Page 51 of The Countess and Her Sister

“We will grieve if they do, but not before.” He pulled away enough to take her hands in his. “Do not even think it. We have to believe in them. I would ask you to pray with me, but you will just make some jape about bursting into flame.”

“No, no – I would like that,” Rebecca said, trying to calm her heavy breathing. She grabbed a handful of his loose tunic and dabbed at her cheeks with the thin fabric. “I always forget you are to be a parson.”

“After this… perhaps not,” he said with a sad sigh. He took her hand and led her to the bed, and together they knelt beside it.

Fresh tears spilled down Rebecca’s face as she clasped her hands together, wondering how she could pray with him even as her horrid, sinful secret hung over her.

She nodded at him, not knowing how to begin.

Henry led them in prayer, his words thoughtful and eloquent, and the soothing tone of his voice washed over her, along with a wave of exhaustion.

Rebecca wearily added her own pleas to his, begging for the safety of Jane, Elizabeth and Darcy, and all those would travel after them.

“And God punish those who would harm our family,” she sighed. “Let them reap what they have sown. Grant us vengeance.”

Henry raised his brows. “Thy will be done, amen.” He stood as Rebecca turned about and slumped backward against the bed, her legs sprawled on the floor before her. He extended his hand again, and when he had helped her stand, he asked for the second time, “Will you tuck me in?”

“After three cups of coffee, you are still tired?”

“Four, and I suppose it has been enough to balance with the tea, for I am only as tired as I ought to be at such a late hour. But I shall lie here, if you would – good Heavens, I almost said….”

“I will stay with you,” Rebecca said.

“That is what I meant,” he said softly, his breath tickling her neck as he leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I promise I will be a perfect gentleman, Becky.”

Rebecca looked up at his face in the flickering firelight. His gaze was so loving, tears misted in her eyes once more. “I am not a maid,” she blurted out. Her body tensed.

He furrowed his brows a little, and then a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “That is why you always say you are not fit for marriage.”

“I am not,” she murmured, holding his gaze, silently begging him to contradict her.

He shook his head, his eyes still showering her in mournful affection. “I always took it to mean you were not inclined – that would have been bad news indeed.”

“I was not, not until it became an impossibility.” Rebecca shivered, and he rubbed her shoulders.

“Are you cold? Come under the covers with me – just to talk.”

Rebecca stood in still shock. “You… you still wish to talk to me?”

“I think I have some right to, though I wish to lie down from shock. But if you would tell me of it….” Henry sucked in a deep breath. “You thought I would turn you away? Becky, I would never…. If there is a chance you are inclined, you are certainly worthy….”

He stepped closer to her and placed two torturously slow kisses on either corner of her mouth before softly brushing his lips over hers.

She had just begun to return the kiss, to feel her body relax against his, when he withdrew.

A lazy smile spread over his face as he ran his fingers over her shoulders until the robe fell away.

“I am not a maid, either, Becky. But tonight, I just want to talk to you. We both need that solace.”

She nodded, beginning to tremble a little. She had bedded Sam Lucas, but she had never actually slept with a man, and she knew that when she got beneath the duvet he pulled back for her, that she would remain with him beneath it until morning. That was the solace she needed.

He went around to the other side of the bed, and beneath the duvet he circled his arms around her, their legs tangling together. “Are you comfortable?”

“I hardly know,” she said with a breathy laugh. She shifted herself until it felt right, her neck cradled in his arm, their faces inches apart. “You feel nice.”

“You do, too.” He chuckled and then yawned. “Will you tell me more about – what you spoke of earlier….”

Her voice trembled. “The reason I am unmarriageable?”

He caught her hand in his and kissed her fingertips. “I have thought I could not have you, that you wished never to give up your life of luxury for a parson, that your conviction was immovable.”

“That is probably true,” she sighed. “I am far from a saint. I love living in luxury, who would not? But my dowry might sustain us for a few lavish years before we would have to think sensibly, and then I should plague you into some tedious and distinguished profession. But I do not suppose you would like that very much.”

“I shall be the one to say what I like,” he teased her, brushing his nose over hers. “I like you in my bed, and I would put up with a great deal for it to be a regular thing. I might be anything, for you. But I think I may end up at Northanger, if….”

A new ugly truth crept into the air around them, and Rebecca hugged him tighter.

Her brother might perhaps kill his, but she could not bear to think of it.

“His name was Sam Lucas. He died, and I thought I was going to die, too. We were so ill, and I – I needed solace then, too. I got better, and he did not, and I have been so sorry for it, I cannot tell you.”

Henry made a strangled sound. “All this time you have talked of your wickedness… I thought you meant the pranks and japes and public misdeeds.”

“I have ever been mischievous, but it has become a distraction for my shame.”

“Does it help at all that I do not care? Becky, if this is all there is standing between you and I, if you would have me, I swear we might never mention it again.”

“Not even when I make you very cross?”

He chuckled, and reached for a tuft of her hair that fell over her shoulders.

“I should be greatly disappointed if you do not make me cross. You are exceedingly alluring when you do.” Henry stoked her face and then her shoulders, and Rebecca felt a thrill of excitement as his body pressed against her.

But she, too, wished only to speak to him.

It felt far more intimate than the transgression that had long haunted her.

For a while she silently savored his ministrations as he touched her face, placing gentle kisses across her forehead and one at the tip of her nose.

He relaxed, and for a time they simply laid together, their hands and bodies entwined.

She began to think sleep had claimed him at last, when his voice cut through the darkness, thick with emotion.

“One way or another, Fred’s life shall be forfeit for this.”

Rebecca’s heart twisted, and she wrapped her arms around him. “I have given in to my own grief; I cannot fathom what yours must be.”

“Perhaps I am numb from the effects of the tea, and the many shocks of this night. I cannot conceive it could be real, but I fear it must be. What Fred has done… he cannot make amends for such a crime.”

“How could he agree to such a thing?”

“He has many debts. Her fortune must have been a temptation, and Lady Cathrine might have bribed him. He would not be so reckless for nothing.”

“She might have said that the whole party would be incapacitated, any pursuit delayed. She is a diabolical demon, we ought to have known she would not let us flee to the country in peace,” Rebecca huffed.

“He has made his bed, and he ought to be made to lie in it. I am ashamed of him, but still it grieves me. I never wanted Northanger.” Henry sighed, and resumed stroking her hair. “But for you….”

They both let out slow, resigned breaths as sleep at last brought them some ease.