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“I cannot,” Olivia said firmly. “I believe as she does. That it is her right to choose, not yours.”
Edward growled in exasperation and knocked more sharply on the door. When there was no answer, he opened it and went inside. The room was dark, curtains closed against the moonlight outside and with no lamps or candles lit. A fire smoldered in the hearth, casting a soft glow that did little to illuminate.
“Rebecca?” Edward called into the shadows. “Where are you?”
“Here, brother,” came a small voice from the corner of the room.
As Edward’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw a figure standing in front of the slightly less black outline of an open doorway. The room in which they stood was the receiving room, which led to a dressing room, bathroom, and bedrooms. Rebecca moved out of the doorway and sat in a chair before the fire. She wore a dressing gown and was barefoot. Her hair hung loose about her shoulders. She gazed into the orange embers in the fireplace and drew her knees up to her chin, wrapping her arms around them. She looked so lonely and forlorn that Edward felt sorry for her. They had grown up together, been playmates and friends despite their different mothers.
Richard Bolton, their father, had played no favorites, loving each child equally. In Edward’s eyes, it had been an idyllic time, at least until his own mother had died. Something in his father had also died that day. He went to his sister and knelt before her. Olivia quietly stood behind her chair and put a hand on her shoulder.
“What is this all about?” Edward asked softly.
“I have no desire to marry Philip Grantley. Or to ever set eyes on him again,” Rebecca said.
Edward took a breath, and let it out slowly. “Why? I know him. He is a good man and one of excellent standing and reputation.”
“I do not love him.”
“You do not know him. Surely, that must come first.”
“I do not care to know him.”
“But you care to judge him unworthy of you,” Edward said.
Rebecca looked directly at him for the first time. “It is the instruction that I must marry that is the problem. If you told me I must marry the Prince Regent, I would still refuse.”
“Rebecca, please understand. I have as little choice as you. I must also marry soon, in order to produce an heir and continue the family name. But my choice will be dictated by the need of that name, not for anything as frivolous as love.”
He felt he was being entirely reasonable. It was easy to see the freedoms of wealth as absolute. They were not. He would marry someone of equal rank. Rebecca would too. Marrying a person of their own choice was likely to be difficult. Inferior rank or not possessed of an income could all prevent a marriage of choice.
“Love is not frivolous. It is the most important thing,” Rebecca said hotly.
“And how, pray tell, do you know you will not fall in love with Grantley in time? Do you think my parents were in love when they married. Or my grandparents? Love is superfluous for us.”
“I know I will not fall in love with Grantley because he is not the man that I am in love with,” Rebecca cried.
She lapsed into silence and Edward stared at her. He had not considered this a reason for her reluctance, only that she was being deliberately difficult.
“Who?” he said finally.
“I will not say.”
“The devil you won’t!” Edward roared, standing.
“She will not,” Olivia said firmly.
“At least tell me how long you have been seeing this man.”
“It has been a year since our first meeting,” Rebecca said.
She also got to her feet, facing her brother with her head high. “There is more to tell, if you wish for the entire truth?”
A lead weight settled in Edward’s stomach. What further revelation could Rebecca make? There was one suspicion that he had, but hoped and prayed that it was wrong.
“We have lain together,” Rebecca said.
Edward felt sick inside. Olivia looked sad but not shocked. Which meant she already knew. Edward knew the risk Rebecca was running. This kind of scandal was a badge of honor for a man but a shameful brand for a woman. If it became public, neither Rebecca nor the Bolton name would survive it.
