Page 50 of A Spinster to Reform the Duke
“Not now, Timothy. We are shooting, not talking of ladies.” George tipped the tricorn hat back on his head and lifted the gun another time. It fired, ringing out into the air, though he missed the pheasant. “Damn, you have me all distracted. Go bother your friend for a while, I am not doing so well here.”
Timothy sighed, and looked away. Alexander was at a little distance, shooting with Lord Melbury at his side. The two of them were in deep debate over the best angle to shoot at, as the rustlers urged the hunting dogs forward, to scare up the pheasants from the nearby forest.
Timothy could summon little vigor for the hunt today. The shotgun hung loose over his arm as he looked around the field, before turning back to his uncle.
“Why do you think Lady Rebecca will never marry?”
“Good Lord, Timothy,” George laughed as he popped open the gun, spilling the empty cartridges onto the ground and walking on. Timothy walked at his side, aware the manservant behind them picked up the empty cartridges. “On, boy!” George called to the black Labrador at their feet. The Labrador ran forward, rustling up more pheasants so that they shot into the sky. “Another!” George shot in the air, this time clipping the wing of a pheasant. “Nearly.”
“Why will she never marry, Uncle?”
“Timothy, are you incapable of thinking of anything but Lady Rebecca?”
“Yes,” Timothy said aloud, though his mind said something else entirely.
Not right now…
“Was she not labelled a spinster by the ton? In all those odd rags, the scandal sheets,” George said distractedly, preparing himself for his second shot.
“She is much younger than me,” Timothy said slowly. “Why should she be too old a spinster to marry now? The world is very odd on its expectations of women.”
“I quite agree with you there. Yet I do not see Lady Rebecca marrying.” George lifted the gun another time to fire at the next pheasant, but Timothy had had enough. He was tired of this mysticism his uncle was employing and wanted to know what on earth he was thinking of Lady Rebecca. Determined to get George’s attention, Timothy fired his shotgun into the air.
It was the perfect shot, taking the pheasant down and urging more than one hunting dog to run after it, trying to bring the pheasant back again.
“God’s wounds,” George laughed as he lowered his gun. “Timothy, you barely flinched. What a shot!”
“Now I have your attention, perhaps you will do me the honor of answering my question?” Timothy asked impatiently, popping open the shotgun so the cartridges came out. “What did you mean when you said Lady Rebecca will never marry? She has a dowry, a fine mind, wit, beauty, humor. What else would a man want in a wife?”
At Timothy’s high praise, George looked to him with wide eyes.
“I’ve never heard you praise a lady in such a way before.”
“Uncle, please.” Timothy shifted between his feet, growing in greater impatience with every second that passed.
“Very well.” George nodded and turned to face Timothy, clearly giving him his whole attention. “The lady has been scalded once by a betrothal, has she not?”
“She has,” Timothy said slowly, finding the mere memory of Lord Armstrong caused a foul taste in his mouth.
What I would say to that man if he were here now!
“She is a woman with a fine mind, Timothy. She will not be persuaded easily into accepting the suit of another man. I spent but an evening in her company and can tell she looks at every man with suspicion. I’d wager good money the next man who tries to secure her heart will find a mountain to climb. She will disbelieve his attentions at every turn, will she not?” The question left Timothy numb, staring at his uncle with an open mouth. “Have I said something that shocks you?”
“No, it just…” Timothy couldn’t put what he was feeling into words. He should have known all this himself. Had he not witnessed her distrust of Alexander’s attentions toward her sister? Of course it was only natural for her to treat any man that approached her with the same suspicion. “She deserves to have happiness, Uncle.” Timothy found the words escaped him as he looked away and placed fresh cartridges in the barrel of the shotgun.
“That she does. I agree with you wholeheartedly. Yet she may be a lady for whom marriage does not bring happiness.” George moved to his side and prepared his own shotgun. “I have met one or two ladies like her before. Burned by a lover, so they set themselves a challenge. They will marry for nothing less than love. I do not mean the love that just comes with admiration and respect, I mean the all-consuming kind, the passionate one. The devoted kind. Only such a thing could persuade a lady with a heart like Lady Rebecca’s to marry.”
“You speak as if you know her better than I!” Timothy tried to laugh but it died quickly.
“Then you will know if what I am saying misses the mark, as I am missing the pheasants today, or if it is the truth.”
Timothy couldn’t answer, for he knew well enough it was the truth. Instead, he fired at the next pheasant, hoping it would dissuade his mind from the long thoughts that dwelled on Lady Rebecca, and just whether she would marry at all.
* * *
Rebecca couldn’t stop looking. She could see well enough that Eliza and Lord Herberton had their own chaperone, with the maid that sat a short distance behind them in the garden, yet still Rebecca watched them together. She stood between two cherry blossom trees, making an appearance of busying herself with playing with the loose pink petals, yet her eyes were on one thing only.
Eliza was sat on a bench, surrounded by rose bushes, with Lord Herberton at her side. Despite the fact there was a chaperone with them, Lord Herberton had hold of Eliza’s hand. He clasped it tightly in his own and seemed to be whispering something very quickly to her indeed. Even at this distance, Rebecca could see what he had to say was causing Eliza great happiness. Her cheeks were turning a deep shade of red, her smile growing greater, as her body leaned toward him animatedly.
