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“I see,” Isobel said, smiling knowingly.
Her coyness was beginning to make Rebecca a bit irritated. “What do you see?” Rebecca asked. “I see nothing but an honorable gentleman trying to make right something for which he felt a level of responsibility.”
Isobel nodded. “I see that. I also see an exceedingly handsome gentleman—tall, even taller than my Thomas—with an elegant bearing despite his modest attire and the visage of a Greek god. His eyes are even bluer than yours, Rebecca, and combined with that dark hair of his . . .” She smiled knowingly again.
“I will concede that Mr. Fortescue is fine looking and has also been quite amiable, if not altogether forthcoming during his visits,” Rebecca said, wishing to put a stop to what her sister-in-law was suggesting. “But it does not diminish the fact that I might have met many fine-looking and amiable gentlemen over the next few weeks had his presence on Mr. Arnold’s property not startled me and caused my injury. Besides,” she continued, “he has just informed me that he is a widower just coming out of mourning. I doubt he’s in the frame of mind to begin courting anyone, let alone me.”
Isobel gasped. “How terribly sad!” she exclaimed. “He’s so young to have lost his wife—although, sadly, it is much more common than we like to think. PoorMr. Fortescue.”
“Indeed,” Rebecca said. There was much he had not told her about the circumstances surrounding his wife’s death, and that troubled her, but Isobel’s constant emphasis on his name had finally surpassed Rebecca’s limit on patience. “Isobel,whydo you keep emphasizing his name in such a manner?” Rebecca asked at last.
Isobel shrugged delicately. “No reason, really. Only that Thomas once told me Mr. Arnold was leaving his property to his grandnephew, the heir to the Earl of Winton. Puzzling, wouldn’t you say?” She stood. “Whether he is the gentleman about whom Mr. Arnold was speaking, I cannot say. Perhaps Mr. Arnold changed his will. Who knows? Either way, my dear sister, he is a neighbor and hopefully will become a good family friend. But at the very least, it provides a bit of a puzzle to be solved, does it not?” She bent and placed a kiss on Rebecca’s cheek. “I shall leave you now and allow you some quiet time, which I’m sure you will appreciate after Edmund and Mary’s little performance.”
Rebecca smiled. “Their song was precious, Isobel.”
“They were so excited to share it with you. You are truly loved by all of your nieces and nephews. Quite a favorite amongst them all, I believe.” She chuckled and then sobered. “And I am blessed to be able to call you sister. I love being a part of the Jennings family.”
“And we love you too,” Rebecca said.
Isobel briefly laid her hand on Rebecca’s shoulder before leaving the room—and leaving Rebecca alone with her thoughts and new questions about Mr. Benjamin Fortescue.
* * *
By the time Ben arrived home, his clothes were completely soaked through and he was chilled to the bone. He wearily turned over his mount to MacKay. “See he gets a good rubdown and extra feed,” Ben said. “I made him suffer in the rain with me.”
“Will do, sir,” MacKay said.
Ben trudged to the house.
“Goodness, my—sir,” Snow exclaimed, hurrying over to assist Ben after he walked into the entry hall. “Peter!” he called. “Sally! Hot water for the master! Quickly!”
Mrs. Snow and Peter scurried into the entry hall before Mr. Snow could help Ben out of his sodden jacket and hat and then immediately scurried out, presumably to heat water since Snow’s commands were still ringing in Ben’s ears.
Once out of his jacket and hat, Ben tramped up the stairs, boots heavy. He wanted out of his clothes. He was grateful the Snows had recognized his needs immediately and he hadn’t had to say anything. When he reached his dressing room, he slumped into a chair and struggled to remove his boots.
“Here, I can help you with that,” Peter said after pouring a large bucket of steaming water into the copper tub located in a small adjoining room. He crouched down, got a good grip on the heel of Ben’s right boot, and tugged. The boot came off rather easily despite the rainwater that had run down his trousers and drenched his stockings. Soon, the other boot stood beside it next to Ben’s chair. “I’ll take care of those boots after I’ve seen to all of the hot water.” Peter hurried off.
Ben managed to undo his neckcloth and haul his shirt over his head, then threw them both into a corner. He sat, eyes closed, listening to the silence and the occasional return of Peter as he continued to fill the tub.
Eventually, Peter returned to his side. “Sir?” he said softly. “Your water is ready now.”
“Thank you, Peter,” Ben murmured, his eyes still closed.
“I’ll leave you, then, sir, unless there’s anything else I can do.”
Ben nodded.
Once Peter had left the room, Ben stood and finished disrobing, then settled into the hot, soothing water, sliding all the way into the tub until only his head and knees remained above the surface. Steam rose about his face, penetrating his skin, and seemed to draw unwanted memories from him.
“How are you feeling today?” he asked.
“Much better,” Gemma said, although Ben thought she still looked more palethan usual. She was sitting at her vanity, applying the merest dab of perfume behind her ears. “I’m sure it’s only fatigue after the long carriage ride home.”
“I’m glad,” he said. “I’m glad you are feeling better.”
“Did you miss me?” she asked.
Gemma had spent the past two months in Gloucestershire with her parents while Ben had remained in London due to the continuing war with Bonaparte and the aftermath of Prime Minister Percival’s assassination in May. Now they were both home in Hampshire, at Winton Court.
“Of course I did,” he said.
“Perhaps tonight you will show me how much you missed me,” she murmured, looking up at him from the reflection in her vanity mirror, surprising Ben with herwords of invitation. Their marriage, despite his hopes during their courtship, hadquickly disintegrated into a polite but distant relationship with separate bedrooms—not that this was at all uncommon among the members of London Society. Gemmahad frequently complained that Winton Court was too far from her family and friendsand she was homesick, and Ben had accepted her explanation. He needed an heir, of course, and a spare would be nice, but he would not force the issue even with his wife.
Ben accepted the invitation to join her that night and accepted similar invitationsover the following few weeks, feeling hopeful for the first time since they’d exchanged vows that their relationship and marriage might be improving.
Not long after that, Gemma stepped into his study, where he was relaxing and readingThe Times. “Winton,” she said, “I have something to tell you.”
She was with child, at last.
And their intimacy once again ended—for the sake of the child she carried, she said. Ben doubted there was much to worry about in that regard, but he acceded to her wishes.
