Rebecca's Refusal

Chapter Six

Rebecca felt out of sorts. She should have been pleased that she had irrevocably refused Joshua's hand but instead, unaccountably, she felt low in spirits. A week had passed since she had refused him and she had not seen him since. Which was a good thing, she told herself. Because it meant that he had accepted her refusal and did not mean to offer her his hand again.

But for some reason she could not comprehend her spirits were still low.

She picked up her book and wandered over to the window, looking out at the snow. She, Hetty and Charles had spent the last few days enjoying the delights of the winter weather. They had taken a sled into the park and had tobogganed down the slopes — “I am too old for this,” Hetty had declared, but she had enjoyed it as much as any of them. They had watched a collection of urchins building a snowman, and they had indulged in a game of snowballs. But today it was snowing too heavily to make them want to venture outside.

She was just about to settle down with her book when she saw a familiar figure arriving at the house.

It was Miss Biddulph!

Delighted that her companion had recovered sufficiently to complete the journey to London, Rebecca went out into the hall to welcome her.

She could see at once that Biddy was still weak, and rang for tea whilst settling Biddy by the fire.

“You look tired,” she said sympathetically as she sat down beside Biddy. “I hope you haven't overtaxed your strength by completing the journey.”

“I am rather tired,” Biddy admitted. “But I felt well enough to travel, and besides, I did not want to remain another night in an inn.”

“I can understand that,” said Rebecca, thinking of the last night she herself had spent at an inn — although she doubted that Biddy had had a similar experience!

Tea was brought and Rebecca and Hetty, who bustled in as soon as she heard that Miss Biddulph had arrived, set about seeing to Miss Biddulph's comfort; for although Miss Biddulph was acting as Rebecca's companion on this trip, she had been Rebecca's governess in earlier days, and a strong friendship existed between the three of them.

Charles, too, was pleased to discover that Biddy had arrived. Once she had rested he questioned her closely on the condition of the roads, which were now open again after a lessening in the severity of the weather.

“If the mail has got through, then a private coach should be able to get through as well,” said Charles. “We won't have Joshua with us here in London for much longer, I fear.”

His words proved to be prophetic. That afternoon Joshua called to make his farewells.

“You're leaving us tomorrow, then?” asked Charles, when Joshua had told them of his plans.

“Yes.”

Although she had been expecting it, Rebecca, for some reason, felt her heart sink.

Joshua went on. “Now the roads are passable there is nothing else to keep me here.”

He glanced at Rebecca as he said it and then looked away again.

The thought crossed Rebecca's mind that, had she accepted his hand, there would have been something to keep him in London: preparations for their wedding.

But of course, she had not.

“It won't be an easy journey, even now,” said Charles, pursing his lips. “The roads are still very bad in places. Miss Biddulph has been telling us all about it.”

“Even so, I mean to leave first thing in the morning. My work here is done, and I'm eager to take over the running of the mill.”

“We shall miss you,” said Hetty, kissing him on the cheek.

“It's been good of you to put up with me for so long,” Joshua smiled.

“Nonsense!” declared Hetty. “It hasn't been long enough! We have hardly seen anything of you this last week. But you will be in London again before long, I hope?”

“That depends,” said Joshua. “I will have to see how things go.”

“Well, you know you are always welcome here,” remarked Hetty warmly.

Joshua took his leave of Hetty and then turned to Rebecca. “Rebecca,” he said, formally taking his leave of her.

“Joshua,” she replied equally formally as he bowed over her hand.

“Your parting will not be of such a long duration,” Hetty remarked innocently, “for you will be seeing each other again before long.” She smiled artlessly up at Joshua. “Rebecca will be returning to Cheshire next week, and that of course is very near the mill.”

Rebecca felt Joshua's eyes rove over her face, but there was nothing burning in his glance. Instead, his manner was cool and distant. “Until we next meet, then,” he said.

And with that he was gone.

The rest of Rebecca's visit passed quickly. She was determined to enjoy herself, and to make the most of her time with Hetty and Charles in the capital.

Miss Biddulph had by now completely recovered from her illness, and Rebecca was glad that Biddy would be able to accompany them on their outings. It was for this reason that Rebecca had asked her old governess to act as her companion on the long journey, knowing that Biddy would enjoy herself in London, visiting to the elegant shops and interesting museums, once they arrived.

With the weather a little improved Rebecca, Biddy and Hetty embarked on a number of shopping trips. Cousin Louisa, unable to travel to London herself because of her rheumatism, had given Rebecca a list of commissions, and these commissions Rebecca now set about fulfilling. She enjoyed purchasing the lengths of silk and muslin her cousin had asked for, as well as slippers and bonnets and a host of smaller items that bore the stamp of London instead of the less modish stamp of the provinces.

In this way the final week of Rebecca's visit passed, and before long it was time for her, too, to leave.

“You hardly seem to have been here two minutes,” said Hetty regretfully as she kissed Rebecca goodbye. “Next time, you must come for longer.”

“If Louisa is fit to travel, I will,” Rebecca promised, returning Hetty's embrace. “I did not like to leave her too long on her own this time.”

Charles gave her his hand and wished her a safe journey. “And remember, you are welcome here any time,” he said.

“Thank you,” smiled Rebecca.

Hetty and Charles bade Miss Biddulph farewell, and hoped she would not take cold again from the journey.

Then, fastening the strings of her bonnet and smoothing her travelling cloak, Rebecca pulled on her gloves and the two ladies made ready to depart.

