The Rebel (15 page)

“Joke if you will, sir, but that is not it,
at all. Nothing of the sort keeps Parson Adams and me apart.” She
gave a firm shake to her head, and more tendrils of her silky hair
danced around her face. “As far as my past…and reputation…the truth
and the charges against me are much more severe than what you just
mentioned. Let me just put it this way…I am
not
considered
in any way marriageable by genteel society.”

Nicholas could only guess an elopement would
be the cause of such ruckus. There was so much that he wanted to
know about Jane. But he had to wait until she was ready to confide
in him.

“But as I mentioned before, rumors and
accusations are
not
what keeping us apart. Henry and I
simply are friends.”

“Friends?”

“Indeed. We are friends and nothing more.
Nothing
more! Have you never had a woman as a friend? A
relationship that is simply built on trust and mutual respect? A
friendship that is pure and elevated…one that might be considered
platonic?”

Nicholas put on a great show of thinking
about the question. Inside, though, he was delighted to hear that
he wasn’t competing with the clergyman for her attentions.

Competing for her attentions.

The admission made him glance at her again.
He found her still waiting for an answer.

“Once or twice, I believe I have come close
to establishing a friendship such as the kind you describe. But
each time it occurred, my
friend
soon became dissatisfied
with the boundaries of that relationship. I beg your pardon, but it
has been my experience that women always seem to want more.”

“Once or twice?” She shook her head
disapprovingly. “It has been my experience that generalizations
based on limited knowledge are rarely correct and never productive
in finding the truth, sir.”

“My apologies.” He bowed politely. “Women
whom
I
have known happen to seek more.”

“
English
women.” She uttered the word
as if it were poison on her tongue.

“I find it curious that you do not classify
yourself as an English woman, but I see you don’t think much of
them
, either.”

“I cannot believe you
really
want to
hear my opinion on this topic.”

“But I do.”

There wasn’t much silent debate now.

“Many English women that I have met have
simply submitted to traditions that have been impressed upon them.
As a result, they have allowed themselves to become blinded by the
shallow niceties of being admired for their pleasing looks or for
the fashionable cut of their garments or for their silent
obedience. And in the process, the things that are
important—spirit, independence, intelligence—are viewed by the
world and by many women, as well, as highly unfeminine and even
unnatural
.”

“I take it that you find this to be false
and limiting to women.”

“And to society! Dr. Samuel Johnson, a man
who is perhaps the leading light of English letters today is
reported to have said, ‘A woman preaching is like a dog walking on
its hind legs. It is not done well, but one is surprised to find it
done at all.’ How very narrow this kind of low humor is when one
considers such women as Margaret More Roper and the Duchess of
Pembroke and Lady Mary Wroth, to name but a few!”

“Indeed,” he replied. “Women of great wit
and character.”

“And yet,” she pressed on, “Many English
women—perhaps even most—are willing to overlook how low they are
ranked in the world. They are trained to lead their lives in
obedience and blissful ignorance, and they bury their spirit and
their will and their deepest passions before they even cross life’s
threshold into womanhood. They allow themselves to be robbed of the
essence of what it is to be a human being.”

Jane’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright
with passionate conviction. And Nicholas knew in that moment that
he’d never met a woman as exciting and intelligent as this one in
his entire life. The fact that she was Egan, a rebel leader, made
perfect sense, for it would be impossible not to follow her if she
carried this same passion into the cause she fought for.

As they approached the end of a field, she
nudged her horse to the edge of the tall grass, keeping their
horses side by side.

“I didn’t mean to sound so complaining…so
critical. Certainly your own family is so different from what I
just described.”

“Indeed, my mother and sister can easily be
considered ‘different.’” He smiled. “But there may be something in
what you say.”

“No.” She bent her head under a low branch
as they passed into a groove of trees. The leaves brushed against
her hair. “I
must
apologize. After how civil you’ve been to
me, and how pleasant Lady Spencer and your sister were to all of us
last night, it is utterly wrong of me to commit the same error I
have just accused you of making. No generalizing. There are many
exceptions to the kind of women I was speaking of. There are so
many exceptions to everything in life.”

“And I’m thankful for it, as there is
nothing more tiring than the mundane…a charge that could never be
lodged against you.”

Their gazes locked again when she turned to
him, and it was impossible to ignore the awareness of desire that
flowed between them. She immediately looked away, but Nicholas’s
gaze lingered on the few autumn leaves that had entangled
themselves in her hair. She was part of nature—part of this land.
None of the discontent he felt in company of Clara existed in these
moments with Jane. He was perfectly at ease in her company.

He was disappointed to find the village of
Ballyclough beneath them when they crested the next hill. Jane
reached up and removed the wrap from her shoulder. Handling it
carefully, she folded it and held it in her lap. She caught him
watching her.

“For Clara’s sake, I cannot look too
tattered in public. She would be horrified to think you saw me
wearing this.”

“I’ll keep your secret.”

She smiled self-consciously. “I find I am in
debt to you for keeping so many of them.”

They were on the edge of the village, but
Nicholas was not ready for their time together to end. A muddy dog
trotted out from the first of the village cottages, sniffing at
Jane’s boot.

“What we were speaking of before…of
friendships between men and women. You really believe such a thing
is feasible.”

“Absolutely. There are many men that I
consider friends. A difference in gender has never stopped me from
treating another person as an equal. As a woman, however, I can
only hope to be treated the same.”

Jane answered the wave of an older woman who
straightened up from digging in a small kitchen garden beside a
cottage.

“And do you think
we
might be
friends?”

She turned to him, obviously surprised. “I
cannot see why not. As a future brother and sister, it will
certainly be beneficial for all if we were.”

“I have changed my mind. I shall not be
asking Clara to become my wife.”

