The Wedding Season (10 page)

“I had to. You forced my hand. After the banns are read tomorrow, there would have been no going back. I know you’re upset now, but you’ll soon forget. You always do.”

“Forget?” With a feral cry, Claude lunged toward Sebastian, his fist raised.

Sebastian stood unflinching before his brother’s attack, not out of courage or resolution but because he was concentrating so hard on Rebecca. The sharp intake of her breath was followed by a faint, wounded whimper. In her gaze he glimpsed a desperate yearning to deny that he was capable of such a thing.

At the last instant, Claude stayed his blow. Instead, he hurled words that injured Sebastian far worse. “Forget her? Never! And I will never forgive you for what you’ve done.”

He turned to Hermione. “Please don’t punish me for my brother’s malicious mischief!”

“I do not believe he acted out of malice,” she replied. “He only wanted to protect you.”

“I am not an infant!” Claude cried. “I do not need his protection, especially not from you! You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“You think that now.” Hermione’s voice broke. “But if we were to wed against your brother’s wishes, it would create a breach between you that might never heal. One day, you might come to blame me for it and wish you had not married me after all. I could not bear that.”

As Claude begged her to reconsider, Sebastian felt his mind was about to burst trying to reconcile two entirely contrary ideas. Hermione Leonard was not clinging desperately to her engagement after all. Nor was she breaking it in a fit
of jealous rage, but out of concern for his brother’s future happiness and hers…and perhaps even his. Could he have misjudged her so horribly?

The harder Claude pleaded, the more gently implacable Hermione grew, like a slender sapling bending before a gale, but never breaking. When her eyes began to glitter with unshed tears, she turned and buried her face in Rebecca’s shoulder.

“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.

But 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 knew 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.

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?”

“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 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 had 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 him 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 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 hurt 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 that had come out of it was his learning 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 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 the Lord 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 recent 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?

Though that fear terrified him to the darkest depths of his soul, Sebastian knew he could not let it stop him if there was the slightest hope he might put right a tiny part of what he’d 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 have ever seen.”

Miss Leonard introduced the young beaux, but Sebastian had eyes and ears only for Rebecca. Up close, she looked even lovelier than at a distance. Her complexion had taken on a fresh bloom, making her look nearly as young as her former pupil. Though her eyes held a soft brown shadow of sorrow, they were lightened by a verdant glow of deep joy.

Perhaps awed by Sebastian’s title or frightened by his reputation, the young dandies made themselves scarce soon after their introduction. He was not sorry to see them go.

“What brings you to Bath, Lord Benedict?” asked Rebecca. “You are not ill, I hope,” she added, referring to the way many people flocked to the fashionable spa to drink and bathe in the local mineral waters.

“I am no worse than ever.” He repeated his accustomed wry quip. “I need not ask if you ladies are well for you could not look so lovely unless you were in the very best of health and spirits.”

As he spoke, Sebastian intercepted a look between Hermione and Rebecca. It seemed to suggest, as his brother once had, that he sounded far too amiable to be the real Viscount Benedict.

“If I look well,” Rebecca replied, “it must be on account of my new clothes. We are presently staying with my aunt, Lady Atherton, who is determined to spoil me with kindness.” She glanced about. “Has your brother accompanied you to Bath by any chance? I should so much like to see him again.”

The mention of Claude caused Miss Leonard to give a sharp little intake of breath.

Sebastian hoped he did not disappoint her too greatly when he shook his head. “Unlike you, I have not had the happiness of reconciling with my estranged family.”

Pleased as he was that her life had taken such a fortunate turn, he could not stifle a pang of regret. Rebecca’s aunt was clearly a lady of fortune, perhaps anxious to make up for past neglect by showering her niece with everything her money could buy. Even if he could ever summon the nerve to court Rebecca properly, she no longer had any compelling reason to encourage his attentions.

Thrusting that dispiriting thought to the back of his mind, Sebastian strove to concentrate on what he had come to do. “I have heard my brother is in London where he has found lucrative employment with an insurer of shipping. Though I believe it is his way of declaring independence from his interfering elder brother, I am proud of him.”

The ladies nodded in agreement, but afterward Miss Leonard’s head remained slightly bowed.

Rebecca appeared concerned for her young friend and perhaps anxious to escape the company of one who had distressed her. “You failed to answer my question, sir. If you are not ill or traveling with your brother, what has brought you to Bath?”

There it was, open and direct as always. “I must admit, I have come in search of Miss Leonard.”

“Me?” Hermione squeaked.

Sebastian nodded. “Ever since we last parted company, I have been tormented by the shame of the great wrong I did you. And the terrible harm I caused my brother by depriving him of as fine a wife as he could ever find. I neither expect nor deserve your forgiveness, but I beg you not to make my innocent brother pay for my wicked folly. A single word from you is all it would take to restore his happiness. Anything you would ask of me, I will do and be grateful for the obligation if only you will give my brother reason to hope.”

Miss Leonard raised one delicate, gloved hand to still her trembling lips. When she mastered her voice to speak, it was with the blessed whisper of true kindness and generosity. “How can I withhold forgiveness when I am in need of it myself? If your brother can find it in his heart to pardon me the grief I have caused him, it would be the greatest honor and joy of my life to be united with him.”

Too moved to stand, Sebastian sank to his knees, seized her hand and pressed it to his lips. “There is nothing in my power I can do to adequately show my gratitude.”

She let out a self-conscious giggle that was one of the sweetest sounds Sebastian had ever heard. “You could begin by standing up before you draw any more attention to us. I fear it will be all over Bath by sundown that you have proposed to me. I must write to Claude at once before the gossip spreads to London and he thinks the world has gone mad.”