“I have had the squabs warmed with warming pans,” said Hetty, as she accompanied Rebecca and Miss Biddulph out of the front door. “There are two stone hot water bottles for your feet — one for each of you — and two silver flasks of hot water to warm your hands. The travelling rug has been warmed. I do hope your journey won't be too uncomfortable.”

“It will be better than the journey down to London, I'm sure,” said Rebecca, looking around her. The snow still lingered, but the roads were relatively clear. The worst of the winter weather was over.

“I have had the box of gifts for Louisa put at the back of the coach,” went on Hetty, as she and Rebecca went down the steps, whilst Charles and Biddy followed on behind. “I have included one or two little extra presents to make up for the fact that she was not able to come. There is a hamper beneath your seat, and if you get cold, don't hesitate to take a glass of Madeira. It will combat any chills and warm you through until you can reach an inn and spend an hour or two in front of a fire.”

“Dear Hetty,” smiled Rebecca. “Thank you for everything!”

She stepped into the coach, and once she and Miss Biddulph had seated themselves it pulled away. They waved to Hetty and Charles until the coach turned a corner and then settled themselves down for the long journey north.

It was a week later when Rebecca's coach reached Cheshire. The roads, although passable, had been treacherous in places and the going had been slow. Added to that was the fact that Rebecca and Miss Biddulph had not been able to spend more than six hours in the coach each day because of the cold and the journey had necessarily been long.

The coach's first stop was at Miss Biddulph's modest home. With many thanks — for she had enjoyed her sojourn in London, despite its unhappy beginning — Miss Biddulph climbed out of the coach. One of the footmen carried her trunk to the front door, and Rebecca waited only until he had returned before giving Biddy a final wave and instructing the coach to pull away.

Another hour took her to the gates of her own home, a delightful gentleman's residence in the heart of the Cheshire countryside.

It was three years now since her parents had been killed in a boating accident. During that time a number of eligible gentlemen had offered to take care of her, but Rebecca had resisted them all and had instead invited Cousin Louisa to live with her. Cousin Louisa, a gentle spinster of straitened means, had been glad to accept the invitation. It was an arrangement which had worked out well for them both. The two ladies had always got on well together, and besides enjoying each other's company Rebecca had been glad of the respectability Louisa's presence conferred on her, whilst Louisa had been grateful to have some company.

Rebecca's musings came to an end as the house came in sight. It was an elegant Georgian residence, long and low, with tall windows looking out over the gardens. Welcoming lights streamed out into the gathering gloom of the winter afternoon, and Rebecca felt a surge of happiness wash over her. She was home!

The coach rolled round the turning circle in front of the door and even before it had stopped Cousin Louisa, wrapped in a large shawl, came out to greet her.

“Rebecca! My dear! I am so glad you are home!”

“So am I!” said Rebecca, giving her older cousin a hug.

“But come, my dear, you must be cold. Let us go in.”

The two ladies went into the house. It was warm and welcoming after the cold and dark of the coach, the familiar cream walls contrasting with the brightly-polished mahogany furniture and the gold of the long drapes.

Rebecca turned to Louisa as she undid the strings of her bonnet and cast her eye over her cousin, hoping that she had not had too much trouble with her rheumatism over the last few weeks.

What she saw did much to reassure her. Louisa was looking younger than her five-and-forty years and her pleasing face, surrounded by soft, mousey hair and dominated by a pair of pincenez, appeared to be free of pain. Her small, rounded body was held upright, and she seemed to be moving more easily than she had been doing before Rebecca left.

“You look well,” said Rebecca.

“My dear, I feel well! It is those new pills Dr Lewis has given me! They have removed almost all the pain, and the salve he has prescribed has made my joints move more freely, I am sure. But come into the drawing-room. We must not stand out here talking in the hall.”

They went through into the drawing-room.

Rebecca looked around at the familiar, well-loved room. It was neither grand nor imposing, and the furniture was decidedly shabby, but a warm feeling washed over her as she took off her bonnet. The ormolu clock was still ticking on the mantelpiece, her favourite chair was set by the fire, and the warm tones of the apricot walls gave off a cosy glow. After all the turmoil of her trip to London, it was good to be home.

“Now, sit down and tell me all about it,” said Louisa, her eyes glowing with her pleasure at seeing Rebecca again. “Or perhaps you would rather go to your room and rest after your long journey?”

Rebecca smiled. Cousins Louisa was obviously eager for news and company, but was thinking of Rebecca in her usual unselfish manner.

“I will just wash, and change my gown,” said Rebecca, feeling a sudden longing to be rid of the dust and grime of the road, “but then I would like nothing so much as a cup of chocolate and a comfortable cose by the fire.”

“Oh, yes, my dear. That will be just the thing.” Louisa beamed.

Less than half an hour later Rebecca found herself ushered into her favourite chair and a footstool placed before her feet, and Louisa then settled herself down and looked at her eagerly, waiting for all the news.

“Hetty and Charles send their love,” said Rebecca, sipping at her cup of chocolate, “and they have sent some presents for you.” She put down her cup and went into the corner of the room, where the box Hetty had given her had been tucked away by Collins the coachman when he had unpacked the coach.

Rebecca picked it up and carried it over to Louisa, putting it down in front of her.

“Oh, how kind!” said Louisa, as she began to open it, unfastening the straps that had been buckled around it to keep it safely closed.

