Mr. Trelawney's Proposal. Mary Brendan
the role of paramour to Robin Ramsden with this fawn-like beautiful young woman who hesitated nervously before him, was excrutiating. Robin Ramsden had been fifty-two and a renowned lecher. Luke had since learned Robin had suffered with a heart complaint for some years. Instead of expiring atop some harlot in a Bath brothel it could just as easily have been here at this Summer House. God, he wished he’d never seen her. He could have come and gone from this place within a week, attended to business, spent a pleasant few nights roistering with Ross in Brighton, then returned to his life of luxurious contentment in Cornwall.
As his granite-jawed silence became protracted, comprehension dawned on Rebecca. He had come to tell her to leave. He was returning to Cornwall next week and wanted to evict her before he went. He was irritated because he was unsure how to broach the matter now she had company. She had sensed he had something to say. Her pale face lifted to his, her chin tilting in pride. She wasn’t about to beg for time or anything else. She had little in the way of possessions. She could probably be packed and out in less than a week.
‘When would you like me to leave, Mr Trelawney?’ she asked coolly. ‘I should have liked a little more notice, but I realise I have no rights in the matter. I would appreciate it if you would at least allow me to get a message to Miss Mayhew’s family, so they can arrange to collect her. Thankfully, she is the only boarder at present…’ Feeling a lump thickening in her throat and tears spearing her eyes, she swiftly turned and walked away.
She hastened blindly through the crowded kitchen, noting Ross leaning nonchalantly against a wall, a mug of tea in one hand and a large aromatic biscuit in the other. She managed a quiet cordial response to his greeting, and even to swap a few bright words with Kay as she made her way to the parlour and her pupils. She felt guilty now at having abandoned them for so long.
Lucy and John were standing close, chatting quietly by the girl’s desk; as they saw Rebecca, they sprang apart. The three younger girls had abandoned their alphabets to chalk pictures on their blackboards.
‘That’s all for today. You’re a little later leaving than usual so hurry home,’ Rebecca emphasised as she dismissed them. ‘Martha has made some refreshment. Perhaps you’d care for something before you leave, John,’ she offered the loitering youth.
‘Thank you, m’m,’ John gruffly mumbled as he and Lucy quit the room.
Alone in the parlour, Rebecca momentarily bowed her head in despair before abruptly raising it. She would not be cowed by this. She had survived the loss of her beloved parents and her fiancé five years ago—she would surely survive the loss of this building. She glanced about the small parlour, at the whitewashed walls hung with a few pictures from her late parents’ home, at the polished pianoforte from their parlour. She sighed. It was an enchanting building, filled with fine memories, and she would miss it dreadfully.
With head held high she walked back to the kitchen and forced a smile as she entered. There was little need; apart from Martha the hot room, redolent of cinnamon, was empty.
‘All gone out to look at the horseflesh,’ Martha advised, on taking in Rebecca’s bewilderment. ‘Gregory never did say just how handsome a man he is. Nor did you for that matter,’ she added with a sideways look. ‘Charming as can be, too. Came in and introduced hisself and his brother…such a pair of good lookers as I never did see.’
Rebecca was aware that Adam Abbott was a keen horseman who owned a particularly fine grey gelding himself. The beautiful black stallion she had seen was sure to interest him. And Kay took an interest in whatever pleased her husband.
As Rebecca peeked discreetly through the kitchen window, she noticed Adam mount the magnificent ebony horse and enthusiastically trot it around in a large circle in front of the Summer House. He called something out to Luke who nodded, while casually surveying the scene. Kay and Ross were chatting idly; Kay petting the neck of a chestnut mare that Rebecca had not seen before, obviously Ross’s. Gregory leaned against the house, smilingly watching the pastoral scene, while Lucy and John seemed content to observe each other.
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