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Chapter 5
“Thurlby!” Mama’s voice sounded fromall the way down the corridor. “Thurlby! Oh, my goodness! What a to-do!”
Rebecca was, once again, sitting in the dayroom on the chaise longue, where she had spent a great deal of the past eleven days—she actually was counting the days since her accident and until her splint would be removed and she could walk on two feet again—waiting for Ben to arrive. He had told her he would call on her again today, and she had promised him that if he did, she would play the pianoforte again.
“Thurlby! Oh, whereisthat man?” Mama’s tone was so full of urgency that Rebecca grabbed her crutches and laboriously made her way to the entrance hall, arriving just as Hawkins did.
“I believe Lord Thurlby and Mr. Finch have gone into the village on business,” he said. “Is there anything I can do for you, Lady Thurlby?”
“No, thank you, Hawkins,” Mama said. She was clutching a letter in her hand. “But be sure to tell him I have urgent business with him the moment he returns.”
“What is the matter, Mama?” Rebecca asked, gripping her crutches in panic. Could something have happened to one of her brothers or sisters? “What does that letter say?”
“Rebecca! I must sit and collect my wits, for they most certainly have fled. Goodness me, I scarcely know what to think!”
“Come, Mama,” Rebecca said. “Hawkins, I believe Mama is in need of tea.” Tea always seemed to do the trick. Certainly, Rebecca had drunk more than her usual share over the last week and a half. When all else failed, order tea. It was a sort of eleventh commandment in England, she was certain.
“Never mind, Hawkins; I don’t need tea. I need you to locate Mrs. Pugh and tell her to begin packing my things and see that Thurlby’s are packed too. Enough for at least a week’s time.”
Mama wished for her and Papa to have clothing for a week packed immediately? Rebecca could not imagine what was wrong. Once they were in the dayroom, Mama slumped heavily into a chair near Rebecca’s chaise longue. Rebecca sat too, hardly daring to breathe, her heart racing, waiting for Mama to tell her what was going on.
Finally, Mama set the letter on her lap and pressed out the wrinkles caused from clutching it. “Your sister Susan writes to inform us that she is to be married on Monday.”
“What? No!” Rebecca exclaimed. “That cannot be true! We received her first letter but yesterday, and the only gentleman she mentioned she utterly disliked.”
“Read for yourself,” Mama said, handing her the letter.
Dearest Mama and Papa,
I hope I find you all in good health, and I dearly hope Rebecca is continuing to heal and that Isobel is faring well while anticipating this latest joyful family event.
I write to inform you that I am to be married. Yes, it’s true—your daughter who had declared herself a bluestocking spinster is betrothed. I can scarce believe it myself, quite frankly, and yet I am confident I am making a good match. There is much about it to benefit us all. I also am finding that I can be my honest self with the gentleman, and he is not shocked. I’m sure you will agree that such a gentleman is quite rare—at least, it has been so in my case, as you all well know.
Rebecca set the first page aside and started on the second page.
Our marriage is taking place on Monday at St. George’s. We are pressed to marry in haste, but not for any reasons that should cause you concern. There is no scandal involved. I do grieve that none of my family, other than James, will be present. But it is my hope that we can travel to my beloved Alderwood soon and celebrate with you all.
By the way, my betrothed is George Kendall, Duke of Aylesham. That’s right—your bluestocking daughter is to become a duchess. Life can be utterly unexpected at times, can it not? I could not have anticipated this, even in my wildest dreams, and yet it is true.
Sending you all my love, your Susan.
Rebecca set the second page on top of the first and stared blankly. Susan to be married? Susan to be aduchess? It would have taken two days for Susan and James to travel from Lower Alderwood to London, and it would have taken this letter two days to arrive after being written. Eleven minus two minus two again . . .
All of this when she had been in London buta single week? Barely seven days?
What was Rebecca even about, doing maths in her head at this moment? “I can scarce believe it,” she said, her hand shaking as she returned the letter to Mama.
“I can scarce believe it myself,” Mama replied, “and yet Imustbelieve it until I can see what is happening with my own eyes. Your father and I must leave for London immediately!”
“Please let me go with you and Papa to London,” Rebecca said. “Mr. Moody said my leg is mending well. I need to be there with Susan!”
“I’m afraid not, my dear,” Mama said. “I won’t have you being tossed about in a carriage for the two days it will take us to get there.”
“We can bring pillows to prop up my foot and protect it. I’m sure it will be fine. Please, Mama!” Rebecca said.
“Rebecca, I cannot in good conscience agree to let you accompany Papa and me to London when I know you will be safer here at home. I cannot worry about your health when we are unsure what difficulties the travel could cause to your ankle . . . and then have to contend with whatever we will face regarding Susan’s wholly unexpected marriage. I’m afraid you must continue to be patient and remain at home.”
“But what am I to do?” Rebecca cried. “I shall be stuck here all by myself!” She was being petty, she knew, butshe was supposed tobe there, in London, with Susan.
