The Reluctant Bridegroom (2 page)

Robert St. Cloud straightened up, nervously fingering his cravat. “Well, then, perhaps I’d better go give the poor girl some protection.”

Nora smirked. “You! That’d be like letting the fox guard the hen house. No, I’ll take Mr. Marlowe’s attention from Rebekah.”

“The devil you will!” said St. Cloud ferociously. “The fellow may be only the second best-looking chap in the room, but I’d still not trust him around my woman!”

Nora liked his possessive air and, allowing him to pull her to the dance floor, she observed casually, “Well, I don’t suppose he can
steal
her, can he? We’ll keep an eye on them.” But despite her good intentions, as the evening wore on she lost herself in the gaiety of the party. From time to time she
remembered Rebekah with a slight feeling of concern.
She’s having a good time,
she told herself, catching sight of the pair laughing over something at the tables.
Let her shake off her chains for once!

Marlowe’s easy familiarity would have warned most women, but Rebekah was not like most women. Her inexperience with men prevented her from sensing the danger; she only knew that it was easy to talk with him, and she was having the best time of her entire life. Now as she looked up at him, her hazel eyes wide, she told him of how she had come to visit Nora. For his part, Marlowe found himself strangely drawn to her innocence. He was a man who knew women well; ordinarily he preferred women who were as wise in the ways of the world as he. But this girl fascinated him—more than most women he had met before. He redoubled his efforts to charm her, to win her over. After all, it was a game to him, and he enjoyed the chase. If he lost, he lost with good grace—but he did not lose often.

Deftly he extracted her history, marveling that a woman of twenty could be at the same time so innocent and so beautiful. But innocent she was, which was further evidenced by the fact that she had taken three drinks with no idea that they had brightened her eyes and relaxed the rigidity which had bound her at the couple’s first meeting.
Probably thinks it’s lemonade,
he thought wryly.

Several times women in the room glanced at him with an expression he well knew to be an invitation. More than once he almost responded—but there was something about the girl that challenged him. Rebekah’s simple joy in the party and her trusting eyes appealed strongly to him.

After many dances, he said, “It’s warm in here. Would you like to get a breath of air?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Mr. Marlowe . . . !”

“Tyler, not Mr. Marlowe,” he corrected. “Just for a few minutes. It’ll clear our heads.”

He skillfully guided her through the French doors that led
outside, to an extremely large room filled with many plants and a grape arbor—apparently a greenhouse. The music was muted as he closed the doors. Turning to her, he saw that she was shivering. “You’re cold, Rebekah,” he said, taking off his coat and putting it around her shoulders. It gave her an odd feeling to wear the coat as they slowly strolled along the wide walk.

She said little, but he spoke with ease, telling her of his travels, which seemed marvelous to her. They came to a cast iron garden bench, and he suggested, “Let’s sit down for a while. You must be tired.” He was careful not to touch her, but as he talked, he allowed his arm to go around the back of the bench and brush her shoulder. “Have you traveled much, Rebekah?”

“Oh no. I’ve never been anywhere!”

“I’d like to show you a few things.” He smiled down at her. The moonlight reflected like silver in her eyes, and he had never seen anything more lovely than the line of her throat and her provocative lips. “You’d enjoy it, I think, in Venice. The streets are canals, and I’d like to take you down one of them. It’s so beautiful there! The boatmen usually sing—nothing quite like it anywhere else.”

“It sounds so wonderful!”

“You should see it—or rather you should let Venice see
you!
” With a single motion he reached out and pulled her around to face him. “I mean, Rebekah, a beautiful woman has no right to keep herself locked up. She needs to be seen—like a rare diamond!”

She dropped her eyes, not knowing how to respond.
First time a man ever told her she was beautiful,
he thought, and then she looked up and for one moment she was open and vulnerable. The drinks had broken down her natural defenses, and now in the moonlight she was stirred by a longing she had never before allowed herself to feel. The thousand cords of the strict code her well-meaning parents had placed around her
loosened—and now, for the first time, she caught a glimpse of freedom she had not known existed.

Her lips opened slightly, and he saw her eyes filled with longing. Easily, he pulled her toward him and kissed her.

