Laura Carroll Butler Read online

  “No. She doesn’t know that I’m here. May I come in?”

  “Of course, of course,” Michael said, swinging the door open so she could step in. The room was tidy, except for his desk which was strewn with papers. “Would you like some tea?” he asked, motioning her toward a chair close to the fireplace.

  “Yes, please; that would be lovely.”

  The preparation of a cup of tea absorbed them both completely as each struggled with what to say next. Finally, Susanne pulled his note out the pocket of her cape and just held it in her hands.

  Michael stared at it, unsure of her intentions. “Did you read it?” he finally asked.

  “Yes,” she said her voice tense and guarded. “I must have put it aside and forgotten about it when you first gave it to me. I’m sorry. I just read it yesterday.”

  He waited for her to continue. When she didn’t, he said, “I thought you might have tossed it once you read it.”

  “No. It’s so beautiful, Michael. But I don’t understand. What is it you want from me?”

  Oh, how to answer that question? It would be easier to tell her what he didn’t want---for her to walk out that door and leave him miserable, or to laugh in his face at his foolhardiness, or to tell him he would never be more than a friend. For a man of words he was having trouble coming up with the proper ones now.

  Susanne, so recently rejected, nevertheless found the courage to ask, “Are you in love with me Michael? Or were you just hoping to seduce me?”

  Michael knelt by her and took hold of her hands, kissing them gently. He laid one on his cheek and she stroked his soft face. He stared deep into her cornflower eyes and said, “Susanne, I have been in love with you for weeks.”

  She felt the icy grip of fear and self-loathing release her heart and a flicker of a smile played across her lips. “Michael, you don’t know me, what kind of person I am. I am not like Rebecca.”

  “But I do know you. I know you are gentle and kind and when you love, you love with your heart and soul. I know you are genuine, that you care nothing for pretense. I know that when I am with you, I want to hold you and shield you from the ugliness all around us. I know your laugh and your tears and your frustrations. I know you are not Rebecca and I don’t want Rebecca. I want you.”

  “But you don’t understand. Gordon…” she began.

  “Gordon is a bastard,” he interrupted. She stared at him blankly. “I know what he did, what he tried to do, how he tried to make you believe that you are unworthy of love. He is the one who is unworthy of you. You are my dream come to life.”

  He was silent while she contemplated his words. “I need to think,” she finally said, standing and moving toward the door.

  He followed her. “Please tell me I can see you again.”

  She stopped. Her mind was calm when it should have been a whirl of emotions. “Yes,” she answered cautiously.

  He gathered her in his arms and kissed her. She didn’t struggle or protest, but let the warmth of his love pour over her.

  “No one must know just yet,” she said when he released her.

  “Yes of course. When can I see you again?”

  “I will send you a letter,” she answered. “Right now, I need to think. You will wait, won’t you?”

  “As long as I must,” he said. He kissed her again.

  “Goodbye, Michael,” Susanne said and left him to bask in his happiness.

  *************************

  Cousin Martha was Susanne’s accomplice in helping her to remain in London. Susanne had never been one of Martha’s favorites, but Susanne’s plea was honest and impassioned. She had a soft spot for Michael, knowing how devoted he was to Johanna and Davis. Martha easily convinced Sarah to allow Susanne to remain with her in London on the pretext that she was lonely and Susanne’s presence would be a great comfort to her. Sarah was only too happy to let Susanne stay, grateful to not have to deal with her wildness.

  “But,” Martha warned Susanne, “Should you do anything to disgrace yourself or your family, I will not hesitate to ask you to leave.”

  As the day of the wedding edged closer, everything upset an increasingly frantic Rebecca. The week before the wedding, the household moved back to the Edderle estate; Sarah, Tristan and Martha arrived the following Monday. Michael was the only person absent, on another visit to his father.

  By Wednesday morning, everyone was at St. Clare’s Abbey. Most of the guests would be attending in spite of the difficulty in travel and nearly every bedroom in the house would be occupied.