“I managed to carry out all your commissions,” said Rebecca as Louisa threw back the lid. “I hope you like the things I bought for you.”

On top of the box were the lengths of material Louisa had asked for, consisting of a length of brown woollen cloth, a length of dove grey silk and a length of olive muslin.

“Just the thing,” said Louisa, taking each length of fabric out in turn. “My old gowns are growing decidedly shabby.” She looked down at the faded gown she was wearing, made of a drab silk. It was rather old-fashioned, and lacked any of the ribbons and flounces that were now a la mode. “It will do me good to have something new to wear.”

And then came various gifts that Louisa had not expected: a Cashmere shawl, a new bonnet and a pair of the softest kid boots, together with half a dozen lace handkerchiefs and a bottle of lavender water.

“Oh, how kind!” said Louisa again, much touched.

There were several more presents in the box, including one of Hetty's cook's excellent fruit cakes and a bottle of Madeira. Then, when the last item had been exclaimed over, Rebecca set down her cup in its porcelain saucer and began to tell Louisa all about her visit to London. She told her about the reading of Jebadiah's will, and then told her about the shopping, the visits to the museums, and the afternoon at Frost Fair.

The only things she did not mention were those that affected Joshua. She told Louisa that she had seen him, that he was well and that he sent his love — for he had known Louisa in his childhood as she and her parents had lived with Jebadiah for a while. But she said nothing about the uncontrolled horse and the stone that had narrowly missed hitting him when he had been taking dinner at Hetty and Charles's house. Louisa was of a somewhat nervous disposition and the less she had to worry her, the better.

“Freezewater Street!” exclaimed Louisa, as Rebecca told her of the name that had been given to the Thames. And then, as Rebecca told her all about the stalls and booths, the jugglers and the skating, she clasped her hands together and said, “Oh! I wish I could have been there!”

“As soon as you are well enough to travel, you must pay Hetty and Charles a visit. They would love to have you, and asked me to say so particularly.”

“Oh, my dear! They are so kind. And it does all sound so wonderful.” Louisa gave a sigh. “I must confess I have been lonely on my own, cooped up here day after day with nothing to do, and the weather so gloomy, and no one to speak to,” she said.

Rebecca put her hand out to Louisa. “I'm sorry. It was wrong of me to go away and leave you for so long.”

As if realizing that she had made Rebecca feel guilty, when nothing had been further from her mind, Louisa immediately contradicted herself, saying shamelessly, “Nonsense! You have hardly been gone at all. I have had a wonderful time whilst you have been away. Why, I was only saying to Betsy the other day — Betsy being the general servant — what a nice change it has been to be on my own for a while. Such a tonic for my nerves. I do declare that you did me a very great favour, Rebecca, by going away. And I have had so much to do that I have never been bored for an instant! I have been reading and sewing, and if the weather has been bad outside, why, it has only made me appreciate how snug and cosy I have been inside. And if you do not believe me, you may ask Betsy, for she can vouch for it all.”

Rebecca leaned across and gave Louisa a kiss on the cheek.

“Oh, my dear,” said Louisa, flustered but nevertheless pleased, “What on earth was that for?”

“Oh, for nothing,” said Rebecca, thinking how lucky she was to have such a lovely cousin. Then, settling herself back in her chair she said, “Even so, I am sure you would enjoy a holiday, especially as the new pills are doing you good, and I have a suggestion to make.”

She had been thinking it over in the coach on the journey from London and now she had made up her mind. “As you know, Grandfather left me half of Marsden mill, and I mean to take an active interest in it. I could do so from here, but it would mean a lot of travelling, and with the weather being uncertain that is not a good idea. So I have decided to take a house in Manchester for the next few months.”

“Manchester?” Louisa's face broke into a smile. “It would be the very thing. There are the shops — not so grand as London, but still, there are some very pretty things to be had along Deansgate and in the Exchange Hall. And then there will be Mrs Emily Camberwell to visit, and her sister, Mrs Camilla Renwick.” Emily and Camilla had been at the same seminary as Louisa in their younger days, and the three had remained friends. “And of course, best of all, we will be near to our own dear Joshua, who is now in Manchester to take care of the mill! It will be so wonderful to see him again.”

That was the one thing against the idea, to Rebecca's way of thinking, for she was under no illusions as to the strength of her attraction to Joshua and knew that meeting him would be difficult. Nevertheless, as they were partners in the mill it was something that could not be avoided.

“You like the idea?” she asked.

Louisa smiled. “Of course I do. I think it's a splendid idea.”

“Then it is settled.”

“Emily and Camilla will help us find a house, I am sure,” said Louisa thoughtfully.

“Good. As soon as it can be arranged we will move to town.” She yawned.

“Oh, my dear, you must be tired,” said Louisa sympathetically.

“I am,” Rebecca admitted.

“I will tell Betsy to serve dinner at once. And then you must have an early night.”

Whilst the arrangements for the move to Manchester were being made, Rebecca had time to enjoy being at home again, at least for a short while. The weather continued cold. Fortunately it was not quite as bad as it had been earlier in the year, but still, she and Louisa did not get out much: there was in truth very little for two spinster ladies to do in a modest house in the Cheshire countryside in the middle of winter. The shops and concerts of Manchester, however, would provide a pleasant distraction.

“I hope we have remembered everything,” said Louisa, as at last the carriage was packed and they were off.

“I'm sure we have,” said Rebecca. “The rented house is furnished, and we have already sent the linen and china up to town with Betsy. And besides, if we have forgotten anything, we can always send Betsy back for it.”