The power of his arms around her and the sudden touch of his lips stirred her with a mixture of fear and excitement. The few fleeting kisses of her life had been nothing like this, and she felt herself trembling wildly. She knew she should pull away, but instead she clung to him, kissing him back.

Finally she drew back, whispering, “Please—let me go!”

He released her at once, and found himself shaken as he had not been for years. The dewy youth, the innocent trust, and the hint of an eager passion that lurked beneath that innocence took his breath away, robbing him of speech.

She rose, saying nervously, “I must go inside . . .”

Instinctively he knew he had gone too far. He stood up and took her hands, saying contritely, “Rebekah! Please forgive me—I can’t imagine what I was thinking of!” He went on speaking until she was calmer. “You must think I’m an ogre or something!”

“No, Tyler,” she said with a hint of a smile. “Not an ogre. I just think that you’re too—experienced for me.”

He saw that she was intelligent enough to read him in part. Laughing, he nodded ruefully. “Tried and found guilty! But you must give me a chance to redeem myself. Let me see you again. You’ll be here for a week?”

“Yes, but—”

“There’s a concert tomorrow. I insist on taking you.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly do that.”

“Why, certainly you can,” he answered. He began to persuade her, and by the time he put her into the coach with Nora, somehow she had agreed to accompany him the next evening.

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” he said, then smiled and closed the door.

Nora remarked dryly as they drove away, “You and Mr. Marlowe became friends very rapidly.”

“He’s very nice.”

Nora said no more until later that night. Entering Rebekah’s room, she was caught by an odd sense of apprehension at the sight of the girl looking so small in an old-fashioned gown. Nora put her arm around her cousin and said, “Rebekah, be careful. Tyler’s not your kind of man.”

“You don’t think I should go to the concert?”

Nora hesitated, then replied, “I don’t see any harm in it. You’ll be here only a week, and God knows you deserve a good time. I just say—be careful.”

“I will, Nora. I’ll be
very
careful.” Rebekah was three years older than her cousin, but Nora felt a maternal protectiveness welling up inside of her. She wished the man had not been there, and she resolved to keep a close eye on Rebekah. Taking the kiss that Rebekah put on her cheek, she left the room, thinking,
It’s only a week. Surely nothing can happen in a week.

She slept poorly that night, wishing with all her heart that she had handled the affair better.

She wished it even more by the end of the week, for Marlowe had taken Rebekah out every night. Nora had tried more than once to tell the girl that it was improper, but there was always a quick defense in Rebekah’s answer.

“It’s only this week, Nora—then I’ll be going home. I’ll never see him again.”

Nora had talked to Robert, but he only said, “I don’t know what I can do, Nora. I don’t know the man, really, except in a business way—and not very well at that!”

A sense of foreboding would not leave Nora, and she tried to warn Rebekah, who would not listen. “Oh, Nora, it’s so sad! Tyler was married six years ago, but his wife died in childbirth—her first.” Tears gathered in her eyes, and she whispered, “He’s so lonely, Nora!”

“He’s too good-looking to be lonely, Rebekah.”

He is handsome, isn’t he?”

It was all so awkward—and Nora felt responsible for at least some of the problem. Clearing her throat, she said, “Rebekah . . . I know you’re a good girl. But Tyler’s a man of the world. It would be tragic if you . . .” She floundered, then said angrily, “Well, has he tried to make love to you? I’d be surprised if he hadn’t!”

Rebekah’s eyes flashed, and she retorted defiantly, “Yes—he tried once. But when I told him that I couldn’t do—such a thing, it never happened again!”

Nora gently laid a hand on her cousin’s shoulder. “I’m just worried about you, Rebekah! You’re so . . . so young!”

“I’m older than you are, Nora!” For once Rebekah spoke with a trace of anger, and she shrugged off Nora’s hand. “I’m twenty years old, and very likely will wind up an old maid—unless my father marries me off to a rich widower with three children as he tried to do with Louise.”

“Your sister? The one who ran away?”

“Yes.” The anger went out of her, leaving a mist of misery in her eyes. “She writes every year, Nora—and my father tears the letters up without opening them.” She sighed. “These few days are all I have, Nora. I’m going to go with Tyler until Friday. Then I’ll get on a coach and ride out of his life. And I’ll hate these days forever—because I never knew that life could be so—” She broke off and flung herself on the bed, weeping.

