He must be professing his love.Even as Rebecca was struck with the thought, Lord Herberton moved. He inched off the bench and dropped down to one knee.
“Oh good Lord!” Rebecca muttered to herself and backed up, thankful they hadn’t noticed her presence watching them. This was a private moment indeed to be privy to.
It was plain as day what was happening. Lord Herberton was asking for Eliza’s hand in marriage.
Rebecca’s lips instantly tweaked into a smile as she saw her sister giggle, holding so tightly to Lord Herberton’s hand that ridges appeared in the gloves across the back of her knuckles. As Lord Herberton waited for his love’s answer, Rebecca stepped back, feeling the fallen petals from the cherry tree flatten and deaden beneath her shoes.
“Yes!” Eliza’s answer was loud indeed.
Lord Herberton laughed and lifted her hand to his lips, kissing the back with such passion and devotion, Eliza was practically falling out of the bench and into his lap.
Rebecca was not expecting the tears that prickled at her eyes. It urged her to crush more of the petals between her fingers and back up, leaving the cherry trees and the view she had of her sister far behind. She walked away, endlessly through the garden, her mind whirring with thoughts.
She was happy for her sister, of course she was. She was especially thrilled to see Eliza’s reaction and just how happy she was, yet there was another feeling there too. It was an ugly emotion, one that she was ashamed of. With her gloved fingers, she wiped an escaped tear away.
“Lady Rebecca?”
No! Not now!
Rebecca whipped round to see she had walked into a part of the garden where she was sadly not alone. The Duke of Frampington was calling to her, from where he was walking with Lady Esther, her sisters, and their mother.
“My Lady?” the Duke disentangled his arm from Lady Esther and promptly walked toward Rebecca. Any chance Rebecca may have had before to escape him was gone as he closed the distance between them, his hessian boots striding quickly through the grass.
Rebecca sniffed, trying her best to stop the tears before they could even begin.
“My Lady?” the Duke practically whispered the words as he reached her side. “I have been looking for you all afternoon. Wait…what has happened?” He lifted a hand toward her. Rebecca was not prepared for it, nor did she have chance to escape in time. His gloved hand brushed her cheek, urging her chin to lift a little.
That simple touch left her breath stolen from her body.
The Duke should not be touching me like this.
Rebecca’s eyes flicked toward Lady Esther and her sisters. Her sisters had not seen the touch, but it was plain Lady Esther had done.
“You have been crying.”
“Not quite,” Rebecca said quickly, lowering her chin and dropping it out of the Duke’s reach. She could hardly tell him that the simple touch had done more to cheer her spirits than anything that morning.
“Tell me what is wrong.” The Duke was quick. Within seconds he had turned himself so that he was at her side, looping her arm through his.
“Are you not escorting Lady Esther?” Rebecca asked, pointing toward where Lady Esther stared after them, her expression turning into a deep glower.
“I am needed elsewhere, my friend.” The Duke’s words brought a brief smile to her lips as he nodded his head at her. “Tell me what is wrong.”
“Nothing is wrong.” She shook her head firmly. “On the contrary, I am happy.”
“These hardly look like happy tears,” he said with mischief. “I recognize such a thing, they usually come with a smile.”
“It is nothing.” Her tone was rather harsher than she had intended it to be, urging his eyebrows to raise.
“Rebecca, why will you not tell me what is wrong?”
No title.
Simply by dropping her title, her breath hitched. Gone was the formal inquiry into a friend’s wellbeing; it had become something much more intimate than before. The Duke’s head was tilted toward her, as the closest of friends would lean toward each other. Rebecca was reminded of seeing swans on the river together, their heads bowed to one another, their necks curved. She found herself mirroring his action, eager to be near him.
“Because I am being a fool,” she insisted, shaking her head a little. “These tears are nothing but the proof of my own foolishness, my own silly hopes.”
“What hopes are they?”
