Chapter 11

"No, I haven't told her of my work with the service any more than you have told her of yours," Rebecca said, saying it as an accusation as she sat before the fire in Phileas's study. The chill in the air wasn't going away, but the fire made it bearable.

"I have found her a very warm, outgoing young woman when properly encouraged."

"Yes, but she isn't one to show that easily or often," Phileas said, setting aside his tea. It came out sounding like a complaint. He didn't intend it so and apologized for the lapse.

Rebecca chose not to let it go. "Melody hasn't had much in the way of experience with marital affection," Rebecca said. "From what she has told me, the only emotions her parents displayed for one another were hatred and contempt. While the major may not have been much of a husband, he did belatedly take pity on his children and remove Charles and Melody from that house. Their schools, being the year-round kind, kept them away from the worst of the marital discord."

Phileas's was sitting stiff as a board in his chair. "I can't help but wonder why she told you these things and not me, her husband?" And this time he didn't apologize.

"Oh Phileas, you know perfectly well she didn't think you wanted her," Rebecca snapped. "Why would she confide such things to you if she thought you wanted her gone? And who could blame her when you came to breakfast on the last day of the voyage acting like you were walking through your worst nightmare? She's been expecting you to abandon her to some country backwater. Nothing I could say would change her mind."

"But you say I did–change her mind, I mean?"

Phileas wasn't sure if he should be grateful or angry about these revelations. The only thing he was sure about was being damnably curious, and the thought that Melody had taken their conversation to heart… That was warming.

"Phileas, do you have any feelings for Melody?" Rebecca said directly, waiting for him to tell her to mind her own business. It was an impertinent question, as Rebecca already knew that answer. The entire conversation was impertinent, but they were sharing confidences. Rebecca wanted to help her cousin's wife by pulling Phileas out of his shell. Phileas, good man that he was, and gentleman though and through, could be dense sometimes. The formality bred into men in their society was to blame for it, not any deficiency of sensitivity. The circumstances behind this marriage had put both of them at a disadvantage from the start.

"I have many feelings for Melody," Phileas said uncomfortably.

The emotional ground of the conversation made him want to run, but it was too late for that. While attempting to choose his words, he picked up his abandoned teacup to concentrate on. "Gratitude for her care for me during my incapacities, appreciation for the way she has taken to the care of my home. But that isn't what you are asking, is it?"

He took a deep breath and let it out again, and then resorted to a detached manner of speaking he used when dealing with potent emotions.

"I remember… I spent a voyage with a lovely young woman that I found very pleasant. She smiled often and laughed easily," he said, looking into his cup and smiling wistfully. "No, actually… I fell headlong the moment I laid eyes on her. But as I don't go about seducing young ladies, I had set her off limits shortly after our introduction. But, I couldn't keep away from her. I don't recall ever enjoying a woman's company more. She was captivating, warm, genuine, everything women I usually spend time with…"

"Pretend to be," Rebecca finished for him. It was a blatantly harsh remark. One that Rebecca was a bit surprised had come out of her, but it was also very true.

Rebecca was no prude. She had been raised among men and had become part of a very masculine profession. She understood men well and had a more tolerant outlook at their amorous appetites. And Rebecca would never fault a woman for being honest about her own appetites or for making her way in the world by catering to a man's. Who knew why or how such women had been put to it? But her cousin, in Rebecca's opinion, had been a complete pig in his tastes for companionship.

Oh, Phileas was a gentleman, true, and treated all women well, but over the last ten years or more… well. Spending time with and getting to know an innocent like Melody, and comparing her to his many sophisticated companions, would have been like comparing night to day.

Phileas pretended his cousin had not made that assessment. Instead, he was gathering newer images of their time at sea. Bits and pieces of memories had been resurfacing daily. He could now recall the Stiles's, who had been tolerant of his interest in Melody. They allowed him to spend time with her, with their chaperone, and invited him to sit with them at meals and accompany them and Melody on excursions. He had taken full advantage of it despite his understanding that nothing could come of it.

But something did–come of it. The morning of lovemaking, something far more than he expected. Melody had been warm and genuinely giving in ways his past lovers had never been. What he had done to bring that about, he still didn't know, but he wanted to experience more of it. He wanted to see her smile at him again without that guarded, apprehensive look in her eyes.