  Johanna took over again as the hostess with Susanne’s assistance. Rebecca was a frazzled mess wanting only for the ceremony to be over. The wedding was supposed to be for her and Davis, but she was realizing quickly that she was only a participant in a pageant for everyone else’s entertainment.

  Her mother had not been happy in the sudden rush to be married and intimated gently as to the circumstances. Less gentle were the cackling gossips in their social circle that openly discussed the sudden rush to the altar and took bets on when the baby would be born.

  Wednesday night, Rebecca finally collapsed in tears, completely inconsolable. She took to her room with Sarah, Susanne and Johanna trying one at a time and in vain to calm her. Davis was helpless, feeling guilty for pushing her to marry so quickly. Nevertheless, Michael suggested that Davis go to Rebecca against the wishes of Sarah who believed that it would fuel the rumors. Susanne, though, agreed with Michael who pressed a glass of scotch into Davis’ hand and sent him upstairs.

  Rebecca’s eyes were red and her face puffy from crying. Seeing Davis did not cheer her up. “Oh, Davis! You mustn’t be here! I look awful!”

  He calmly handed her the scotch and said, “Take a drink. It will soothe you.” She took two sips, the first one scorching the second less so. “Darling,” he said, pulling her into his arms, “You will always be beautiful to me. But I hate to see you so sad.”

  “I’m not sad. Really, I’m not. I just…” She took another, longer sip. Davis was right; the scotch was soothing.

  “Tomorrow this will be over. Tomorrow is just a formality for everyone else,” he reassured her.

  “I know! That is the problem. I wanted my wedding day to be perfect for me—for us. I shouldn’t care about what everyone else wants!”

  “Darling, it is just a day. We have the rest of our lives for perfect.”

  “But everyone is talking and speculating. They think I don’t know, but I do!”

  “Let them talk. Won’t they feel silly when no baby comes in spring? These busybodies gossip to give themselves a reason to justify their useless existence.” Rebecca smiled. “Now finish your drink and get some sleep. Tomorrow night, I will make it all better. I promise.”

  ************************

  Susanne had arrived early to the church to freshen any wilting greenery. She was adding snowdrops to the arrangements when she looked up to see Michael in the doorway. She smiled, but resisted going to him. She knew Davis had arrived with him and was somewhere in the church.

  Her gown was rose silk, not a new dress as the seamstress hadn’t time to make more than one. She is an angel, Michael thought. She came toward him and stopped next to him, close enough that he could swear he heard her heart beat.

  “A beautiful day for love, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Brooks,” she commented with her lips close to his ear.

  “Do you have any idea how much you torment me,” he whispered.

  She smiled and cast him a flirtatious glance. “Yes, I do,” she said.

  *************************

  Rebecca was serene in her elegant wedding gown. All the nervousness, anxiety and tears from the weeks before were gone. She donned her gray wool cloak, trimmed in silver fur, pulled the hood carefully over her hair and took one last look in the mirror. When she returned later this afternoon, she would be Baroness Edderle. She wondered if she would look or feel any different.

  *************************

  When D
avis arrived at the church, he waited in the drawing room for the ceremony to begin and contemplated how quickly life had changed for him. In less than a year, he had met, become engaged and was now marrying the woman he would spend his life with. She came from a proper family, not nobility, but acceptable nonetheless. He supposed his father would have approved of her; he hoped that his mother did. He was now the Fourth Baron Swinstoke, member of the House of Lords, master of St. Clare’s Abbey and estate. The life that had been planned for him at his birth had come to fruition exactly how it was supposed to.

  He knew that this would not be the wedding that Rebecca had probably dreamt of her whole life and for that he felt guilty. But he would make it up to her in the only way he knew how by honoring the vows he was about to take, regardless of what else he may feel.

  *************************

  Susanne led the procession, followed by Rebecca on Tristan’s arm. Davis’ eyes followed Rebecca as she walked up the aisle, her bouquet of plum hellebore and white snowdrops the perfect accent for the silver silk she wore. Tradition dictated that her hair be covered, but he was pleased to see that she hadn’t. Her dark curls hung down her back, the tresses simply adorned with a sprig of white holly berries. As she took her place next to Davis, Tristan gave her hand to him and kissed his sister on the cheek. The violinist finished playing “Greensleeves” and she looked up at Davis, her smile completely relaxed. He squeezed her hand slightly for reassurance; the music ended and the ceremony began.

