Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 1) (27 page)

Chapter Forty-Nine

 
R
ebecca
spoke quietly. “Let her go, Timothy.”

      He stood watching Octavia’s carriage careen across the lawn.

      “Damn it all!” he swore. “She knows. She probably knew it all along. Damn her. That stupid girl is liable to get herself killed. She’s probably running to her mother right now!”

      “Timothy.” Rebecca led him inside and closed the big oak door.

      He looked at her fair face and he could see she was pale with fear. He took her arm and led her to a chair in the study near the fire, kneeling beside her.

      “I’m sorry,” he said. “You have nothing to worry about. I swear I will never allow anything to happen to you.” He rubbed her cool hand briskly, a worried expression on his handsome face.

      “Timothy,” Rebecca sighed. “Octavia was at the Hawk Bend Station.”

      “What? You saw here there? Then she did know!” He was more infuriated than ever.

      “No, she never saw me there. Octavia arrived at the station while I was in the back room. I never saw her face, I only heard her voice.” Rebecca swallowed hard.

      “She and Dianna went outside and I stayed in the back room, I don’t know what they talked about, but it was Octavia, I’m certain. Something about her made me uneasy from the time I met her. It was her voice just now. I recognized her voice! But, the way she was at the party, and the day she was out here to see you, I’m certain she did not know who I was. Octavia knew all along that her mother was up to something, but I don’t think she knew it was me, at least until after that day she came calling for you.”

      “I was a fool to say anything to her!” he growled. “It will only aggravate the situation, and who knows what Dianna will do to her? I’m sorry. I hoped if they knew it would just pass and both of them would just give it all up.” He began thinking aloud.

      “No,” he considered. “Dianna would never do anything to hurt her. Whatever Octavia may or may not be, everything that woman does is for that girl. She would never do anything to her daughter.” He turned to Rebecca. “It’s you I’m worried about. Dianna will be infuriated to hear we plan to marry. I see that now.”

      Rebecca considered Timothy’s face, dark with anger and worry. She saw a strong, muscular, robust man with incredible physical strength. He’d watched his marriage fail and seen his intense love cast away. In his own way, to defend his happiness, his anger and his strength were his weapons. He had not simply told Octavia about their engagement to boast, he had to announce it, to let everyone know, perhaps especially those whom he saw as a threat. He had found love and used his strength to defend his happiness. She also understood that he used his temper as well. But Rebecca had experienced Dianna’s terrible wrath and she knew her capabilities were immeasurable.

      After seeing his anger with Jude Thomas that morning, and now again with Octavia, she remembered what he had told her about the Arabian. Cannonball had been angry, but, in spite of his terror, had listened to the man. Not because he was afraid of him, but because he trusted him. Rebecca began to feel that Timothy needed someone he could trust. She needed to be stronger than the man’s fears.

      “You have to understand that I love you, Timothy, and nothing anyone says or does could possibly change that. Both Dianna and Octavia would have known sooner or later anyway.”

      Timothy sighed deeply and laid his head against her knees and she felt his anger begin to dissipate.

      “I’ll tell you something, Rebecca.” She could feel the depth of his voice as she placed her hand on his shoulder. “If this madness does not cease it will be the death of me. Are you alright?”

      “I’m fine really. I just was so terrified when I finally recognized her voice. Really, let’s try to put this away for today.” The man rose and pulled her to him.

      “Timothy,” she whispered, captive in the warmth of his arms.

      “Yes?” He kissed the top of her forehead.

      “Is Stavewood always so filled with excitement?”

      “No, Rebecca. I believe you brought that with you.”

     She kissed him softly and teased a long tendril of his hair.

Chapter Fifty

    
 
R
ebecca
directed the men to relocate the dressing table elsewhere in the room, while the maid dusted behind them hastily. She then followed them to the attic and sent them down with the sewing machine.

      She stayed behind in the loft and pulled away dusty sheets covering a large cabinet in the far end. Bolts of fine fabrics filled the cupboard, as large as the wall and higher than her head. Silks and taffetas and numerous calicos in every imaginable color had been stored neatly. Recalling Timothy’s words that she was welcome to anything she liked, she began sorting through the stacks. Fine wools and brushed flannels, many still wrapped in brown paper, caught her attention. She decided that she could devise patterns with the paper and make more clothing than she would ever need to wear. Considering the possibility that perhaps the staff might own some of the fabric, she assembled the notions and a large basket of trims and set them near the door for the men to bring down upon their return. She chose a bolt of exceptionally soft, black wool, carrying it down the back stairs to the kitchen.

      “Birget!” Rebecca called to the cook as she struggled to balance the heavy fabric through the kitchen doorway.

      “Heavens, Miss. What on earth have you got there?” The cook dropped her ladle and rushed to help the tiny girl with the huge bolt.

      “Thank you,” Rebecca panted softly. “There are piles of fabric up there, in the attic. Are they yours, or perhaps someone else’s? Timothy told me I could take what I like, but I wanted to be sure.”

      The rotund cook laughed soundly. “Ah, no. You know Timothy. He bought that huge machine one year and of course it had to have all the fixings. He said you were bringing the machine down. Whatever are you going to do with this?”

      “It’s so cold now, and my dresses seem light. I thought I might make myself a lovely dress.”

      “Well, child,” the cook laughed. “If you can sew half as well as you can cook, I’m sure it will be very lovely indeed!”

      Birget instructed the maid to take the bolt up to Rebecca’s room as she noticed the petite woman favoring her side. She had seen her hold herself in a similar fashion before and decided at her next opportunity she would mention it to Timothy.

