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“Oh, but what if he is killed?”
“Then Rebecca shall remain with us until she is married,” Theo responded calmly.
That’s what Mr. Cleever, the Mannering solicitor, had approved and said was most appropriate when he had called to inform them that Rebecca Mannering was a young lady of independent means—or would be when the house was sold and she reached her majority. Such news they and Mr. Cleever had determined to keep to themselves, sure this information would only prove food for those of a mind to fortune hunting and those idle tongues that already wagged too quickly over the poor girl with her famous uncle.
For famous he had turned out to be. Action had seen his name grace dispatches from the front, reported in newspapers the length and breadth of Britain. The general had, unsurprisingly, been the first to point it out. His unguarded conversation around Lady Bellingham had been enough to prick that lady’s ears and cause a gush of high-pitched emotion that had soon propelled him to scowl and mutter about the indecency of visitors whose shrieks drove a man from the comfort of his room.
Not that the squire’s wife seemed to notice. Or care. “Truly? Such a hero is our dear sweet Rebecca’s only living relative? Oh, how wonderful!”
“One can hardly think either of them feel such a thing at this moment,” Theo gently reproved.
“Oh, yes, yes, ofcourse. But imagine! We will likely soon be visited by such a man! Oh, I’m sure he must be handsome—all heroes are, are they not, Miss Stapleton?”
“In books, perhaps,” she murmured.
Lady Bellingham tittered. “Oh, how very droll you are.”
How very levelheaded. She could count on one finger the number of truly handsome men she had met, or at least that matched the image conjured up in forlorn dreams. The men of her village—save for her grandfather—were for the most part farmers, and their bluff manners and weatherworn looks were hardly those of a charming prince. Not that one could always trust a handsome face … Her heart twisted.
Enough of the past.
“Regardless of his outward appearance, I think it’s most important for dear Becky to feel like she is loved. She is such a sweet, tenderhearted girl, and we are doing all we can to help her through this difficult time.”
“I’m sure you are. You and your mother have always been softhearted that way. And after your own poor papa’s demise, well, I can imagine you understand something of her pain.”
There seemed little point in mentioning that Theo’s memories of her father were at naught. “If you would, continue to hold Becky in your prayers, Lady Bellingham.”
“Oh, of course. And if there’s anything I can do, please let me know.”
Theo held her tongue, sure that telling her ladyship that the best thing she could do would be to refrain from further speculation would meet with deaf or, worse, offended ears.
Not long after the squire’s wife had departed, Becky crept in, accepting Theo’s invitation to sit beside her on the sofa and rest her fair head on Theo’s shoulder. “I heard what you said before,” she whispered.
“Which part, dearest? I’m afraid I say so many things sometimes it is hard to recall.” Her lips curved. “Or perhaps that’s just the effect of listening to Lady Bellingham.”
“She talks such a lot, doesn’t she?”
“She has a good heart. Now, what thing in particular did I say that you took exception to?”
“No, no! I could never take exception to anything you might say, dear Miss Stapleton.”
“I think you could if you knew me better, but as you don’t, I shan’t tease you anymore. What did I say that concerns you, my dear?”
“About my being sweet.” Becky’s dark eyes glistened. “I’m not sweet. Not at all. You know how much I loved Mama, but sometimes I can’t help but feel so very angry with her. Why couldn’t she fight harder against the illness? Why did she have to leave me?”
How to explain that the sordid legacy of one’s father had led his wife to contract a disease more commonly associated with those ladies who plied their trade at night, a disease that had seemingly eluded him while ravaging poor Clara’s body and mind.
Poor Clara. Poor Becky. She smoothed the girl’s golden hair. “Oh, darling, you know she loved you very much and had no wish to depart this world. I know it doesn’t seem fair.”
“No.” Becky burrowed into Theo’s shoulder. “Itisn’tfair.”
As Becky wept Theo prayed for peace to fill Becky’s mind and heart, for the weight of grief to lift, for these savage tugs of sorrow to recede.
A shuddery breath, two, and the tears eased. “I’m so sorry, Miss Stapleton. I have made your sleeve damp.”
“It is no matter. I have another.”
A chuckle pushed through the sniffles. “You are so good to me, Miss Stapleton.”
