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Authors: The Runaway Duke
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want you to be there.”
“I want to be there, too, Lor.” Oh,
wonderful
, now
she
was going to cry, too. “You will not tell Mama or—”
“Never. Perhaps it is
their
fault.”
Rebecca was not inclined to disagree with her at the moment. “I just wanted to tell you that I know what I am doing, and that I will be very safe.”
“When will you—?”
Rebecca shook her head. “Better that you don’t know, I think. Mama and Papa will winkle it out of you somehow, and see you as an accomplice. Try to be happy for me, Lorelei. I can promise you I will be happier away from Edelston than with him.”
“All right.” Lorelei’s voice was soft and sad.
“And take care of Pepper for me.”
“All right.”
“And . . .” But Rebecca could no longer speak for tears, and there really wasn’t much left to say, anyhow. She kissed her sister’s smooth white cheek and dashed out of her room.
Rebecca scanned the top shelf of the library bookcase for her father’s infamous
Caldwell’s Book of Anatomy
, meaning to take a farewell look at all the lovely gory line drawings and arcane words before she was forced to abandon the book forever. Her face was fierce with concentration, and as she searched, in vain, her foot tapped out an irritated little rhythm. Rebecca’s whole body habitually participated in whatever mood she happened to be in.
It was the eve of her departure. For the last few days, she had tried, in her mind and in her heart, to bid farewell to the things she loved, the garden and apple tree and the horses and dogs, to Mama and Papa and Lorelei, who
would
insist on gazing at her forlornly. Fortunately, her parents seemed oblivious.
But all of the things she loved had already taken on a new and distant and even slightly sinister cast; each seemed a bar, however benign, of the genteel prison she had recently learned she occupied. Perhaps she would ache for them later.
Her irritation at the moment, in truth, was directed at Connor, and it had been growing in magnitude all morning. Although it never crossed Rebecca’s mind to doubt whether Connor would indeed successfully spirit her away from Tremaine House and the nightmare of her impending nuptials—Connor was, after all, preternaturally competent—she was a trifle irked that he hadn’t allowed her to participate in the planning of her own escape. Rebecca had made the decision to leave impulsively, but she had also reconsidered her decision later, at length and with a good deal of gravity, and had stuck by it with admirable maturity. Connor, she thought, should have been impressed by her coolheadedness and made her a full partner in his scheme. Instead, he was behaving much like her father or even Edelston would: utterly confident she would mindlessly do exactly as she was told. Connor, of all people, should know better, she thought.
She longed for an opportunity to demonstrate her own resourcefulness. As she rotated about in order to scan the opposite bookcase, her eyes lighted on the heavy service-able gray overcoat draped over the back of the library chair. Papa’s overcoat, she thought idly.
Inspiration struck.
Glancing stealthily toward the library doorway, Rebecca plunged a hand into the left outside pocket of the coat. Quite empty. Undaunted, she transferred her hand to the right outside pocket and rummaged about. Nothing.
Finally, she gingerly lifted the coat from the back of the chair and felt for an inner pocket. When her hand moved over a lump that made a promising rustling noise, her heart began beating in wild triumph.
Money!
She could contribute money to their journey, if nothing else. She slipped her fingers into the slash of a pocket . . . and pulled out a one-pound note. Very anticlimactic. Rebecca sighed. She had been hoping for a much higher denomination.
But there was something else in the pocket as well. Something cool and smooth and heavier than a coin. She closed her fingers over it and drew it out.
It was a gold locket, a
“I want to be there, too, Lor.” Oh,
wonderful
, now
she
was going to cry, too. “You will not tell Mama or—”
“Never. Perhaps it is
their
fault.”
Rebecca was not inclined to disagree with her at the moment. “I just wanted to tell you that I know what I am doing, and that I will be very safe.”
“When will you—?”
Rebecca shook her head. “Better that you don’t know, I think. Mama and Papa will winkle it out of you somehow, and see you as an accomplice. Try to be happy for me, Lorelei. I can promise you I will be happier away from Edelston than with him.”
“All right.” Lorelei’s voice was soft and sad.
“And take care of Pepper for me.”
“All right.”
“And . . .” But Rebecca could no longer speak for tears, and there really wasn’t much left to say, anyhow. She kissed her sister’s smooth white cheek and dashed out of her room.
Rebecca scanned the top shelf of the library bookcase for her father’s infamous
Caldwell’s Book of Anatomy
, meaning to take a farewell look at all the lovely gory line drawings and arcane words before she was forced to abandon the book forever. Her face was fierce with concentration, and as she searched, in vain, her foot tapped out an irritated little rhythm. Rebecca’s whole body habitually participated in whatever mood she happened to be in.
It was the eve of her departure. For the last few days, she had tried, in her mind and in her heart, to bid farewell to the things she loved, the garden and apple tree and the horses and dogs, to Mama and Papa and Lorelei, who
would
insist on gazing at her forlornly. Fortunately, her parents seemed oblivious.
But all of the things she loved had already taken on a new and distant and even slightly sinister cast; each seemed a bar, however benign, of the genteel prison she had recently learned she occupied. Perhaps she would ache for them later.
Her irritation at the moment, in truth, was directed at Connor, and it had been growing in magnitude all morning. Although it never crossed Rebecca’s mind to doubt whether Connor would indeed successfully spirit her away from Tremaine House and the nightmare of her impending nuptials—Connor was, after all, preternaturally competent—she was a trifle irked that he hadn’t allowed her to participate in the planning of her own escape. Rebecca had made the decision to leave impulsively, but she had also reconsidered her decision later, at length and with a good deal of gravity, and had stuck by it with admirable maturity. Connor, she thought, should have been impressed by her coolheadedness and made her a full partner in his scheme. Instead, he was behaving much like her father or even Edelston would: utterly confident she would mindlessly do exactly as she was told. Connor, of all people, should know better, she thought.
She longed for an opportunity to demonstrate her own resourcefulness. As she rotated about in order to scan the opposite bookcase, her eyes lighted on the heavy service-able gray overcoat draped over the back of the library chair. Papa’s overcoat, she thought idly.
Inspiration struck.
Glancing stealthily toward the library doorway, Rebecca plunged a hand into the left outside pocket of the coat. Quite empty. Undaunted, she transferred her hand to the right outside pocket and rummaged about. Nothing.
Finally, she gingerly lifted the coat from the back of the chair and felt for an inner pocket. When her hand moved over a lump that made a promising rustling noise, her heart began beating in wild triumph.
Money!
She could contribute money to their journey, if nothing else. She slipped her fingers into the slash of a pocket . . . and pulled out a one-pound note. Very anticlimactic. Rebecca sighed. She had been hoping for a much higher denomination.
But there was something else in the pocket as well. Something cool and smooth and heavier than a coin. She closed her fingers over it and drew it out.
It was a gold locket, a
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