Chapter 3

R ebekah woke with a start.

She had the same dream again. Her face aflame, she threw the covers back and slipped from the bed. What time was it? Was her father up?

Her hands covered her heated cheeks. If she did not get control of her emotions, her father would question her. She probably looked guilty as sin.

Sin.

She groaned. Yes, she had committed a very grave sin. At the time, she had not cared. Sensations swamped her. She had no control of her mind. Who knew one could completely lose one's self? Now that she had time to reflect, she knew it was wrong, and she should not have surrendered. But when the lord had kissed her, touched her, she could no more stop him—or herself—than she could have told the world to stop spinning.

"Becky? You up?"

Her heart missed a beat. Father was up and looking for her.

"I'll be right down."

"Mornings a wastin', girl. I got a letter here. Hurry up."

A letter? How long had her father been up. It could not be that late.

After the death of her mother, Rebekah's role changed. She had the duty of looking after her father. Devastated at the sudden loss of his wife, he took to drinking and ignored his role of parent. Rebekah became the head of the household, in charge of their meager budget, providing food for the table and often putting her drunken father to bed.

Here of late, things were looking up. Papa seemed to take an interest in his appearance. Not that he cared much for primping, but he drank less and even dressed in clean clothes, when the occasion called for it. At least he was not staggering about. He even helped around the house, bringing in wood for the fire, and helping with the chores. She'd prayed daily for something to shake him from his grief. Perhaps time was all he needed to crawl from the deep well in which he'd succumbed. Thankfully, he'd snapped out of it. Her dear Papa had returned to her. Seeing his spirit return had put a smile on her own face.

An ordinary girl, Rebekah had been brought up to appreciate their meager life. She dressed quickly, pinned up her hair, and slipped on her ankle boots. The air was chilly, and the wind whipped around the house. As she came down the winding stairs, she saw her father sitting in the corner at a small table he used as a writing desk. The wooden box he kept for important papers was open, and a wrinkled parchment lie on the table in front of him holding his concentration.

"There ya are, girl. Come here. I have news to tell you." He hooked a chair with his boot and dragged it to his side.

Rebekah smoothed the loose hair back from her brow, wondering at the tone of his voice. Papa was excited about something. She took a quick glance, looking for a bottle or any sign of drink. It would break her heart if he was back into his cups. The last time she'd seen him with this much vigor was the night he'd brought home that stranger.

A night best forgotten.

"What in the world could be so important?"

"Sit."

She wanted to huff, being ordered about, but his voice held a lively spark. "I don't believe I have ever seen you this keyed up."

"I have a letter here from the Lord Greystoke."

"You've already gone to town to get the mail?"

"I brung it home last night. I, uh, got something to tell ya."

Oh no. What had Papa done now?

"Ya remember that man that came home with me a few weeks back?"

Her flesh heated. She swiped a hand across her forehead.

At least her father had not brought any of his other drinking cronies home. She gave a nod. "Yes. The man who fell asleep on our couch." Then rolled to the floor, and— She dare not think about that.

"Well, now. Don't go getting on your high horse, but me and him made a bargain. An agreement. Like one of them contracts."

As soon as she heard the words high horse , the hair stood on the back of her neck. He had done something. Something she would not like. Then she heard the word contract .

"A contract? Papa, what have you done?"

"Now, like I said, don't go getting all riled up. It's a good one. One you will like."

I doubt it.

"You see. We have an understanding. I told him about you, and you not having any prospects living here with me, so we made an arrangement."

Prospects? Heaven forbid.

She curled her fingers into a fist to keep from shouting. "What sort of arrangement?"

"Wrote it up on a piece of paper, and signed it, too."

If she had not been sitting, her legs would have given out and she'd have tumbled to the floor. "Signed what?"

"The bargain, girl."

The room was beginning to spin. She desperately hoped she was not part of this bargain. Dread clawed at her stomach. "What. Have. You. Done?"

"Now, there ya go. I ain't even told ya the best part yet."

Papa could be more stubborn than an ornery donkey. His impulsive actions were always getting him into trouble. A contract? The best part? Good heavens, she was nearly at her wits end.

She took a deep breath and released it slowly. Counting did not help. "Papa. What is this agreement, and how does it involve me?"

"Like I said. I got a letter from the Lord Greystoke. He's coming to collect ya, girl."

"Who is Lord— He's what!"

"He's the man that's gonna be your husband. You're getting married. I found a lord for you. He's a big fish, Becky." Papa rubbed his hands together and licked his lips like he would if they were having Cod for supper.