Jane yanked at the reins of her horse,
halting Mab suddenly. He, too, stopped.

“Why?” she asked. “You told me that you
would not let what you know of me—”

“My decision has nothing to do with you,”
Nicholas lied, knowing full well it had everything to do with her.
“Even before my family and I left London, I was not fully persuaded
on the notion of marrying. If I had been committed to marrying your
sister, I would have at least sent along my lawyers
beforehand.”

“But my parents. Clara believed…”

He let his agitation show. “I misled no one.
I served as your sister’s escort on a few occasions this past
spring, but hardly placed any claims upon her. There were no
promises made—no assumptions made—no talks ensuing. And when your
parents made the invitation to visit Woodfield House, they
understood that I had made no marital overtures.”

“But you just told me that you have
changed
your mind. Change indicates that there was a…”

“I was attempting to be completely honest
with you. I have always assumed one friend can be honest with
another. And since I have never discussed marriage or proposed,
Clara should never know the difference.”

She leaned toward him, grasping the bridle
of his horse. Her eyes showed the temper burning within. “Then, as
a
friend
, pray explain to me what caused your change of
heart.”

“She is not the one…and for many reasons.
The difference in our ages. Her naivety and my experience. Her
hesitant approach to life and my recklessness.” He didn’t release
Jane’s gaze, nor let her speak when she opened her mouth. “It is
true that this past year I have been seriously contemplating
marriage. I have arrived at a stage in life when is necessary to
have a wife and an heir to fulfill my family obligations. And I
also wish to pursue some other plans that have been ripening in my
mind for the past few years. I realize now that I had an
impractical, almost hypothetical view of marriage. I had not
considered thoroughly enough the qualities of the woman I should be
marrying.”

“Come, Sir Nicholas. The truth is, now that
you’ve learned about
me
, you find my sister ‘impractical.’
And you can afford to be more judicious in your choice.”

“I told you this has nothing to do with
you
.”

“But it does,” she spat back at him. “If she
was good enough a week ago…a month ago…last spring. Then she should
be now.”

“But she wasn’t…” The look of hurt in Jane’s
face was immediate.

“May I be so bold as to interrupt?”

Both of them turned simultaneously. There
were nearly a dozen people staring from a respectful distance
around them. Reverend Adams stood nearby as well, looking up at the
two riders expectantly. Nicholas hadn’t realized that Jane was
still holding the bridle of his horse until she abruptly let
go.

“Of course,” Nicholas responded belatedly to
the clergyman. He realized that they were within walking distance
of the parsonage, so he climbed down from his horse. “We were
finished with our discussion.”

“I hardly think so,” Jane corrected,
dismounting as well before Nicholas could offer to help her down.
“But we shall continue where we left off at a more appropriate time
and place.”

The comment was addressed to him—her direct
look challenging him to contradict her. Nicholas bowed politely. If
this meant that Jane was willing to spend more time in his
company—even to try and sway his decision about marriage and
Clara—then he would be a fool to object. In fact, he was quite
pleased with the turn of events and of the prospect of what was to
come. His mood darkened, though, when he saw the country parson
reach up and remove those loose leaves from Jane’s hair.

The touch seemed too intimate, too casual,
he thought. And the minister’s attentions toward her caused
Nicholas to question again if there could not be more between them
than she was admitting.

“Are you coming?” She turned and asked after
Adams had led her a few steps in the direction of the rectory.

“I am.” Nicholas started up the hill after
them. “I have no intention of being left behind.”

“
Mother
!”

At the sudden outcry from behind her,
Alexandra Spencer jumped and then pressed a hand to her chest. She
hadn’t heard the door to her daughter’s room open. She hadn’t been
aware of any other noise but the creaking she’d heard inside these
walls. She could have sworn something was behind this stretch of
painted plaster.

“Did I frighten you?” Frances closed the
door of her room behind her.

“Of course not!”

“Then what are you doing listening to the
wall?”

“I wasn’t listening to the wall, Fanny.”

The young woman came closer and peered at
the solid wall of the hallway and back again at Alexandra’s face.
“Then what are you doing, standing here? Mother, it was not my
imagination that you were pressing your ear against this wall.”

“It certainly
was
your imagination.”
She took a handkerchief out of her sleeve and patted the beads of
sweat that had formed on her forehead and upper lip.

“Did you hear a noise?” Apparently
unconvinced, Frances mimicked what she had seen her mother doing
and pressed an ear to the cold plaster. “Maybe this place is
haunted. Or do you think there are secret passages running behind
these walls? I love that in the novels, don’t you? From what I have
learned so far about the history of this place, there was a castle
that was previously built on this hill. Now wouldn’t it be exciting
if…?”

“No, it would
not
be.” Lady Spencer
placed a hand on the small of her daughter’s back and, pressing
lightly, started her down the corridor. “Whatever you thought I was
doing, it was only your imagination running away with you. My room
is extremely warm this afternoon, and I was simply enjoying some of
the coolness of this corridor before going downstairs to
dinner.”

Frances gave an impish grin. “Do you know
there are patches of red that climb right up the skin of your neck
whenever you try to fib?”

“Frances Marie, this is no way for a young
woman to be speaking to her mother.” Alexandra paused at the end of
the hall and before starting down the stairs. “But on a totally
different matter, what were you doing in your room? I thought I
heard yours and Nicholas’s voices coming from the corridor only a
few minutes ago. Why are you not with him…pestering him…doing your
sisterly duty?”

“He dismissed me.” Fanny pouted in the
direction of his door. “He wouldn’t say a word about his day. He’s
horrible. He wouldn’t answer a
single
question. And he
became quite agitated—snappish even—when I asked him if he’d had
the opportunity to propose to Clara yet. He’d better marry soon,
Mother. He’s becoming positively curmudgeonly.”