  *************************

  With the ceremony finished, the serious celebration began. There had not been a party at the manor house in years. Yet the staff, led and guided by Montague, the very efficient butler that Davis had hired away from some Earl’s family, performed their duties perfectly. Much of the staff was new to the estate, brought in after the Third Baron’s death. No one was replaced, but the added staff eased the workload and signaled a commitment to the town of Swinstoke by the Edderle’s and the rebirth St. Clare’s Abbey.

  Rebirth, a fresh start, a new beginning—they were Davis’ ideas for the future, but for now it was Rebecca who clung to the traditions she’d grown up with.

  When the guests, family and wedding party were back at the manor, Rebecca kicked off the party by tossing her garter into the crowd. She saw a hand catch it, but couldn’t see who until some of the men dispersed. She was pleased to see it was Tristan.

  The wedding breakfast became a loud, raucous affair as the staff was excellent about keeping wine glasses full. There were toasts to the couple’s health, their future, their happiness and to the many children they were sure to have.

  After breakfast, the dancing began with Rebecca and Davis leading. A champagne fountain and a table of desserts kept the celebrants content. As the day darkened, Johanna announced that it was time for the Wreath Dance. There were a few raised eyebrows from the gossipiest biddies, but no one of importance paid attention to them. Susanne placed the flower wreath on Rebecca’s head and stepped back to let the married women form a circle around Rebecca. They danced around her while the young men tried to break through to retrieve the wreath for their sweethearts. Rebecca was dizzy from the champagne and the general excitement of the dance and tossed the wreath to the men, just as the ladies allowed them to break the circle. All the fear and stress of the last several months disappeared from her with the toss. She looked across the room at Davis who stood with Tristan, his delight at her radiance evident from his smile.

  “You have made my sister very happy,” Tristan remarked.

  “It is she that has made me very happy,” Davis answered.

  “Now if we could only find someone suitable for Susanne,” Tristan added, nodding to where she was dancing with Michael. It was the first time Davis had seen the two together and they were cordial during the dance. But when the music ended and Susanne turned from Michael, Davis saw him touch the back of her neck gently and Susanne turned her head and smiled at him. It was a simple gesture that any other person would dismiss, but Davis knew Michael and he knew the gesture was not insignificant. The smile Susanne returned acknowledging the stroke was eloquent as well. The joy Davis felt was tempered some while he observed them.

  Tristan was still talking and Davis forced himself to look back at him. What was he saying? Something about Susanne. “I fear her reputation is such that few men look at her seriously as a wife. There was that Wilborn man. What happened to him?”

  “I think that she is well rid of him,” Davis answered. “She is better off without a scoundrel like him.”

  “That is too bad. Nevertheless, maybe Martha can help. She had a bit of success with Rebecca.”

  “Martha?”

  “My cousin; your cousin now as well. Susanne will be staying with her in London through the season. I hope it gives her an opportunity to meet someone. Martha is an excellent chaperone and a good judge of character.”

  “Susanne is remaining in London?”

  “I thought you knew. Well, you have had other things on your mind. The shame of it is that it is imperative to Susanne’s future that she makes a suitable match. She has only the income from her father to sustain her.” Davis looked at Tristan quizzically. Tristan had drunk far too much and was saying more than he should to Davis. “She’ll receive nothing from my mother’s estate, small though it will be; after all she is not my mother’s daughter.” The statement was so matter-of-fact, that Davis nearly missed its significance.

  “Rebecca has never said…” he asked.

  “She doesn’t know,” interrupted Tristan. “And neither does Susanne, for that matter. My mother told me after my father died. I’d heard a few rumors in the village before, but…Her real mother was some whore of my father’s who died when Susanne was born. Mother took Susanne in and raised her as her own. But she is truly her mother’s daughter.”