      Rebecca found the machine placed carefully in her room, the surface gleaming and dusted. She thanked the maids and the men profusely as they left. She sorted through the threads and trims carefully, selecting a wide, white lace, and then another, somewhat narrower, and laid the paper from the bolt out on the thick rug to begin her pattern.

      Timothy set aside his work briefly and went to the kitchen in search of Mark and found Birget and the maids discussing Rebecca and laughing enthusiastically.

      “What about my beautiful fiancé has all of you so entertained?”

      “Ah!” the cook giggled. “That tiny girl came down in here with a bolt of fabric near as tall as herself! Her eyes were sparkling like a child on Christmas morning.  I think you’ve set her loose now, sir, and there’ll be no turning back!” The women burst out giggling. “I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to see her with a whole new wardrobe before I’ve finished preparing supper here!”

      Timothy shook his head, pleased that someone was enjoying his Christmas gifts after all, and thoughtfully went out to the yard in search of the boy.

      After sending Mark on an errand to the barns he went up the back stairs to check on his bride-to-be, curious to see for himself what the fuss was about.

      Rebecca’s door stood ajar a few inches and Timothy peered in silently, slowly opening the door for a clearer view. He stood listening and holding his breath as her soft voice delicately filled the room.

      Rebecca had moved the smaller pieces of furniture into one corner and unfurled fabric across the floor. She crawled on her hands and knees, arranging her pattern on the fabric. Her mouth was filled with long pins and her hair slipped from her high bun, curling in soft wisps around her tiny face. The inviting presentation of her trim backside, as she stretched and reached across the floor to smooth the paper, stirred Timothy and he had to fight to keep his composure.

      Singing softly to herself, she rose to her knees, and tilted her head back wistfully. Her tune was clear and soft as she pushed aside a wayward tendril:

     
The pale moon is rising above the green mountain.

      The sun is declining beneath the blue sea.

      When I strayed my love to the pure crystal fountain

      That stands in the beautiful vale of Tralee
.

     
She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer

      Yet t’was not her beauty alone that won me

       Oh, no! T’was the truth in her eyes ever dawning

      That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee.

     
She bowed very properly and giggled, then turned quickly on one knee to get a different angle on her pattern and gasped loudly.

      “Timothy! What on earth are you doing? You frightened me!” The devilish hunger in his eyes gave evidence that he had been watching her and had not just arrived.

      “I had never imagined before this moment, that watching someone crawling around on the floor could be so stimulating,” he grinned wickedly.

      “I thought you were busy working. Why ever would you want to spy on me?” She stood up self-consciously and tried to smooth her disheveled hair.

      “What was that you were singing, and who is your invisible suitor? Is he anyone I might know?”

      “Oh!” she huffed. “You shouldn’t be spying on me! I sang quietly enough that I was disturbing no one.” She smoothed her skirts demurely.

      “Well, I am sorely disturbed, my dear woman, but certainly not by your singing.” He strode into the room.

      “Oh, Timothy! Not on the fabric! Here, come around here. Look at what I’ve found!”

      She began to tell him how the fabrics upstairs were so magnificent and she made him feel the lace and fondle the wool. Her face was flushed with excitement and he understood why the kitchen staff had been so entertained by her enthusiasm.

      “Do whatever you like with it. If it saves me a trip to the dressmakers I definitely encourage you!” He put the lace back in her hand and studied her elegant features, the picture of her on the floor still in his mind.

      “Do you think your singing is disturbing, Rebecca?” He watched her sticking pins firmly into a fat cushion.

      “My mother sang beautifully, but David thought my voice weak and squeaky. He asked that I not sing where I might be heard.” Rebecca scowled and set the pin cushion beside the sewing machine.

      “Then he was a fool.” Timothy stepped around the fabric carefully. “Let’s do this then. I think you should sing everywhere, every day, so that everyone can listen to your sweet voice. If I’m to be your husband now, then that’s the new rule!” He grinned at her, curling his long fingers around the lapel of his jacket, and bowing before leaving the room. From the corridor he heard her sweet giggle and descended the stairs lest he be captivated by her crawling about on the floor again.

      Mark returned from his mission, as was evidenced by the squeals of the women in the kitchen. Timothy swung open the kitchen door, hushing them soundly, and took the gift from Birget’s plump hands.

      The small kitten, its tiny ears poking from the sides of a fluffy face, mewled softly in the big man’s warm hands.

      “Is it for the Miss?” the young maid inquired as she cooed at the tiny creature.

      “It most certainly is.” Timothy held the velvety kitten up and inspected it carefully.

      “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled!” Birget smiled as she stirred her soup.

      “Rebecca told me she has never had a pet. I thought I’d surprise her.” Timothy believed the kitten would suit the girl just fine.

      “She told me that, too. She was terrified of the chickens,” Mark interjected.

      “Then it’s time she had a pet, don’t you think?” Timothy handed the fuzzy feline to the boy. “Take it down to the cellar and find a box or something to keep it in. After supper you can fetch it for her.”

      “It’s the best one, Pa! The others are kind of wild and they’re spitting already and everything. This one likes to be held. I don’t think Rebecca will be afraid of this.”

      “Let’s hope not!” Timothy chuckled as he rubbed a long finger about on the furry head and returned to the study to finish his work. The kitchen smelled wonderful and he was eager to set his work aside and enjoy a hearty meal. He was also looking forward to seeing Rebecca’s face when she received the tiny pet.