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"But why not wait and do it right? A real church service, with family and friends in attendance."
He tilted his head and studied her, trying to see beneath her calm veneer. If only he could pry into her mind for the answers, this would be so much easier. "Is there anyone in particular you'd like to invite? I thought your parents were both dead."
"My father's dead. I said my mother was gone. She's gone to Florida. I don't talk to her anymore." Rebecca smiled sadly. "I guess I don't have any friends or family to attend me. It's just that I'd always pictured a storybook wedding. A big stone church, full of stained glass, and crammed to the rafters with people who'd watch me process down the aisle in yards and yards of white lace."
Desmond caught up her hands and covered them with gentle kisses until she gave him her attention.
"Rebecca. Dear heart. I'll find you a chapel with stained glass, and a wedding dress with yards and yards of lace. Don't you know I only want you to be happy? But I'm selfish. I don't want to wait any longer to make you my wife than I have to."
He ignored the edge of guilt scraping at his conscience. Marrying her would please him, and he'd do everything he could to make the marriage a happy one for her, too. But he couldn't forget that she'd be better off with a normal man. One who could grow old alongside her, and who could give her nice, normal children that weren't likely to die before they'd ever had a chance to live. Someone who wouldn't threaten her safety by his very existence.
She laughed, and the shadow lifted from her features. "What did I ever do to deserve a man like you?"
You angered the gods, he thought, but didn't say it. She wouldn't understand his bitterness. Instead, he asked, "Are you finished with your calls? Lunch should be ready soon."
"You're staying for lunch?"
"Yes. Didn't Mrs. Waters tell you?"
"No." Rebecca frowned, then forced a smile. "I'm sure it just slipped her mind."
"Rebecca, what is it?"
"What is what?"
"Why were you upset that Mrs. Waters didn't mention it?"
"I wasn't upset." She stood up and started for the door. "Are you coming?"
"Not yet." He placed a hand on her arm to stop her, and turned her to face him. "Tell me why she upset you."
Rebecca tilted her chin up, prepared to fight him, but almost immediately her shoulders drooped and she lowered her head again. "Mrs. Waters doesn't want me here."
"What? How can you— "
"She barely talks to me, won't let Gillian near me, and constantly reminds me that I'm not worthy to so much as speak your late wife's name."
Desmond stiffened. Scraps of images cascaded through his mind, projected by Rebecca's distress. She might have exaggerated a little, but he didn't doubt that his housekeeper had gone out of her way to make Rebecca feel unwanted and unwelcome.
"She's wrong. And from now on, she's going to treat you with the respect and courtesy you deserve. Or she can find another job."
Chapter 13
HAVING DESMOND home for lunch was an obvious treat for Gillian, and she monopolized him throughout the luncheon conversation. She insisted on telling her father everything about how lunches were normally prepared and eaten, and reminded him several times that she'd helped set the table. Each time, Desmond agreed that the napkins were folded wonderfully, each one under the knife just so, or that the water glasses held just the right amount of water, or that she was extremely clever to have remembered both the salt and the pepper.
Rebecca was glad when the meal was finally over. Desmond had occasionally tried to draw her into the conversation, but between Gillian and Mrs. Waters, he'd rarely had the chance. And Rebecca wasn't sure how to behave around Gillian. She'd never had much experience with kids.
When the other girls had been playing with dolls, Rebecca had explored the woods and creeks. They'd baby-sat to get pocket money. She'd delivered papers and helped after school at the library. Although some people claimed parenting was an instinct, considering what a mess her own mother had made of it, Rebecca wasn't willing to bet too heavily on that.
So she sat quietly, smiling occasionally at Desmond and Gillian, and avoided looking at Mrs. Waters. Gillian frequently asked the housekeeper for confirmation as she spoke to her father. Each time she did, Mrs. Waters darted a smug look at Rebecca. Rebecca wasn't sure what game Mrs. Waters thought they were playing, but the housekeeper clearly believed she was winning.
After lunch, Desmond took Gillian away to get cleaned up, and Mrs. Waters started gathering up the dishes.
"You'll want to be getting back to your phone calls, then?" Mrs. Waters asked over her shoulder as she carried the plates to the sink.
Rebecca slapped the table and shoved herself upright. "I've had as much of this as I can take. I don't know what your problem is, but you better tell me now."
Mrs. Waters added soap to the water and swirled the bubbles over the dishes. "Or what?"