  Davis was sickened by Tristan’s nonchalance. “I’m sure I don’t know what you could mean by that,” he said frostily.

  Tristan laughed. “Davis, you couldn’t possibly be this naïve. Surely you have heard our gentlemen and their talk of the virtues of Susanne? They aren’t referring to her needlepoint or flower arranging,” Tristan commented sarcastically.

  “We both know that men often exaggerate and at the expense of a young lady.”

  “That may be. But once the gossip begins, who cares what the truth is?”

  Davis considered this. Tristan was drunk and he knew from experience to not argue with a drunk. “So who do you have in mind for Susanne?”

  Tristan smirked a little. “Whoever wants her and will take her.”

  Rebecca came up to them and took Davis’ hand. “Dance with me, darling,” she said and he gladly obliged. Alone suddenly, Tristan looked for his mother, but didn’t see her. He took a walk around the dance floor then checked in the other rooms. He found Sarah in the parlor, alone and sitting in front of the fire.

  “Are you alright, Mother?” he said.

  She looked up, startled from her thoughts and her face softened at her son.

  ”I am just a little tired. It’s been a long day.”

  Tristan sat next to her. “But a successful one.”

  “Yes, it would seem.” She paused. “I’m very tired, Tristan, but I would like to speak with Rebecca before she leaves.”

  “Of course, Mother.”

  Rebecca returned with Tristan who left them in privacy, closing the door behind him.

  “I am sorry to take you from your party, dear, but I wanted to see you before I retire,” Sarah began.

  “Are you not feeling well, Mother?” Rebecca asked as she sat next to Sarah and put her arms around her.

  Sarah smiled in reassurance. “All the excitement seems to have worn me down. You have made me very proud and happy today. I know this was not the wedding you planned and I won’t pretend that I don’t have my suspicions about why you suddenly rushed to get married—“

  “Mother,” Rebecca interrupted, but was silenced by a wav
e from Sarah.

  “Nevertheless, you have what you have always wanted and more because you have a man who loves you. Davis is a wonderful man. I know that he will take good care of you. Take good care of him.”

  “I will, Mother. Thank you.”

  “I have something for you. I would have given it to you before the ceremony, but it couldn’t compete with the jewelry Davis gave you.” She brought out of her pocket a box and handed it to Rebecca. “This came into my family through curious means.”

  The box contained a large baroque pearl brooch set with smaller pearls and amethysts. “It’s beautiful,” Rebecca said.

  “It may be from royalty. At least that was the story my mother told me. She said that it was originally a necklace given to by King Charles II to a favorite mistress. Maybe it’s true.” Sarah shrugged. “It makes for a good story. My mother gave it to me on my wedding day, but I never wore it.”

  “Why not?”

  Sarah smiled sadly. “I suppose that I was afraid that if your father knew of it, he might sell it. Or worse. Maybe that’s harsh, but your father considered everything mine to be his.” She stroked Rebecca’s cheek. “You won’t need to feel that way.”

  “No. I won’t. Thank you.” She took Sarah’s hand and kissed it. “Will you come back in?”

  “I’m sorry, no. I think I need some sleep.”

  “I’ll take you to your room,” Rebecca offered.

  “No, dear. You go back to your husband. Please send Kelley in to me,” Sarah said, referring to her lady’s maid.

  When she returned to the ballroom, Rebecca looked for Davis. Johanna, who had been watching for her, linked her arm in Rebecca’s and said with a conspiratorial smile, “It’s time.”

  Rebecca laughed. “Time for what?”

  “Just come with me.” Johanna led her through the ballroom and to the front of the mansion, where a carriage waited in the candlelit night. Some of the more sober celebrants, including Susanne and Michael, followed them. While they had been celebrating indoors, it had begun to snow and several inches lay on the ground. Johanna wrapped Rebecca in her wedding cloak and a footman held the door and her hand while she stepped into the carriage. “He knows where to go, darling. We’ll see you tomorrow.” As the carriage pulled away, the shivering, joyful crowd threw confetti that drifted amidst the snowflakes.