The pointed look she directed toward her mother explained just where she had heard such sentiments.
“However,” she continued, affection filling her face, “Val has been more than understanding. He has provided me all that I have needed, including materials and workspace. But it’s more than that,” she said, her blue eyes glinting. “He believes in me. That, Rebecca, is worth more than you can ever know.”
Rebecca nodded slowly, a pang of pain striking within her breast. Even in his more lucid moments, her father was in denial of her work. She knew she possessed some skill, but his approval would mean the world to her. To know that her work was not only admired by a world-class architect but by her father — her idol and her tutor — would mean everything. Instead, he acted as though she was simply drawing his ideas instead of creating her own.
“I understand,” she said, and Jemima must have read the sincerity in her voice for she clapped her hands, just once, excitedly in front of her face and smiled enthusiastically. “I actually have a friend I am very close with who I am sure you would get along well with. Her name is Miss Keswick and she is, of all things, an astronomer.”
“An astronomer?” Rebecca repeated, feeling like a dunce.
“It’s all right, I wasn’t particularly well versed in it before, and Celeste has taught me quite a bit — well, as much as I am interested in knowing,” Jemima said. “We have formed a bit of a partnership, I suppose you could say. We discuss our aspirations, our challenges, the difficulty in doing what intrigues us without a proper education nor any hope of being recognized for our ideas.”
“You never know,” Rebecca said optimistically. “Men might come around one day.”
Jemima sighed. “You are pretty, Rebecca, and you seem quite intelligent, but sometimes you just have to accept something as truth instead of holding onto optimism.”
“So tell me this,” Rebecca said, holding up a finger. “If you make an astounding discovery one day, you will not be able to claim it?”
“Yes and no,” Jemima said. “I will try, though my best chance is to do so under my brother’s name.”
“No!” Rebecca said, loudly enough to capture the attention of others at the table and she calmed slightly.
Jemima smiled. “I agree, it is quite provoking. I will try, though, Rebecca, I promise you that. But first,” she raised a glass, “to discoveries!”
As they clinked glasses, Rebecca smiled at Jemima, understanding her completely. She longed for recognition of her work, for people to look at her own designs — not those of her father — and say, “Ah, this must be the work of Rebecca Lambert.”
But in order to continue doing what she loved, she would likely have to allow all to think her work was her father’s. No one would ever take a woman seriously, let alone hire one.
She longed to be able to tell Jemima of her own passion, to share with her both her successes and failures — to have someone to talk to, to understand her. How amazing it would be to not only have friends of her own but to be able to share with them who she truly was and what drove her.
Although, there was one thing that she certainly could not tell Jemima about, and that was the longings she had for the woman's brother.
The man who was only a duke in name. Who sat there at the end of this long table with the most uncomfortable look on his face as he surveyed the room, who put more effort into avoiding conversation with the rest of them than into actually making them feel comfortable.
Who she knew, behind it all, was warm and passionate and could turn her to liquid with one look.
He caught her eye and before she could even pretend that she hadn’t been looking at him, he slowly turned his lip up in a smirk, as though to tell her he knew exactly what she had been thinking.
He held her gaze as he pushed back his chair and rose. “My apologies, but I would ask you all to excuse me. I must turn in early, for there is somewhere I must be tomorrow. I will be out all day, so please do not look for me.”
It was Jemima’s turn to frown.
“Where could you possibly need to go?” she asked.
“Out,” he replied and walked out of the room, leaving the rest of them staring after him.
Rebecca’s mind began to race. Where would a man secretly need to go at such a time? There was really only one likely scenario. She hardly wanted to think about it, and yet the thought couldn’t help but rush into her mind. Was he going to meet a woman? They weren’t far from Hungerford… it was likely they had a tavern. Or even a brothel. Her stomach twisted and for a moment she thought she might lose her recently eaten meal all over the table.
“Are you all right?” Jemima asked, cutting through her thoughts, and Rebecca quickly swallowed down the bile that rose in the back of her throat.
“I am, yes, of course,” she said, forcing a smile, telling herself that this was for the best, to put some distance between them. So Valentine desired the company of other women. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter.
But it did.
“Actually, I think perhaps something didn’t agree with me,” she said, rising herself, Jemima following suit with a worried look.
“Oh, no, I’m so sorry—”
“Nothing at all to be sorry for,” Rebecca assured her. “Just my fickle stomach is all. I think I might go lie down for a moment.”
“I hope you are well soon,” Jemima said worriedly, and Rebecca nodded, slightly guilty about the fact she was lying to her new friend.
“Thank you,” she said and slipped from the room.
She did feel sick. But she wasn’t going to bed.
She knew she was being ridiculous, that she had no right to be jealous or have any concerns about the duke’s actions, but she couldn’t help herself.
Tomorrow, Rebecca was going after the duke.
13
Valentine swirled his cloak around his body as he stepped out into the slightly chilled air, the foggy mist quickly enveloping him. He hoped it would clear soon for visibility’s sake.
The town of Hungerford was not far — close enough that he needn’t ride. Besides that, a brisk walk would likely do him good and clear his head of all thoughts of a certain dark-haired woman with the sultry red lips of a siren and feline eyes.
Archie seemed to sense his mood and said nothing, simply walking beside him as the supportive friend he had been since he and Val were five years old.
Valentine had never considered himself a refined sort of man, nor one with any particular charms. He certainly never had an issue in attracting a woman, but he was fortunate that he drew them to him with his physical attributes rather than his guile.
Rebecca, however, seemed to see beyond his façade and into the man he truly was — a thought that frightened him more than anything. No one saw him for who he was, except Archie and perhaps Jemima. But even she had always seen him just as Valentine, her brother, the one who would protect her, would provide for her, and be there when she needed him.
Rebecca was different. Not just from all of the people who were close to him, but from any woman he had met. She asked questions that cut deeply to the heart of the matter, was perceptive and observant. When she looked at him, it was as though she could see beyond what he presented to the world and through to his deepest thoughts. It was unnerving.