“Yes, my dear, you are right,” said Louisa. “I am so pleased we have brought a few personal touches with us. They will make the place feel more homely. I am looking forward to hanging Grandfather's portrait in the drawing-room.” She settled herself back against the squabs and stretched her legs out in front of her.

“Have you enough room?” asked Rebecca.

“Plenty,” said Louisa. Her face suddenly lit up. “Oh, Rebecca, I am so excited! I can't remember the last time I had any fun!”

Rebecca was delighted to see Louisa's enthusiasm. Her cousin had had a dull winter, made worse by problems with her joints, and was in need of some entertainment. Besides, a round of parties and shopping would take Louisa's mind off the aches and pains her pills had not been able to alleviate.

“Then we will make the most of it,” said Rebecca. “I will have to spend some of my time at the mill, but for the rest of the time we will enjoy ourselves.”

Louisa sighed. “Jebadiah would be pleased. He always loved Manchester. It is where he began his life, and he remained a Northern lad to the end!”

The countryside rolled past the window, with only a small pocket of snow left here and there to show what a hard winter it had been. The grass was green and verdant, and looked as fresh as if it had been new-washed. Above it was a clear, cold sky.

As they drew nearer the city the scenery changed. Meadows and a rushing river gave way to streets and buildings, some fine, others squalid. The recent expansion of the city had brought both good and bad in its wake. Good, because the manufacturing industries had brought work and wealth to the city; bad because it had also brought poverty, for the mill hands could only work when there was work to be had, and in these times of unrest there were often periods of enforced idleness when the war with France or trouble with the Luddites brought mills to a standstill.

But still Rebecca felt her interest quickening. This was where her grandfather had laid the foundations of his fortune, and she felt a connection to the city.

The coach began to move more slowly as the streets became busier. Smart shops now lined the sides of the roads, and fashionable people strolled along the pavements. Gentlemen raised their hats to greet friends or acquaintances and ladies, followed by footmen balancing columns of hat boxes, disappeared into modiste's. Young children with their nursemaids skipped along, taking some exercise. Brewers' carts rolled past, drawn by plodding cart horses. Hackney carriages went by; and in front of them assorted carts and carriages made their way forward in a bustle of noise and confusion.

“Is it always like this, do you think?” asked Louisa a little fearfully.

“I think it must be,” said Rebecca. “But I dare say we will soon get used to it.”

“I have not been to Manchester for some time, and I had not realised how much it had grown,” said Louisa.

At last they turned down a broad street and approached the house they had rented for the next six weeks. They had been in the coach for only two hours, as Manchester was no more than fifteen miles from their Cheshire home, but the day was cold and they were glad to arrive.

“Here we are,” said Rebecca, as the coach rolled to a halt.

“We have made good time, then,” said Louisa. “I was hoping we would be here for lunch, and we are.”

They walked up the steps to the imposing town house and went inside.

“This is lovely,” said Rebecca, looking round with interest.

“Oh, yes it is,” said Louisa as her eyes, too, roved round the hall. “I am so relieved. It was very good of Emily and Camilla to handle so many of the arrangements. Their brother, Edward, helped too. He is a widower now, and Emily keeps house for him, since her own husband is dead.”

Rebecca and Louisa untied the strings of their bonnets as the coachman unloaded the coach, and they were just about to remove their cloaks when Louisa noticed some cards on the console table.

“Oh, look, Rebecca,” said Louisa delightedly, picking up one of the cards from the gilded console table. “It is from Emily — Mrs Camberwell. And another one from Camilla. And an invitation to one of Emily's soirées, to be held at the start of next week.” Then her face fell.

“Is anything wrong?” asked Rebecca.

“Oh, no, dear. It's just that I thought there might be one from Joshua.”

“He probably does not know we are here,” said Rebecca lightly.

“Yes, he does,” said Louisa, “for I wrote to him and told him all about it. Still, never mind. I told Emily and Camilla he was here, and no doubt we will meet him at the soirée.”

The house in Manchester soon became a busy one. Louisa's friends, Mrs Emily Camberwell and Mrs Camilla Renwick, were both well known in Manchester, and through their good offices Rebecca and Louisa were quickly made to feel at home. Visitors called, cards were left, and invitations flooded in. Rebecca and Louisa attended a number of dinner parties and other entertainments, but most of all they were looking forward to the soirée.

“Have you decided what you will wear to the soirée?” asked Rebecca. She herself was uncertain as to what she should wear.

“Well, I thought I would wear my new grey silk.”

“The one you had made up with the London material?” asked Rebecca.

“Yes.” She paused. “I wonder... ?”

“Yes?” asked Rebecca, pleased to see the happy gleam in Louisa's eye.

“My long white evening gloves have been darned twice, and I was wondering about a trip to the shops this afternoon.”

“An excellent idea,” said Rebecca. “I have a few purchases I wish to make as well. I am in need of a new pair of clocked stockings.”

“Oh, yes,” said Louisa approvingly. “I do so like clocked stockings — though why stockings with embroidery on the ankles should be called clocked stockings I really do not know.” She laughed. “When I was a little girl I used to think it was because they were decorated with pictures of grandfather clocks!”

“Where shall we go for them, do you think?”

“Emily says the Exchange Hall is the best place for that kind of thing.”

“Then we'll go there after lunch.”

Having settled the afternoon to their satisfaction, the two ladies set out, after a light meal, for the Exchange Hall.