Once Rebekah recovered from swallowing her tongue, she recounted her father's words. Either he had misspoken, or her father was hitting the bottle again. She raised her palm to his forehead searching for a fever. He swatted her hand away.

"What are ya doing? I be fine."

"Papa, I have no idea who this man is, and I have no intention of marrying anyone."

"You're already promised to him. That fella. He's Lord Greystoke. Has a great big mansion up north. He was here buying into the Anderson Shipping Line. I knew he was a rich one."

Rebekah didn't know which ludicrous statement to tackle first. "Papa, are you saying the man you brought home was a gentleman?"

Of course he was.

She'd known. His clothes were high quality, nothing one would find around here. Even partially comatose, everything about him emitted nobleman. Her mother had been a noblewoman. Since her grandfather would not accept an untitled man for his daughter's husband, she'd run away to Gretna Green. Mother often said, she was happy and never regretted her decision. But it would have been nice for Rebekah to meet her aristocratic family.

One could not miss what one did not have. Even so, Mama taught her fine English, and proper etiquette from books. She said one could never have enough learning, and should always use proper manners. Sometimes, her mother made Papa dress fancy for supper, even slicked his hair down. Just to please Mama. They didn't live in a big house or have fancy servants. Mama said they had everything they needed.

Each other.

Was the man he brought home Lord Greystoke? Why did he send a letter. What in God's name had her father said to him?

"May I see the letter?"

"It's man's business, girl."

"Papa, if you think I need a husband, then I am not a girl. I don't need a rich husband. Actually, I don't need a husband at all. When I do decide I want one, I will pick him myself."

"This is the way things are done, Becky. The father makes a match for his daughter. Don't you want better things than I can give you? Don't you want a big house, and lots of dresses?"

She prayed the letter was a ruse and the supposed contract not binding. She placed her hand over her father's. "This house is fine. I have dresses. You give me everything I need."

"I'm your father. For a husband, I picked one with lots of money? You can buy anything you wish."

Papa never spoke about such things before. Had he been ashamed? Had he worried about Mama not having nice things?

"Doesna' matter," he said with a wave of his hand. "You got a lord and he's rich."

"Papa. I don't need money and nice things. Mama had everything she wanted in you. And me. She was happy. She made us happy."

His face dropped with defeat. He looked like she'd shot him through the heart.

"Papa—"

"Now you listen here, Becky. Your mother was an angel. A God-sent angel. Why she took up with me I'll never know. But I loved her. And she loved me, thank the blessed saints. I tried to give her a good living."

"Of course, you did Papa."

"Anyway, she ain't here now, and I know she would want the best for you. I got the best."

"May I please see this contract?"

"Go on then. Have it your way." He grabbed another paper from the wooden box. "Here's his letter. That's his signature right there."

She took the parchment and read. The farther she scrolled down the page, the more horrifying the words.

This letter was confirming that Lord Greystoke had received the contract.

A marriage contract .

Dear God .

Her skin heated as she remembered that night. Fire burned her face as she recalled flashes of bare skin … corded muscle … and …

"I found you a husband, Becky. A real gentlemen."

Rebekah hated the shortened version of her name. Mama called her Rebekah. The sound of each syllable rolled over her tongue. A pang pierced Rebekah's chest. How she missed her mother.

"You sent him the contract? How did you get his signature?

"It's legal, Becky. I did right by you. Your mother's gone, God rest her soul. I've been no account since her passing, but I promised your Mama I would make it up to you." He held up the letter he'd received. "I did sweetheart. You're going to marry a lord. Lord Greystoke sent for you. He's bringing you to his grand home. He has a fine house, owns acres and acres of land. Ain't ya happy, girl?"

It was very hard not to shout when one felt like screaming. She closed her eyes and prayed she would wake up. Her father acted like her future was all planned out. Lord Greystoke had signed his name.

Why?

Had he woken the next morning feeling guilty? Was this a ploy to get out of any responsibility?

"Sweetheart. Ain't ya listening? You're gonna have a fine life. You got to get ready. Get packed. You're going to Greystoke Manor."

She had to get her father's attention. Whatever was going on, she had to stop him.

"How did you get Lord Greystoke to sign a contract?"

His eyes darted away, causing a chill to race down her spine.

"Papa?"

"Now, that ain't important. You—"

"Did he really sign it?"

"Of course he signed it."

His sheepish look told her he'd done something. What, she could not figure out.

"Don't look at me like that. It's real and it's binding. You are promised to a lord."

"I still don't understand. Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"‘Course not. I'm getting old, girl."

