Blooms of all colors laced the arch, then poured down into a beautiful flower garden below. She would build a little gazebo beyond, one in which she could set up an easel and work while the beauty of the outdoors surrounded her.
She sighed as she sat back and pictured it. If only such a reality could possibly exist for her. As she looked around her, however, she knew that the greater outcome for her life was one in which she would be removed from even this home. It wasn’t much — rooms she and her father had inhabited when not living elsewhere on a job — but it was much better than where they may be relegated to if they were forced to try to pay the debts that they owed from the Atticus Project.
Rebecca laid her head in her hands. Oh, why had Father been so insistent? Perhaps it was the beginnings of when he began to lose control of his mind. He allowed his aspirations to outweigh any judgment he had ever possessed. She massaged her thumbs into the back of her neck, and then jumped when she heard their lone maid call to her with a “Miss Lambert?”
“Oh! Yes, Hilda?”
“There are women here who have come to call. I put them in the drawing room.”
“Thank you, Hilda.”
Rebecca sighed, looking down at herself to assess whether she was fit for company. She supposed there wasn’t much she could do, at any rate, for they were already here and knew she was within.
She re-pinned her hair before leaving the solace of the study and entering the drawing room, taking a breath when she saw Jemima, Freddie, and Celeste.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” she said, fixing a smile on her face. “How lovely to see you.”
Jemima rose and took Rebecca by the hands.
“I am so sorry that my mother and my brother were awful to you. You didn’t deserve that. Come, sit.”
Rebecca dutifully sat.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I told Freddie and Celeste what happened. They are quite sympathetic to your plight.”
Jemima scrunched her nose in worry at sharing the secret, but Rebecca no longer cared. Mrs. St. Vincent was likely to tell all of their duplicity anyway, so what did it matter that these women knew the truth?
“It’s fine,” Rebecca said, with a sad smile for the other women who, as Jemima said, looked to be pitying her. “Thank you for your understanding. Though, Jemima, they had a point. I deceived them. They didn’t hire me. They hired my father.”
“How is he?” Jemima asked, furrowing her brow.
“He is fine today,” Rebecca said carefully. “Just this morning he was actually on a tirade about the loss of our commission, which is his usual self.”
“I am sorry about that as well,” Jemima said. “Mother has already begun suggesting other architects to Val, but he has ordered Mr. Burton to continue on with your plans, you will be happy to know — at least for Wyndham House in London.”
“I am happy to hear it, actually,” Rebecca said with surprise. “It will be a beautiful home.”
“It is a shame, really,” Celeste chimed in, “that your plans would be disregarded just because you are a woman. For isn’t it women who spend the most time running the household, who best understand what is required, and what other women would see as beautiful?”
“One would imagine,” Freddie said wryly, “but most do not think that way.”
“The thing is, Rebecca,” Jemima said slowly, taking her lip between her teeth for a moment, “my brother has the worst fear of disappointing people.”
“I gathered that.”
“Has he ever told you why?”
Rebecca thought back to the many nights spent together, lying in his bed at Stonehall. “Yes,” she said. “I know that you had a brother, Matthew, who was supposed to follow in the family tradition but that he died when he was mistaken for Valentine. Your mother has never quite gotten over it, and Val has never ceased blaming himself.”
“Yes,” Jemima said, looking down, and Rebecca felt like a boor for bringing up her brothers and all that had happened. Of course, Jemima would miss her brother just as much. “Matthew was the best of us. He always did what was expected of him, was intelligent, pleasant, and Father’s image in every way. Valentine is nothing like him and never has been, and my parents — especially my Father — made sure that he knew it. When Matthew died, they were distraught, although of course none more than Valentine. He has never forgiven himself and has spent his life since trying to make up for Matthew’s loss. Mother ensures that Valentine never forgets how much Father despaired of Valentine and his chosen profession and that Matthew would still be alive if it wasn’t for Valentine’s fights. Val now has a hard time forgetting that he need not be Matthew.”
Rebecca nodded slowly, understanding.
“Luckily,” Freddie said pluckily, “Our mothers have decided that I am the one he should marry. And I am never one to accept what others tell me is the truth. Valentine and I simply do not suit. He is an amiable gentleman to be sure, and I think that the two of you, Rebecca, would be quite happy together should he ever overcome his past.”
“If he does not marry you,” Rebecca said, tamping down the jealousy that threatened at even the thought of Valentine marrying another, “then his mother will simply find another young woman who is much more dutiful. Not that you aren’t — I certainly didn’t mean to suggest that.”
“It’s fine,” Freddie said waving a hand in the air. “Dutiful would not be a word to describe me, although my mother is lovely and I do my best to keep her happy. Marrying a man I do not love, however, will simply not do.”
“So the question is, Rebecca,” Celeste said, leaning forward with elbows on her knees, her wide green eyes seemingly looking through into Rebecca’s soul, “what can we do to help you?”
Rebecca looked at each of them in turn, the three of them all staring at her with such compassion, such concern. She did what she had been holding back from for weeks now. She began to cry.
“Oh, Rebecca!” Jemima said, looping an arm around her. “I am so sorry. We never meant to upset you.”
“It is not that,” Rebecca said, wiping at her eyes as she sniffed. “I just… I have never had anyone care for me in such a way before. Who are concerned that my own interests are met, who worry about how I feel and how to help things improve. But the truth of it is… I just don’t think anything can be done. If there could be, I would have attempted it myself already. But Valentine needs to come to his own conclusions. He knows how I feel about him.”
“But does he?” Jemima asked, tilting her head to the side as she considered Rebecca. “I wonder. He is being stubborn, and he is under the impression that you might have used him. If he knew how you truly felt…” she shrugged, “it might change things.”
Rebecca pressed her lips together, nodding slowly. “Perhaps. But despite that, he must marry someone with a dowry. I have only debt.”
“From the Atticus Project,” Jemima said, nodding, then quickly described the situation to the other women.
“You have not advanced your concerns?” Jemima asked.
“No,” Rebecca said, shaking her head. “No one seems to care, and we need Crown approval to hold a lottery.”