“Mrs Camberwell shares a house with her brother, I think you said?” asked Rebecca as the two ladies climbed into the carriage.

“Yes, my dear. You remember Edward.” Louisa went slightly pink as she spoke.

“No,” said Rebecca, shaking her head. “I'm not sure I do. I remember Emily and Camilla, but I don't remember Edward.”

“I suppose it is not surprising. I don't think he ever visited with the girls. He is five years older than Emily.” Louisa gave a sudden smile, which took ten years from her face as she remembered the days of her youth. “And didn't he make the most of it! He used to tease us all shamefully when we were children.”

“You knew him, then?”

“Oh, yes, my dear. I used to see a lot of him in the holidays, when he was not at school. I went to stay with Emily on a number of occasions and Edward was often there. He asked me to dance with him at my very first ball. I felt terribly grown up, even though it was only a private family gathering and I cannot have been more than fourteen.”

They soon arrived at the Exchange Hall, which was home to a colourful bazaar that sold all kinds of interesting and elegant goods. Gloves and stockings, ribbons and purses, all could be bought there, and Rebecca and Louisa spent an interesting hour looking round before finally making their purchases. They were just about to leave the Exchange Hall and venture further afield when they bumped into Mrs Camilla Renwick, accompanied by her husband and by another gentleman.

Rebecca smiled as she recognised Mr and Mrs Renwick. The other gentleman was one Rebecca did not know.

“Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” said Mrs Renwick. “I had not looked to see you before Emily's soirées this evening. You remember my husband, Henry?”

Henry doffed his hat, and the ladies declared they remembered him very well.

“And this is Mr Willingham.”

Mr Willingham also doffed his hat. He was of middling height with dark brown hair, and was smartly, though unostentatiously dressed. A pair of cream breeches and a blue tailcoat could just be glimpsed beneath his caped greatcoat. On his head he wore a tall hat and he carried a silver-tipped cane.

“Mr Willingham owns a number of mills in Stockport,” said Mrs Renwick; Stockport being a nearby town.

“Really?” said Louisa politely. “How interesting.”

Rebecca smiled. Louisa had done her best to make it sound as though she really found it interesting, but Louisa was in reality rather appalled by the mills, which could be glimpsed from the coach when the two ladies drove around the town.

“Indeed,” said Mr Willingham.

“If you are not too busy, why don't you join us?” said Mrs Renwick. “We are just about to repair to the library for a rest. We can take the weight off our feet, and they also serve splendid ices.”

Rebecca and Louisa happily fell in with this plan, and the five of them turned their steps towards the library. Before long the pavement narrowed and Mr Renwick, who had his wife on one arm and Louisa on the other, went ahead, whilst Rebecca and Mr Willingham walked behind.

“I understand you are Jebadiah Marsden's grand-daughter,” said Mr Willingham, turning to Rebecca and making polite conversation.

“I am.”

“He was a well-loved figure in Manchester, and is sorely missed.”

“Thank you.”

“You have recently become a mill owner yourself, I hear,” he said, offering her his arm as they crossed a busy street.

“Half a mill owner,” Rebecca corrected him, as they safely reached the other side.

“Ah, yes. Half a mill owner. And which half is it you own?” he asked her smilingly.

She laughed. “I really cannot say.”

“You are to take an interest in it, Mrs Renwick says?”

“Yes. I feel that, as my grandfather left it to me, I should acquaint myself with what goes on there.”

“A laudable attitude. However, if I may issue a word of warning? Although it is a lot easier to be a mill owner today than it was a year ago — the Luddites seem to have accepted that they cannot go around breaking up machinery and times are quieter than they were — there are still outbreaks of unrest from time to time. I hope you won't think it impertinent of me if I ask you to take care. There are those who like the mills, as they bring prosperity to the region, but there are also those who resent the mills for producing goods cheaply and efficiently, and for using machines that take work away from men.”

“Do you think there will be further trouble?” asked Rebecca. She felt she must gather as much information as she could about the situation, and Mr Willingham, being a mill owner himself, seemed to be knowledgeable on the subject.

“That I cannot say. But I believe it would not be wise to rule it out. The ringleaders might have been dealt with, but the name of Ned Ludd lives on.”

Ned Ludd. Rebecca shivered. “I don't even know who he was, and yet his name inspires fear nonetheless.”

“Reputedly he was a simpleton who lived in Leicestershire,” said Mr Willingham. “One day, or so the story goes, he broke his stocking frame in anger because he had been punished for some trivial offence. But whether the Luddites really took their name from him, or from King Ludd, one of our ancient rulers, or General Ludd — another name they use to inspire terror — I cannot say.”

“Are there any precautions we can take against attack?” asked Rebecca.

“Alas, very few. A determined man can cause havoc if he wishes to, by breaking into a mill and attacking the machines with hammers, or by setting it on fire.”

Rebecca shivered.

“Forgive me. I should not have mentioned it.”

“No. I'm glad you did.”

“It is not a pleasant thought, particularly for a lady, but forewarned is forearmed. But you have no need to worry about that kind of thing, I am sure. You will have night watchmen at the mill.”

Rebecca frowned. “I'm not sure. That is something I will have to find out.”

“You have a partner, I understand? He will no doubt see to the mill's security and take care of any difficulties that may arise.”

By this time they had reached the library and Rebecca's conversation with Mr Willingham was brought to an end.