"Papa, you're not that old. If you stay away from the bottle, you could live a long time." She'd worried about him when he drank until he passed out, but now he looked the picture of health. "Why, Papa?"

"I told ya. A man has to provide for his family. I won't be here forever, girl. And you don't want to end up being a spinster."

That last part might be too late.

"But I don't understand why he signed it. You both were well into your cups. When I came downstairs, he'd already passed out."

"But he liked ya."

"How could you possibly know that? He didn't even see me." She would pray for forgiveness tonight. Perhaps he hadn't seen her. He was inebriated.

"He was looking fer a wife."

She didn't believe a word of it. How had the two men gotten together? There had to be a reason a lord would agree to marry a pauper. The fact that he was so drunk he didn't know who she was had given her the courage to throw caution to the wind. She was glad she had. It was the most wonderful moment of her life.

She should not be admiring her recklessness, and thank goodness there had been no consequences.

"I'm telling ya—"

Rebekah held up a hand. You were drunk. He brought you home. I don't know how you got his signature, but it does not matter. That document does not mean anything." When her father interrupted again, she kept talking. "He left that next morning without saying a word. You didn't say anything either. It's been weeks."

"But I got his letter."

Rest assured I will take care of this matter with due diligence.

And it had the seal of Lord Greystoke.

"He is not agreeing to a marriage. Perhaps he never intended on honoring your contract. What is to keep him from destroying it."

"I did some checking. He's an important man. A man of his word. I have his signature."

And he has the contract.

If only she could see that paper. It amazed her that her father had gone behind her back. "You didn't even bother to ask me."

He looked bewildered. "Ask ya what?"

She shook her head. "Ask if I was willing, or even if I liked this man."

"What's not to like? He's a gentleman. A lord. He has money, a title. What more could a woman want?"

Rebekah knew her parents had loved each other. She'd seen their gentle touches, and kind gestures when her father would surprise Mama. The devastation he suffered when her mother grew ill.

"What about love?" She hadn't meant to speak aloud.

"Bah," Papa answered with a swipe of his hand, as if he were swatting a fly. "You can learn to love him."

Learn to …

"Let me say this in a way you will understand. I love you, Papa. I am not getting married, and there is no way you can force me."

"Force you? Why, don't you want a big fancy house to live in? Don't ya want fancy dresses and servants to do your cooking and washing for you?"

She stood, placing her hands on her hips. "What I want is for you not to marry me off before I am ready.

"Becky." He placed his hands on her shoulders. "Honey. I did this for you. I've hooked you a big fish. Don't throw him back in the pond."

Frustration boiled in the pit of her belly. If it wouldn't upset Papa so much, she would cry. He thought he was doing the best thing for her.

Closing her eyes, she sighed. She wouldn't trade her one night of bliss for anything. She supposed she would marry one day. And now she knew what to expect, she would not settle for anything less than love.

"You'll be a lady, Becky. Gentry. Everything ya want at your fingertips."

How could she make her father understand? How he'd gotten the signature was anyone's guess. And now he didn't even have that paper. Lord Greystoke had no intention of marrying her then, and she suspected he cared even less now. She feared for her father's sanity. Mama's death had nearly destroyed him. But Rebekah thought he'd retained his wits.

"No. I am not."

His body froze, and his face screwed up in confusion.

"The answer is no."

"He didna' ask."

"Well, he should have. The answer is still no."

"But, he sent for you. I got his word right here. He's agreeing to the marriage. He signed a contract. We both signed it. He can't get out of it, and he's coming."

"By we, you do not mean me. It was not signed by me."

"By you? What have you got to do with a marriage contract?"

Evidently nothing. Except be the brood mare.

She took a breath and tried again. "Papa. I did not agree to this bargain that the two of you made. I am not getting married. To him, or anyone else at the moment."

"He'll give you time to get used to him. You'll be so busy in that big ole house, you won't mind him at all. Your mother would want this for you."

Please don't bring Mama into this.

She didn't know if to laugh or cry. One day, when she did marry, she would most assuredly notice her husband, and if she were lucky enough to have a marriage like her parents, her husband would love her. That is what she wanted. Not a marriage planned on a piece of paper, but one of a budding friendship, that grew into love. Maybe it was a lot to ask for, but she would not marry without love.

Nothing would come of this. Their lives would go on as usual. Hopefully her father would tire of waiting for a lord that would never come.

"Listen, girl. I'm your Papa. I must see you safely wed. I signed a contract. So did his lordship. You are betrothed. And that's that."

Not if she had anything to say about it.