"All that changed when I discovered we were married," he said, heavy with regret. "My reaction to the news caused her to draw into herself."

The young woman he remembered admiring so much and the one he had brought home with him were two very different people. I damaged our relationship with my awkwardness. Is it too late? Is the damage permanent?

"My fault," he said, choking on the accusation.

Rebecca heard the hurt in his voice and ached for him. He didn't need to be so hopeless. She knew things he didn't and there was still a chance. Rebecca decided it was time to meddle. If there was a glimmer of hope, Melody would surely forgive the breach of confidence.

"She loves you."

Phileas looked up in surprise, too surprised to speak for several moments. "She doesn't show it."

"She bottles it up well, yes. Blame that on her fear of your sending her away. But she does love you," Rebecca said. "She loves you with all the blind devotion that a first love has. And you are her first love. The major kept his daughter away from men while abroad. Knowing how devilish charming you can be, it didn't surprise me you turned her innocent little head. But you broke her heart when you acted like the world had ended because you were suddenly married to her. Personally, I would have sent you over the side with a knife through your heart. But to your good fortune, Melody isn't a violent woman."

"No," Phileas said. "But she tossed a hairbrush at me."

"Ah! Well then, there is hope for her." Rebecca said, brightening, before taking a sip of her tea. And now all we must do is get her back so you can do your magic again."

"What magic?" Phileas asked.

Rebecca looked up at him as she took the last sip of her tea. "You know," she said. "Just do what you did to tear down her defenses the first time."

"No, I don't know." Phileas said. "That part of my memory still hasn't returned yet. I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about."

Rebecca stood, putting her cup on the table. No, I will not tell him about that.

"I think my breach of confidence with your wife has gone far enough for one day," Rebecca said. She casually and quickly as possible, headed for the door. Before she took the third step, Phileas's voice caught her.

"Rebecca, take one more step toward that door before answering me and you will regret it. You started this conversation, and you are going to finish it. It has been a long time, but I do still remember the most successful way to interrogate you."

Oh, God!

Rebecca flew into motion, rushing for the stairs. Phileas sprang out of his chair and had her caught before reaching the steps. She twisted, trying to trip him.

Get to my room. He won't break a door down to get to me.

The move didn't work. He had been expecting it. Phileas side stepped the maneuver, executed a move, countering hers and pulling her off her feet. He had her trapped in his arms and carried her back into the study. Tossing her onto the closest sofa on her stomach, he pinned her down. He smiled, anticipating. She didn't even have the protection of a corset.

"Phileas, don't you dare!" she growled.

"That depends on you," he said, standing over her with one hand holding her firmly down in the middle of her back, getting a knee over her hips. "Are you going to answer my question?"

"NO!"

"Then I dare!"

Passepartout came bolt upright in bed from a deep sleep, hearing a shriek. It was followed by another and still another. He got off the bed before he was fully awake, falling to the floor. He had never heard Miss Rebecca make such a noise, but he knew it was her. She was downstairs by the sound of it and in need of help.

Passepartout jumped into his pants fast and grabbed a pistol from his bedside table. He flew down two flights of stairs to the front of the house, where Miss Rebecca's cries were still coming. The valiant valet was about to rush through to Miss Rebecca's aid when the sounds coming through the open door registered in his still half sleep-drugged mind. Miss Rebecca wasn't crying out in pain or fright, not really. She was shrieking with laughter.

Passepartout lowered his pistol and looked into the room through the half-open door. His master had Miss Rebecca on the sofa facing away from the door, tickling her mercilessly and demanding answers to questions she was refusing to give. Her legs kicked up at him, showing shins and slippered feet, along with the flowing material of her dressing gown.

Master Fogg changed position, sitting on Miss Rebecca's legs and attacking her ribs with more diligence.

Passepartout not knowing Miss Rebecca being ticklish.

The valet smiled and stepped back toward the stairs. Master Fogg would have his answer soon. Miss Rebecca couldn't last much longer under that pressure. He went back to his room to fully dress. Passepartout would give his master ten, no, half an hour more. Then, if Miss Rebecca had not given up, he would use the back stairs to get to the kitchen. Surely, by the time the food is ready, it will be over.

On his way up, Rebecca shrieked again, crying out her defiance. Passepartout chuckled to himself and started whistling.