The gentlemen stood back to allow the ladies to enter first and Rebecca was able to free herself from Mr Willingham's company, falling in beside Mrs Renwick instead.

Conversation then became more general. The ladies exclaimed on the wonderful things they had seen in the shops, whilst the gentlemen fetched them ices. Though the weather was cold, the shopping had heated the ladies and they were glad of the cool refreshment. Whilst they ate, they showed each other their purchases, and the gentlemen contented themselves with talking about the war. An hour later, feeling much refreshed, Rebecca and Louisa took their leave.

“For we must get ready for the evening's entertainment,” Louisa said, before she and Rebecca departed.

Rebecca found herself looking forward to the soirée as she stepped out of the carriage later that evening and made her way, beside Louisa, into Mrs Camberwell's house. She was dressed in a becoming gown of white satin with an underskirt of deepest crimson. Deep reds were still fashionable, according to the Ladies' Monthly Museum, and Rebecca was glad of it. Strong colours had always suited her snow-white complexion and her rich, dark hair.

Mrs Camberwell lived with her brother in one of the fashionable new houses that were going up in Manchester all the time. It was similar to the house Rebecca and Louisa had rented, but its furniture and decorations were much more elegant and reflected Mrs Camberwell's fine taste. Gilded mirrors hung on the walls, Buhl furniture graced the living rooms, and Aubusson carpets softened the floors.

“My dears, I am so glad you could come,” said Mrs Camberwell, taking them by the arm and leading them in. “There are so many people I am longing to introduce you to. My sister, Camilla, you already know,” she said, indicating Mrs Renwick, “and... .”

Rebecca heard no more. Standing at the far side of the room, which had been arranged ready for the evening's music with rows of chairs facing an ornate music stand, was Joshua.

Now that matters had been resolved between them, Rebecca had hoped they could look forward to a normal working relationship. But all such reasonable thoughts flew out of the window when she saw him at the other side of the room.

He was looking more devastatingly attractive than she had ever seen him. His clothes were immaculate, clinging to his body as though they had been formed around him, revealing the hard contours of his broad shoulders and the firm lines of his powerful chest. His hair, by contrast, was rumpled, as though he had run his hands though it. But instead of making him look untidy it made him look vigorous and vital. His face, catching the shadows created by the candles, was sharply contoured, and where his cheekbones caught the light they glowed.

He turned as she walked into the room, but there was nothing burning in his gaze. Instead it was cool.

His apparent indifference hurt her. Despite the fact she had refused his hand she found she could not be indifferent to him. It was not simply because she was attracted to him, it was because of the way she felt in his company — truly alive.

But she must quell such unruly feelings. Because having given her a cold nod he had turned his attention back to the young lady he was talking to, and to make things ten times worse, that young lady was Miss Serena Quentin.

Rebecca had met Miss Quentin on a number of the recent dinner parties and she did not like the coquettish blonde, who had a hard, ruthless streak — but then, Rebecca reminded herself, so did Joshua.

Rebecca averted her gaze, but not before she had noticed that Joshua was apparently enjoying Miss Quentin's bold sallies.

Rebecca forced herself to give her attention back to Mrs Camberwell.

“... Mr Willingham,” finished Mrs Camberwell.

Rebecca managed a polite smile as Mr Willingham bent over her hand.

“We meet again,” he said.

“Yes, indeed,” said Rebecca.

“You have already met?” asked Mrs Camberwell in surprise.

“Ihad the pleasure of meeting Miss Fossington this afternoon, outside the Exchange Hall,” said Mr Willingham. “I was with Mr and Mrs Renwick,” he explained. “We repaired to the library and partook of some ices.” He gave his attention back to Rebecca. “I may be allowed to sit next to you, I hope, when the music begins?”

Rebecca said that he might.

As the musicians set up their music stands he began to tell her all about the excellent concerts that were held in Manchester.

“I wouldn't want you to think the mills are the sum total of the city,” he said. “We are as cultured as our fellows in London, I hope. Concerts in the Cornmarket are a regular feature of life in Manchester.”

Rebecca answered him politely, but couldn't help her eyes once again drifting to Joshua. Was he really finding Miss Quentin so diverting? she wondered, as he smiled again at something the young lady said.

As Rebecca talked to Mr Willingham about her impressions of Manchester, Mrs Camberwell drew Edward, her brother, aside.

“I want you to pay particular attention to Rebecca this evening, Edward,” she said to him in an undertone.

Edward looked mildly surprised.

“She seems to be getting on very well with Willingham,” he said. “He's a very wealthy gentleman, and a man of some influence in Manchester. I thought you would be keen to promote the match.”

“Willingham? Nonsense! Rebecca was made for Joshua.”

Edward glanced at Joshua. “I hate to contradict you, Emily, but his interests lie in another direction. He seems to be very taken with Miss Quentin.”

“Serena Quentin is a scheming hussy who wants to add him to her list of conquests. But Joshua has too much sense to be taken in by her. He is simply passing the time.”

“He seems to find it a very pleasant way of doing so.”

“Nonsense,” declared Mrs Camberwell. “Didn't you see the look on his face when Willingham kissed Rebecca's hand? He looked as if he'd like to strangle the man with his bare hands.”

“Really, Emily,” said Edward, but without any real hope of changing his sister, or of encouraging her to use less dramatic turns of phrase.

“Which is why I want you to pay attention to her,” said Emily.

“Why?” he asked her innocently. “So that Joshua can strangle me with his bare hands?”