Nora stared at her helplessly, then left the room.

All week Nora yearned for Friday to come so that she could sleep again. But when Friday came, she was totally unprepared for what happened.

After breakfast Nora went upstairs to have a last talk with her cousin. Rebekah had been very quiet at the meal and her face was paler than usual. She found the girl all packed and standing at the window looking out at the blooming apple trees.

“All packed?” Nora asked brightly. She went over and put
her arm around the other, saying fondly, “It’s been so good to have you, Rebekah! I want you to come back very soon. I’m writing to tell your parents that we must—”

“Nora, I’m going to marry Tyler.” Rebekah turned and her face was swollen from weeping. There was a sadness in her eyes, but a defiant light as well. Cutting off Nora’s protest, she added, “We’re going to New York to be married—and there’s nothing you or anyone else can say to stop me.”

Nora felt as if the world had suddenly dropped away. “Rebekah, this isn’t right! Your parents—have you thought of them?”

“Yes. They’ll tear up my letters—just like they tear up my sister’s—but I’m in love with Tyler. Even though there’s no way my father would have him as a son-in-law.”

“But you don’t
know
Tyler, Rebekah!”

“I know he loves me!” There was a sound of a carriage drawing up, and she looked out the window. “There he is—I’m going.”

Putting her arms around her cousin, she said, “I’m sorry for putting you through this, Nora. It’s awful of me—but it’s my one chance at happiness!” She tore herself away, picked up her bag and fled from the room. Nora heard the front door slam and she went to the window. Marlowe stood waiting, and Rebekah ran to him. He put his arms around her, said something, then helped her into the coach. Nora could see that Rebekah was still weeping.

She turned from the window, feeling sick, and trembling so hard that she had to sit down on the bed. Tears of angry frustration filled her eyes. It was the first time she’d ever wept for anyone else, and all she could think of was:
Rebekah—you don’t even know him!

CHAPTER TWO

A MARRIAGE IN NEW YORK

Rebekah looked down at the counter, comparing the items piled there with the list in her hand. “I think that’s all, Mr. Laughton,” she said. “What does everything come to?”

The storekeeper was a tall, thin man with a large nose and sharp blue eyes. He touched each item with a bony finger as he quoted the price. “Well, now, Mrs. Marlowe, the milk’s two cents for the quart, two pounds of beef at six cents a pound, one chicken for eighteen cents, four pigeons at one cent apiece; the pickled herring comes to five cents, and the oysters exactly twelve cents.” He tallied the figures on a pad quickly. “That comes to fifty-three cents. Will there be anything else?”

“Oh yes, I do need some ink powder.”

“Ah!” Laughton turned and pulled a small green bottle off the shelf. “Now here’s something you might like to try—bottled ink.” He handed it up to her, adding, “Nothing I hate worse than mixing up ink powder! Always get it too thin or full of lumps. Only five cents for that bottle.”

“What won’t they think of next!” Rebekah marveled. As she held the bottle up to the light, the storekeeper gave her an approving glance. She was a good customer, quiet and uncomplaining. He remembered the first time she’d come into his store three months ago—a brand new bride. Her husband had brought her in and said, “You must let this lady have anything she wants, Mr. Laughton. We’ve just gotten married this morning, and she’ll be a regular customer!”

She had been wearing a dowdy dress on that first day, Laughton remembered, but now she looked stylish in one of the outfits he had sold her from his own stock. The first three months of her marriage had already worked their magic, giving her an air of confidence she hadn’t possessed before.

Today she had come in wearing a blue silk bonnet tied with ribbon under her chin and a sage green cloak, which she had set aside to do her shopping. Her bell-shaped skirt, made of dark linsey-woolsey, was stiffened by whalebone stays sewed into the skirt itself—without a hoop. Her green silk bodice was plentifully supplied with lace on the collar and the sleeves. The skirt was not long; it showed about three inches of leg above the shoe tops—a new fashion that had taken New York by storm. On her feet were delicate high-heeled shoes made of damask.

“Your husband still away on business?” Laughton asked, putting the groceries in a sack.