Mary Balogh: The constant heart

Julian was at her side, grinning with the joy of the evening's activities, asking her to join him for the next country dance. She pushed her back away from the tree.

"Sorry, youngster," Christopher's voice said, "this dance has been promised to me, I believe?"

He was smiling when Rebecca turned to him, and holding out a hand for hers.

"Thank you, Julian," she said, turning back to the younger brother. "Perhaps later?" And she placed her hand in Christopher's.

Even then she said nothing, but allowed him to lead her to join a set. It was a particularly vigorous and intricate country dance. They were separated frequently, and even when they danced together there were so many figures to execute and so many steps to remember that there was no chance to speak even a word. When it was over, he laid her hand on his arm in a courtly gesture that seemed strange in such a setting, and looked around him.

"Would you care to join my mother and sisters?" he asked. "I am sure they would be delighted with your company."

Rebecca tightened her grip on his sleeve and drew a nervous breath. "Christopher," she said, "I have been wishing to talk to you. All day."

He looked down into her face, a gleam of something in his eyes for a moment. "What is it?" he said. "Shall we walk?"

They walked in silence until they had passed the dense crowd around the dancing area and were strolling along the less crowded street outside the church. He had taken her hand and tucked it more comfortably beneath his arm. Rebecca could feel the blood pounding through her temples. Had she done the right thing? How was she to begin to speak to him?

"Is something troubling you, Becky?" he asked at last. "Can I be of any service to you?"

"No, there is nothing wrong," she said, "But I had to talk to you before you return to town. I have done you an injustice and I feel conscience-bound to apologize."

He laughed briefly. "You apologize to me?" he said. "What can you have possibly done to wrong me?"

"I have thought of you as being shallow and uncaring, and have treated you accordingly," she said. "I really believed that you visited the school only because you wished to impress others. I did not know that it is only through your generosity that the school exists at all. I might have known, of course. You were ever concerned about the plight of the poor. And I did not know about Cyril's eyeglasses. I thought that Philip had paid for them, you see, and I felt anger that you would still visit the school and show special interest in the boy when you had done nothing to really help him."

She was talking very fast.

Christopher lightly covered her hand with his. "Hush," he said. "You do not need to say more, Becky. I am vexed with Everett for telling you as much as you know. I thought I could have trusted him."

"I had guessed part of the truth," Rebecca said. "He merely confirmed my suspicions."

"Well," he said, "perhaps no real harm has been done. I am conceited enough to be pleased that there is perhaps at least something in me about which you will be able to think kindly. But I am not sure my motives have been as pure as you might think. 1 believe I was thinking less of the welfare of your boys than I was of enabling you to achieve one of your dreams. I like to think that I would have helped Everett even if I had not known of your interest in the scheme, but I cannot be sure that 1 would."

Rebecca looked up at him, a slight frown on her face. "You did it for me?" she asked. "Why? Was it a salve to your conscience?"

He winced. "You might call it that," he said. His hand was still over hers. They had walked, without realising it, past the church and the schoolhouse and onto the country lane that led to both their homes. The crowds were all behind them.

"I thank you anyway," she said. "The school has meant a great deal to me."

"Then I am happy," he said. "And would you like another room added, Becky, so that you can have your girls' school too? I shall give it to you as a wedding gift, shall 1?" His hand tightened momentarily around hers.

Rebecca did not answer immediately. "I think I have a long battle ahead before I can persuade Philip that there is a need for a girls' school," she said, "but I do mean to fight it. And I shall not say no to the gift if you still wish to give it when the time comes. But it will not be a wedding gift, Christopher."

"You do not wish me to give you a wedding gift?" he asked gently.

"There is to be no wedding," she said.

He stopped walking and turned to her. "What are you raying?" he asked. "The scoundrel has not let you down, has he? My God, I will not allow anyone else to do that to you. I'll kill him!"

"No," she said earnestly, laying a hand on his arm. "It was a mutual agreement, Christopher, made just today. We would not suit. I think we have both known it for quite j while, but it is hard to admit one has made a mistake when something as formal as a betrothal has taken place."

He was searching her face in the moonlight. "It seemed to me that you were eminently suited," he said. "I thought ›ou loved him, Becky."

"No," she said, and for some reason, standing there and looking up at him, in surely almost the exact spot where they had stood seven years before, all the confusions and uncertainties of the previous weeks washed over her and she was powerless either to look away or to stop the tears from trickling down her cheeks.

He bent closer and put his hands on her shoulders. "Are ›ou crying, Becky?" he said. "Oh, God, it has upset you after all. Don't cry, my love. Somehow everything is going to turn out well for you. It must. I don't know anyone who deserves happiness more than you do."

And he put his arms right around her and pulled her against him, cradling her head against his shoulder, rocking her comfortingly, murmuring unintelligible words into her hair.

Rebecca would not let herself break down completely. She leaned against him, relaxed into the strength of his body, closed her eyes to feel the comfort of his hand and cheek on her head, and brought herself slowly under control. But she did not want to break away. This moment was the whole of life. Tomorrow he would be gone. Perhaps in five minutes' time she would be thinking about his desertion again. For the rest of her life she would miss him and love him. But for this moment she was here in his arms and nothing else mattered. If he were a murderer and a traitor, it would not matter at the moment. Now was all that was important.

"You can let me go now, Christopher," she forced herself to say eventually. "I must be tired, I did not mean to cry." But she made no effort to pull away from him.

He too did not let go of her, but actually tightened his hold and rubbed his cheek across the top of her head. "I should not say this," he said. "I have no right. No right at all. But I have to say it just once as a self-indulgence. I love you, Becky Shaw. I have loved you for seven years and probably even before that, and I shall go to my grave loving you. It will not be very gratifying to you to know that you are loved by someone like me, but maybe sometimes when you are depressed as you have been this evening and perhaps feel very much alone, you may gain some fleeting comfort from knowing that there is one man to whom you are the whole world."

When she had finished taking some deep breaths in a conscious effort to keep control over herself, Rebecca found that her arms had somehow found their way around his neck. Her face was still buried against the lapels of his coat. "I don't love you," she said incoherently. "I can't love you, Christopher. I can't forgive you. I can't love you. I can't, Christopher, I can't."

She lifted her face to him and tightened her arms around his neck. "Tell me I am wrong," she cried. "Tell me that it is possible for me to love you. I can't. I can't forgive you."