“Nonsense!” said Emily in exasperation. “Of course not! So that he'll be jealous, of course.”

“I cannot see the point of making him jealous, when Rebecca, too, is clearly interested elsewhere. She is looking avidly at Mr Willingham,” he protested mildly.

“Only because she has impeccable manners and therefore looks at him when he is talking to her. But the second he looks away from her, her eyes go straight to Joshua. There is evidently some bad blood between them but they are finding it difficult to keep their eyes off each other. See!” she declared triumphantly, as Mr Willingham helped himself to a drink from a tray carried round by a waiter and Rebecca's glance went at once to Joshua. “What did I tell you!”

Unaware of Mrs Camberwell's well-meaning interference, Rebecca continued to talk politely to Mr Willingham, whilst wishing he would betake himself off to one of the other young ladies who glided round the room. However, he seemed to want nothing better than to stay by her side — as Miss Quentin seemed to want nothing better than to stay by Joshua's side.

Serena was teasing him about something, that much was obvious, and the harder Rebecca tried not to take any notice of it the more the conversation seemed to reach her ears.

“Do let me!” Miss Quentin was saying laughingly, tugging at Joshua's hand. “It is such a pretty ring, and would look so lovely on my finger.”

Rebecca realized with a sinking feeling that Miss Quentin wanted to try on Joshua's signet ring, the one that had been left to him by her grandfather.

Joshua evidently shared her feelings on the subject, however, for his voice, deep and masculine, carried towards her across the room. “No.”

Rebecca glanced in his direction and saw him put his hand down firmly by his side. Miss Quentin pouted, but he remained unmoved. “I will allow no one else to wear that particular ring,” he said.

“Not even your future bride?” asked Miss Quentin, looking up at him with a sideways glance.

Joshua laughed. “For my future bride I will make an exception,” he said. A moment later dashing her hopes by adding with a sardonic smile, “But not for you.”

Miss Quentin pouted, but Joshua was impervious to her coquettish ways and making her a mocking bow he left her side.

Rebecca hastily turned her attention back to Mr Willingham, who was exhorting her to choose a seat for the concert.

As the music began, Rebecca thought that the one bright spot of the evening was that Louisa appeared to be having an enjoyable time. The gentle spinster's face glowed and she looked much younger than her five-and-forty years. Edward Sidders had noticed it, too, if the animation of his conversation was anything to go by, and Rebecca was glad. It was time Cousin Louisa had some fun.

Then she gave her attention to the music. The lady harpist's fingers flew over the strings, and the time passed most agreeably until supper.

“Ah! Here is Joshua,” said Louisa, as she and Edward joined Rebecca. “He has come to take you into supper.”

Joshua had not come to do any such thing, of that Rebecca was sure. But Louisa's spontaneous words left him with no alternative and he murmured, “Delighted.”

Mr Willingham, robbed of his chance to escort Rebecca, made his excuses and then left them, for which Rebecca would have been grateful if it had not meant that she had to go in to supper with Joshua.

She had found his heat and passion difficult to cope with. She was finding his coldness far worse.

“I told Rebecca we would see you here,” said Louisa happily. “I had hoped to see you sooner, but I dare say you have been busy with the mill.”

Joshua responded warmly, and Rebecca was pleased to see that, although his attitude to her was distinctly cool, his manner with Louisa was friendly and unrestrained.

And yet it made her realize that this was yet another feature of his personality which drew her to Joshua — his kindness to those so much weaker than himself.

Her feelings were becoming confused again, she realized. Given that he had offered her his hand for the sake of her reputation she was not sorry she had refused it. But yet the thought of his never offering it to her again made her feel very low.

It was all too difficult. She was not used to such conflicting emotions, and she found them most uncomfortable. But then, wasn't that what love was all about?

Love! What nonsense. In love with Joshua? What an idea! She was perplexed by him. Angered. Confused. Provoked. But in love with him?

Never.

“But come!” said Louisa, rescuing Rebecca from her thoughts. “We must go into supper, and you can tell us all about it.”

Joshua made Rebecca a stiff bow and offered her his arm. She placed her hand on it, letting her fingertips barely graze it, and they went into supper.

“You must be delighted to be running the mill at last,” said Louisa. “I know how interested you were in it, and how you spent a great deal of time with Jebadiah whilst he taught you all about it. What a long time ago that seems.”

“I am delighted,” Joshua agreed, scarcely looking at Rebecca as he took his place at the table.

“Fancy Jebadiah leaving half of the mill to Rebecca! Stocks and bonds, these are what most people would have left, but not Jebadiah! He was an eccentric old man, to be sure. But Rebecca has always been so clever, and Jebadiah liked clever women. Our grandmother had a keen mind. So I suppose it is no wonder, after all.” She beamed at them both. “And when are you going to show her round the mill?” she asked.

Rebecca glanced at Joshua. He glanced at her at the same moment and their eyes met. He looked away.

Rebecca had a momentary wish that she had never expressed an interest in the mill; that she had said from the outset that she wanted nothing to do with it; because becoming involved in the mill would mean spending time with Joshua, and despite the fact that she did not love him — as she firmly told herself — she felt a strange connection to him which was making it difficult for her to be in his company.

A moment later she chided herself for cowardice.

Of course she must take an interest in the mill. She owed it to her grandfather. And besides, she was interested, and felt she had a part to play. If she found it difficult to be in Joshua's company, that was simply a misfortune she would have to bear.

