Page 43 of A Treacherous Treasure

“It is not Mr. Westbrook’s responsibility to take care of Rebecca,” Margaret said, sitting up straight, her eyes fairly sparking, “but she is my family, and if I were older, I would show him he could not shoot at my sister.”

Rebecca smiled. “Thank you, Margaret. I appreciate that.”

But Mother was not smiling. “That is not a ladylike attitude at all, Margaret Harper. You astonish me, talking like that.”

While Mother was not looking, Rebecca winked at her sister, who hid a laugh behind her hand.

“I am glad you have neighbors like Mr. Westbrook,” Mother went on. “He sounds like a very good young man. Is he married, or attached to anyone?”

“Not that I know of.” Rebecca and her sister exchanged amused grins.

“Well, then, he sounds like a very good marriage prospect.”

“Mother, before you marry me off to him, you should know that he’s not interested in me at all. For one thing, he and Arthur hated each other, so he is not likely to want to marry Arthur’s widow. Besides that, Thomas Westbrook can have any woman he chooses, for he is the three most valuable things a bachelor can be: Young, handsome, and rich. And furthermore, I have no wish to marry again, at least not right away.”

At some point in the future she did want to have a baby. She knew that she wanted children, but it was the husband she wasn’t sure she wanted. After all, a husband could hurt you and betray you and ignore you. But if she had a child, she could give them all her love and receive theirs in return.

She could wait, however. There was no sense in rushing into marriage again. If there was one thing she had learned, it was that she could be completely sure about man’s love for her . . . and she could be completely wrong.

~ ~ ~

Rebecca was glad when she received the invitation to dine at Wyghtworth. Now she could find out what happened earlier that day when Thomas Westbrook met with the Justice of the Peace and the constable.

She was just informing her mother and sister of their invitation to dine when a caller arrived.

“Mr. Gilbert Heywood,” the servant announced.

It was the cousin her mother-in-law had mentioned, the one who came to the funeral but did not stay at the house. Rebecca only met him briefly.

“Show him in,” Rebecca said, while she and her mother and Margaret fixed themselves so that they sat looking demure and proper.

Gilbert Heywood was quite young, she noticed, as he swept into the room with a rushed manner, which was nothing like Arthur’s, but there was something about him—his coloring, his hair and eyes—that reminded her of Arthur, the characteristic Heywood pallor. And though he might be considered handsome, he was not as handsome as Arthur.

But she no longer thought Arthur terribly handsome. In fact, sometimes she wondered that she ever found him handsome at all. There was an unkindness in his eyes that she hadn’t noticed until sometime after they were married. She found she preferred dark-haired men to blondes.

After the usual greetings, Rebecca said, “You live near here, do you not, Mr. Heywood?”

“About fifteen miles from here.”

Mother said, “And how are you related to Mr. Arthur Heywood?”

“His grandfather and mine were brothers. My grandfather was the oldest son and inherited the family estate, and Arthur’s grandfather went to sea and made his fortune. He built this estate himself with what he earned as a captain in the navy.”

“I see.” Mother smiled and nodded.

“I was very sorry to hear about my cousin Arthur’s untimely death,” he said, nodding and staring at the floor. “I hope the authorities have apprehended the scoundrel who killed him.”

“Not yet,” Rebecca said solemnly.

“Well, it is shocking indeed.”

“Indeed.” Mother nodded.

Thankfully, Margaret said nothing, but Rebecca could tell that she was listening to every word.

They talked on about other things, the state of the roads and the weather, typical topics of conversation with a stranger. But the longer they talked, the more Rebecca wondered why he was there.

“It is good that your family can come to visit you,” Gilbert Heywood said. “I should think, having lived all your life in London, you would be anxious to go back there.”