitement,’ said Louisa in concern. ‘All these parties are delightful, but
they are tiring nonetheless.’

Rebecca did
not correct Louisa. That worthy lady would discover the reason for her
unhappiness soon enough, but until that time she did not want to cause Louisa
distress. Nor, she was forced to admit, did she want to cause herself distress.
For if Louisa knew that Joshua was betrothed to Miss Quentin, she would
undoubtedly offer sympathy, and that was something Rebecca could not bear.

‘The one
disappointment is that Joshua is not here,’ went on Louisa. ‘Still, I expect -
oh, but I was wrong. Here is Joshua now.’

Rebecca felt
her heart give a lurch and felt a flush spreading over her cheeks. She turned
away in confusion, knowing she was not equal to seeing him, to greeting him.
So, making an excuse she crossed the card room with as much unconcern as she
could muster and went out of the door at the far end.

Her escape,
however, was short lived, for no sooner had she closed the door behind her than
it opened again, and Joshua came through.

Why did he
have to look so devastatingly attractive? thought Rebecca in an agony of
feeling. And why did he have to look at her in that intimate way, with his eyes
dancing and his mouth curving into a tantalizing smile? Why could he not have
looked at her remotely? Why could he not have been austere? But that had never
been Joshua’s way. And it was not his way now, not even when he was betrothed
to Miss Quentin.

‘Running away
from me, Rebecca?’ he asked teasingly, catching hold of her hands and turning
her to face him.

‘No. Of course
not,’ she said brightly; nevertheless reclaiming her hands and putting them
resolutely down at her side. To have Joshua touching her was too painful, now
that she knew he was betrothed to someone else.

She had hoped
to avoid speaking to him about his betrothal, knowing how painful she would
find it. But the terrible tension that had gripped her since Joshua had walked
into the card room must have some release, and she realized it could only be
accomplished by congratulating him.

How she could
bring herself to do it she did not know, but she knew that if she did not speak
the tension would become unbearable. She must do what had to be done; get it
over with; so that she could put it behind her, instead of having it looming
endlessly in front of her.

‘I am glad you
are here,’ she began. She stopped, clenching her hands into fists at her sides,
curling them so tightly that her nails bit into her palms. ‘I want to be the
first to congratulate you.’

He looked
surprised. ‘Congratulate me?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’ She
smiled, hoping the smile did not look as brittle as it felt. It had cost her an
enormous effort, and she prayed that the effort had not been in vain. ‘On your
betrothal.’

‘My betrothal?’
He sounded even more surprised.

‘To Miss
Quentin,’ said Rebecca.

There. The
words were out. She had said them.

But far from
releasing the tension that had built up inside her, they seemed to make it
worse.

To her
surprise, Joshua did not thank her for her kind words. Instead his face
darkened, and she realized he was angry.

But of course.
Miss Quentin had said she was not meant to speak of the betrothal. Joshua,
presumably, had wanted to tell her of it himself.

‘Don’t be
angry with her,’ she said. ‘I know she was not meant to speak of it yet, but
she was so overjoyed she could not help herself.’

Rebecca felt
her courage sinking rapidly, and her legs felt as though they wanted to fold
under her. But she refused to give way. Summoning her pride and dignity to her
aid, she said, ‘I am delighted for you.’

As she spoke
the words she felt as though a part of her was dying.

But she must
concentrate. Joshua was speaking. And yet they were not the words she had
expected to hear.

‘I am betrothed
to Miss Quentin, and you are delighted?’ he asked, his eyes searching her face.

His voice was
surprisingly hollow, and on his face she saw what seemed to be a look of
devastation. But of course it could not be that. She must be misreading him.
After all, it would not be the first time she had done so. She had thought he
was in love with her, and she had been wrong then. She must be wrong about this
as well.

She made a
supreme effort. ‘Yes,’ she said with her brightest smile. ‘I am.’

What looked
like a wave of utter desolation swept over his face, and for one moment she
wondered if there had been a ghastly mistake.

But no. How
could there have been? If there had been a mistake he would have told her so.
He would have said,
You are wrong. I am not betrothed to Miss Quentin. It’s
you I love, Becky.
But he said nothing of the kind.

His voice,
when at last he spoke, was unemotional to the point of deadness. ‘In that case,
there is no more to be said.’

And turning on
his heel he went back into the card room, closing the door behind him.

All the
tension that had held Rebecca rigidly upright throughout the encounter suddenly
flooded out of her, and her legs folded beneath her. She could do nothing about
it and, worn out by her struggles, she collapsed into a Hepplewhite chair.

She was
completely drained. Congratulating Joshua had taken her last ounce of strength
and her last grain of courage. Still, she consoled herself, it was over. The
worst was behind her. She had managed to congratulate Joshua on his betrothal.
She would not need to do so again.

She sat there
for some minutes before realizing she must stir herself. She should go back
into the card room and attend to her guests.

With
difficulty she roused herself. Standing up, she smoothed her skirt, lifted her
chin, and pinched her cheeks to put a little colour into them. Then she
returned to her guests. As she passed between the tables at the card party,
smiling and talking, no one would have guessed from her manner that she was
concealing a great hurt. But it was there inside her, making every word an
effort and every smile a source of the most unbearable pain.

Joshua strode back through
the card room neither seeing nor hearing anything that was going on around him.
All he could see, in his mind’s eye, was Rebecca’s smile when she had
congratulated him on his betrothal to Miss Quentin.

Miss Quentin,
of all people! That hard, spoilt, calculating monster! He would not have
married Miss Quentin if she had been the last woman on earth. How could Rebecca
have believed it? Did she not know that he was in love with her? Obviously not.
And equally obviously she did not care.

He had got it
all wrong, he thought, as he ran his hand through his mane of dark blond hair,
almost consumed by despair. He had thought her feelings for him had changed. He
had thought she had come to love him as much as he had come to love her. There
had been something in her expression the night before, when together they had
overcome Mr Willingham, that had made his heart soar. But it had been nothing,
he saw that now. Nothing but his own wishful thinking, ascribing to her
feelings she did not possess.

‘Joshua!’

Louisa’s voice
roused him from his reverie.

‘Why, what is
it?’ she asked in horror as he turned to look at her. ‘You look terrible. Is
something wrong at the mill?’

Catching sight
of himself in a looking-glass he realized at once why Louisa was concerned. His
eyes were wild, and there was a look of utter desolation on his face.

He made an
effort to restore his features to normal. With limited success. ‘It is nothing,’
he said. ‘Just a small problem that has cropped up.’ Which, whilst not
truthful, at least reassured Louisa and removed the worried look from her face.