“Perhaps we can set a date for my visit to the mill tonight,” she said, as they sat down to a varied selection of appetizing food. “Now that I am in Manchester I would like to see round it as soon as possible.”

He replied politely but coolly. “Of course.”

“I thought perhaps Friday,” went on Rebecca. “If you do not have time to show me round yourself, perhaps the manager can do so,” she said, her courage suddenly faltering.

“Of course Joshua will have time to show you round!” exclaimed Louisa.

“I would be delighted to be of service to you,” he said formally. Though whether he would have said it if not for Louisa's exclamation Rebecca had no way of knowing. “Shall we say, two o'clock?”

“Two o'clock,” Rebecca agreed.

She took a sip of wine.

“And I suppose I must go with you as your chaperon,” said Louisa doubtfully.

“You must do no such thing,” said Rebecca. She knew how timid Louisa was, and knew she would not like to visit the mill. “Betsy will come with me.”

“Well, dear, if you're sure,” said Louisa. She tried to appear unconcerned, but there was a note of relief in her voice.

“Perfectly sure,” said Rebecca reassuringly.

Feeling Joshua's eyes on her she turned just in time to see a hint of warmth in his eyes before he turned away again: he, too, had known how little Louisa would like a visit to the mill, and was pleased Rebecca had spared her the ordeal.

But the warmth was quickly quelled, and later that night, as she readied herself for bed, Rebecca found herself wondering whether it had really been there, or whether she had imagined it.

Miss Serena Quentin's beautiful face wore a scowl as she sat before her dressing table whilst her maid unpinned her hair. The evening had not been a success. Bored of the young men who habitually frequented Manchester's social gatherings she had turned her attention to the harshly attractive Joshua Kelling, only to have him dismiss her as casually as if she had been an elderly dowager, instead of worshiping her as the beautiful and alluring young woman she was. It was bad enough that he had walked away from her — Serena walked away from gentlemen; they never walked away from her — but the fact that he had been seen doing so by Miss Lavinia Madely had made it a hundred times worse.

Serena's scowl deepened as she thought of Lavinia Madely, her only serious challenger for the position of Manchester's greatest beauty. The two had been rivals ever since they had come out.

Lavinia's flaxen hair contrasted with the beauty of Serena's guinea-gold curls. Each had their own court of admirers, but Mr Kelling did not seem to want to belong to either set.

“You're losing your touch,” Lavinia had smirked when Joshua had walked away from her.

To which she had replied, seriously angry, “I can soon bring him to heel.”

Lavinia had lifted one beautifully arched eyebrow. “A wager?” she had asked. “To make it more interesting. Ten guineas declares you cannot bring him to propose.”

Fired up by Lavinia's taunting, Serena had accepted. And she had done it with style!

“Ten guineas?” she had asked disdainfully. “It's hardly worth my while. Let's make it twenty.”

On which sum they had agreed.

Twenty guineas if Mr Kelling proposed.

And humiliation if he did not.

It would have been a rash wager, even for Serena, if not for one thing.

Dismissing her maid she crossed to her escritoire and took out a folder in which she kept her correspondence. Her female correspondence, that was. Her letters from gentlemen were kept in quite a separate place. But her innocent letters, from relatives and the like, were kept in plain view. She took out a recent missive from her cousin and, climbing into bed, read it through again.

The letter had been sent from London, where her cousin Sarah was staying with an aunt. Serena, too, had been invited, but she did not like London out of Season, and so she had refused. But Sarah's letter had made interesting reading. Especially the bit about Lady Cranston's ball.

Serena found the right page and read it through.

“You'll never guess who I saw last night, at Lady Cranston's ball. Mr Kelling! Though what he is doing in London I don't know. I thought he was still in Manchester, running Marsden mill. He is looking more devilishly handsome than ever. But that is not what I want to tell you. Miss Fossington is here too! And what do you think? I just happened to be passing the door of the morning-room, quite by chance —”

Sneaked out of the ballroom after Mr Kelling, and put her ear to the keyhole more likely, thought Serena spitefully —

“—and what do you think I heard? A conversation, revealing Mr Kelling had compromised Miss Fossington! I didn't hear all the details, for some clumsy person knocked over a chair and the sound disturbed them —”

Really, Sarah, you must be more careful when you are eavesdropping, thought Serena with contempt, realizing at once what must have happened —

“but that is not the end of it, for I happened to see them together at Frost Fair the following day, and as I was skating past —”

Sarah is becoming an accomplished spy, thought Serena —

“I accidentally overheard Mr Kelling proposing to her in order to save her reputation. But what do you think? Miss Fossington refused him!”

Serena scanned the letter again and then folded it thoughtfully, putting it back in her satin folder.

It was this letter which had decided her not only to accept Lavinia's wager, but to double it, for it told her that Joshua Kelling, for all his wild appearance, was in fact a gentleman, and that he would, if he could be manoeuvred into compromising her, propose. That being so she would win her wager and give Lavinia Madely the biggest set-down of her life.

Whether she would actually marry Mr Kelling once she had trapped him into proposing to her Serena did not know. Something about his wildness alarmed her, and she had a feeling that, although she might be able to force him to offer her his hand, she would not be able to control him if they wed.

Still, she did not have to many him. All she had to do was get him to propose. After that her wager would be won and the betrothal could be broken off at any time.

Putting her letter folder back in her escritoire she climbed back into bed, and with her head full of plans for trapping Mr Kelling she finally fell asleep.