Page 3 of The Marchioness of his Desire
“But I want you to stay.”
“I know, but I cannot. We are growing up now, you know.” He swung their clasped hands as they walked. “And that means people expect us to do certain things. I have to go away to school. You,” and he squeezed her hand, “must work hard and become a lady — prepare to come out one day. You understand?” He paused, and she nodded. “So, we must both do our best and remember that we are friends — always.”
He turned her to face him at the edge of the wood. Holding both her shoulders, he leaned down to look into her eyes.
“Yes, Becks? Friends? Always?”
Tears welled in her eyes, and she swallowed. She tucked the precious watch into the pocket of her dusty frock. Her hands flew to her braid, quickly working loose the ribbon that held it. Wadding the strip of red satin in her hand, she pressed it into Nicholas’ palm.
“Yes,” she choked out. “Yes, Nicky. Friends always. Here is my pledge.”
Then she turned and ran.
Chapter One
Thirteen Years Later
Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Hurry up, now, girl! I shall not have you be late for this ball, Rebecca! I have laid out too much blunt to get you a husband, and I shan’t have you jeopardizing my plans.”
Twenty-three-year-old Lady Rebecca Paddington, orphaned daughter of the previous Earl of Weston, started at the unexpected tirade. Her hand covered the pocket watch lying on top of her dressing table, and she glanced into the mirror, gazing at the door to her room reflected there.
She pressed her lips together.
Uncle Roland was in fine form tonight, apparently, raging on about expenses and quite obviously far into his cups.
She sighed.
His behavior was in character. She should not have been startled by it, though she was probably more eager than he was to see her gone from his care and settled in a home of her own. If only … Her fingers curled around the watch, and she gazed into the mirror, not seeing her image now, but images of days long past.
“My lady?”
Rebecca drew in a deep breath. Old promises dissolved in the demands of current circumstances. She smiled into the mirror.
“Yes, Lyddie. Please, finish my hair. Use the pearl clips tonight, please.”
“Yes, my lady.” Rebecca closed her eyes, her mind wandering to things that might have been as Lyddie’s deft fingers quickly smoothed errant locks into submission and carefully placed the beautiful pearl clips that had belonged to Rebecca’s mother.
Had her parents not died. Had she made her come out as planned. Had she not fought with Nicholas before his last journey. Had Nicky never left her in the first place.
Rebecca allowed the thoughts to run rampant for the moment. Wallowing inif onlyscould not solve her problems, but an occasional controlled lapse served as her only refuge. It strengthened her to do what she knew she must do. For her own sake, yes, but mostly for her sister Laura’s welfare.
And Edward, after all, was a kind man. Respectable. His persistent courtship proved his attachment, and he seemed eager to procure her happiness. He could provide a home for her and Laura, and, in time, she might come to care for him. Perhaps.
She sighed.
If only…
Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Rebecca!” The slurred syllables came out as more of a growl than a word.
She jumped again, causing Lyddie to fumble with the fastening of the pearl necklace she had chosen to complement the clips. Rebecca caught Lyddie’s glance in the mirror and mouthed the word “sorry.”
Aloud she called out, “Coming, Uncle. I shall join you directly.”
“Shee that you do, mish! Shee that you do.” Another bang rattled the door.
