Mr. Trelawney's Proposal. Mary Brendan
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upon. Her sapphire betrothal ring was safely wrapped in tissue in her bedroom. She hoped she would never be forced to sell it to survive.
But David had been strong and loyal and had firmly declared his intention to marry her as soon as his commission terminated. It would have been three years ago, Rebecca realised. She would have been a happily married woman for three years, perhaps with children of her own. And a neat villa in Brighton. It was what she and David had discussed during their nine-month courtship. He had always treated her with such respect…such affection…
Her poignant memories were interrupted by a gravelly voice. ‘You be best off forgetting about that brother of yours, Miss Becky,’ Gregory sternly noted as he laid pungent, freshly dug leeks on the scrubbed pine table. Martha shot him a warning frown. ‘She be best to know,’ Gregory insisted. ‘It was just a shame your poor late pa didn’t know what his son was getting into. If he hada known, he woulda left you your money in safer hands, I reckon.’
‘Gregory!’ Rebecca admonished him, shocked by his temerity. He always had tended to speak his mind, but as he aged he was becoming a little too blunt.
‘You know I speak truth, Miss Becky,’ he placated her softly, seeing the distress in her lovely face. ‘But I’m sorry fer upsetting you. Just know this. Jake Blacker’s been seen in Brighton again recently, so I heard. And that means only one thing. Contraband is coming ashore again.’
‘My brother was never involved in smuggling, Gregory,’ Rebecca stated stiffly as she occupied her nervous hands by folding laundry with Martha. She noted the anxious look that passed between the couple. ‘I know Simon had dealings with that ruffian,’ she admitted, trying to ease the atmosphere. ‘I challenged him about Jake Blacker disturbing Mama at home once when Simon and I were in town. He swore Blacker was only looking for him because he lost to him at cards. You know how he was always gambling in taverns. But Simon swore to Papa that he had repaid him and that he would avoid mixing with any of those reprobates in the future.’
‘Where’s he been all this time, then, Miss Becky?’ Martha asked quietly. ‘Why hasn’t he been by to see how you are coping alone? It’s a terrible thing for a brother to leave his sister so alone to fend for herself.’
‘He obviously knows very well that Robin assists me….’ She broke off, realising then just what worried this dear couple. Robin Ramsden was no longer able to do so. ‘Besides,’ she hurriedly said, ‘he knows that I see Elizabeth also. My sister may be married and in London, but we keep in touch.’
A derisive snort met this information and Rebecca knew the reason for it. In all the six years Elizabeth had been married to James Bartholomew, a London lawyer, Rebecca had never once received an offer of help, financial or otherwise. She gave the Turners a conciliatory smile. They were only concerned for her welfare, she knew that. She also knew that without them she would never have been able to cope with running this small establishment.
She had always known that once Robin Ramsden and his patronage were gone she would be alone and vulnerable. She now felt foolish for not having prepared better for that day.
But she had always believed Simon to be alive. She knew sometimes with quite frightening certainty that her hell-raising brother was ridiculously close to her. Just as she was sure that he had used her inheritance as his own and was striving to replace it before he returned with a plausible tale for his absence. Finding Simon and extracting her money from him was now crucial.
Gazing, preoccupied, through the doorway into the damp afternoon, it was a moment before Rebecca noticed the couple strolling down the pathway towards the Summer House. As her eyes alighted on them, her soft mouth immediately curved into a delighted smile. ‘Oh, Kay and Adam are visiting us,’ she advised the Turners with a backward flick of a glance.
‘Best check them biscuits,’ Martha noted briskly. ‘Be baking another batch, more’n like, what with the girls, young John and vicar ’n wife on the way.’
As Rebecca greeted the new arrivals, ushering them into the kitchen with cordial complaints about the abrupt change in the weather, Gregory mentioned casually, ‘You’d best add his lordship to that list, Martha. I heard from Judith that he’s pertickler to a biscuit.’
As Kay and Adam Abbott crowded into the small kitchen, accepting the invitation to be seated and partake of a little light refreshment, the bustle prevented Rebecca clearly understanding Gregory’s cryptic remark. Noting his weatherbeaten countenance still turned to the window, she doubtfully approached the doorway.
Ross was standing, hands on hips, chestnut head thrown back, staring assessingly up at her roof. He shouted something up at John and pointed. Rebecca walked immediately out into the humid afternoon to greet him. She had an odd liking for this good-looking man she barely knew.
‘He considers himself a bit of a carpenter,’ explained a sardonic well-remembered voice that had her twisting immediately about.
Luke Trelawney was behind her and just to one side of the building as though he had walked around it. He held the reins of a magnificent pitch-black stallion in one hand. Rebecca’s eyes were drawn immediately to the fine animal, such a contrast to the farm hack she had seen him with by the pond.
‘Handsome brute, don’t you think?’ Luke stated ironically, noting her interest.
Rebecca raised thick-lashed luminous eyes to search his, noting the glitter in their dark depths. The description was as fitting for the rider as the horse and he was well aware of it.
She gave him a small smile, trying to calm that sudden increased pulse that his imposing presence always seemed to raise. She turned quickly on her heel, attempting to hide the colour she could feel staining her cheeks.
‘Thank you for sending John so quickly,’ she said distractedly, gazing up at the roof where the young carpenter was still receiving advice from Ross below. ‘I was right about the rain, you see. Or rather, Gregory was. We’ve only had a little leaking. I’m very grateful.’ Confident she had regained her composure, she faced him again, biting her lip a little at the expression in his eyes. They were narrowed and intent, as always. But the amused assessment had a harder edge that disturbed her. She realised he probably no longer found her rustic gaucheness quite so entertaining.
‘You knew I’d send him, didn’t you?’ he remarked mildly, as his eyes followed John’s careful descent from the roof’s summit. ‘It’s what the lord of the Manor does for you, isn’t it? Looks after you?’
Rebecca moistened her lips, feeling her agitation increasing as dark eyes swooped back to pitilessly pounce on her.
‘I want to talk to you. I told you that last time I saw you,’ he said a touch irascibly. ‘You disappeared before I had a chance to discuss future arrangements…’
Rebecca managed a smile, a coiling and fluttering in the pit of her stomach at the memory of how he had comforted her that day. His arms had felt so welcome…so strong and protective. She sensed another wave of colour about to suffuse her skin and steeled herself desperately against it.
‘Well, come in…please. And Ross,’ she pleasantly offered. ‘Reverend Abbott and his wife are here, too. We are just having tea. Please do come in,’ she urged sincerely, a hand extending towards the Summer House. ‘I’m sure they would both like to meet you before you return to Cornwall. Have you any idea how long you intend to remain in Sussex, Mr Trelawney?’ she asked conversationally.
‘I shall be leaving next week,’ he brusquely informed her.
This information had Rebecca’s golden head angling immediately up to him. ‘Next week?’ she breathed, her face whitening now, enhancing aquamarine eyes to jewel richness. ‘Have you found a purchaser so soon?’ she demanded a little boldly in her agitation. She recalled her brave words with Martha barely fifteen minutes ago…how she would cope with arranging her future and her search for Simon in the time it would take to find a new landlord.
‘The matter will be left to a man of business…’ he tersely supplied, while inwardly cursing that he had managed to turn up