“You are no better than I, Thornhill. Why did you go to all this trouble? I wager it’s for the same reason I had.”
“There you are wrong, Mainmount,” Mr. Thornhill replied, proudly glancing back at his rival. “I offered my help to Mrs. Higham, who was concerned for her niece, to pay back a debt of honor my father owed Mr. Higham. We do not all have base motives, as do you.”
Mr. Mainmount snorted derisively as Mr. Thornhill walked Cecilia across the park. She could not speak; she was so appalled and ashamed of herself and by Mr. Thornhill’s assertion that he had only helped her out of gentlemanly honor.
“I am sorry for such an unpleasant scene, Miss Wilcox. I hope you can forgive my indelicate words to him and my behavior.”
“Of course, sir, I do not suppose it was any worse than my own. Though I wonder you should have troubled yourself after I ignored your warning.”
“You know why.”
“Yes, though I feel I am in your debt for coming to my rescue twice already.”
“Only twice? I think you underestimate Mr. Mainmount.”
“Do you tell me, then, you have been following me? Am I such a child I should need such careful watching?” Cecilia said, piqued at his implication.
“Perhaps,” Mr. Thornhill said in an infuriatingly clipped tone.
“I wish you had not bothered.” She wished he did not unsettle her so much. Her throat tightened.
“Do not be petulant. Would you rather he had continued his attentions?”
Cecilia could only shake her head in reply. She remained silent as they reached the street and crossed to Mrs. Higham’s, where he brought her inside, apparently determined to do his duty and see her safely with her mother. She would not be safe, not from the harsh words which would no doubt be hurled at her. At least Fanny was not there, Cecilia was relieved to see. It was enough to see the shock and vexation on her mother’s face, however.
“Mr. Thornhill. Excuse me, but where is Mr. Mainmount, sir?” Mrs. Wilcox began in an irritated tone.
“He is gone, I assume. Forgive me, but I believe Miss Wilcox ought to go upstairs. Perhaps Miss Amelia could take her,” he said, releasing Cecilia, who stood still as her cousin came to her.
“I think not, sir. What is the meaning of this, Cecilia?” Mrs. Wilcox said, rising and approaching her daughter.
“Sister, you forget yourself. Please forgive us, Mr. Thornhill, we are confused by this,” Mrs. Higham put in.
“Of course. I will explain, but would it not be best for Miss Wilcox to leave?”
“She shall not go anywhere until she tells me herself. Now then, what have you done, Cecilia?” Mrs. Wilcox continued, grasping Cecilia’s arm. She bowed her head, humiliated. He would never wish to see her again.
“Madam!” Mr. Thornhill commanded their attention. “Your daughter has done nothing. What has occurred she will doubtless not wish to repeat in front of me, nor do I wish to subject her to my telling of it.”
Cecilia’s face burned as Amelia, in a rare display of affection, embraced her cousin.
“You frighten me, sir. Is it so terrible?” Mrs. Higham asked as she got up and forced her sister to rejoin her on the couch.
“Thankfully, I heard Miss Wilcox in distress before I believe much harm was done,” he began, glancing toward Cecilia. Sighing, he continued. “Mr. Mainmount was, I believe, pressing his suit, which it seems Miss Wilcox had refused, when he attempted to, when he…” Mr. Thornhill faltered.
“He embraced her?” Mrs. Higham asked.
“Yes, though that does not quite describe what I saw.” Cecilia hid her face in her hands. He had seen and what he may have heard was enough to make her feel ill again. “I immediately seized him and, suffice it to say, an unpleasant scene followed. However, I believe he has been convinced to stay away from Miss Wilcox,” Mr. Thornhill finished. Cecilia hung her head.
“We are most grateful to you, sir. I do not see how we can ever repay your kindness. Thank you for keeping our girl from harm,” Mrs. Higham said while surreptitiously kicking her sister’s foot.
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Thornhill,” Mrs. Wilcox said with no sincerity.
“I ought take my leave of you now.” Mr. Thornhill bowed to the two sisters before glancing again at Cecilia, who braved meeting his eyes. He winced and strode out.
“Well, Cecilia, I hope you are satisfied. Why did you refuse Mr. Mainmount? Clearly no one else will have you,” Mrs. Wilcox said, her voice shrill and demanding.
“Leticia! You know that is untrue. It is you who should be sorry as you pushed him on her. Let Amelia take her to her room.”
“Very well.”
“Thank you, Aunt Higham,” Cecilia said in a choked whisper. “But do not blame Mama. I need not have encouraged him nor should I have ignored the warnings I was given about him.”
“She is a good girl, after all, Leticia. We have both been too hard on her,” Mrs. Higham said.
“Humph. She will soon recover her willfulness, no doubt. I still say he was the best choice.”
Cecilia could hear no more. She plodded upstairs, Amelia supporting her.
Chapter Nine
C
ecilia chewed a bite of toast, wishing the sound would block the shrill voices of her mother, aunt, and cousins. Amelia had protected her the evening before, but after a long talk, she pronounced Cecilia maddeningly wishy-washy and unwilling to accept guidance. This morning, she made her come downstairs for breakfast under threat of having a private talk with her aunt Wilcox. Cecilia complied. She had no desire for her mother to know all she had ever told Amelia.
“You see, sister, Fanny agrees. She ought not have refused Mr. Mainmount,” her mother said, over the protestations of Aunt Higham and Amelia.
“She may still secure Mr. Thornhill--” Aunt Higham said.
“He will no doubt announce his engagement to his cousin any moment,” Mrs. Wilcox said. “Why you put him forward when he--”
“If I speak to Mrs. Harfoot, she might smooth things--” Fanny put in.
“You ought send her home,” Amelia said.
“No--” Aunt Higham and her mother said at once.
“Fanny, will you call on Mrs. Harfoot this morning?” her mother continued over the harrumphing of Aunt Higham. “Perhaps--”
“No!” Cecilia said. “I will never marry Mr. Mainmount. Please let me go home.”
“Absolutely not,” her mother said. “Many other gentlemen showed an interest in you. We still have a fortnight--”
“Please, Mama. I could go by post chaise, or perhaps Wil would fetch me home in the Partridges--”
“Enough. Go up and ready yourself for church. Remember to hold your tongue.”
Cecilia pushed herself away from the table and scuffed upstairs. She wrung her hands in front of the bedroom window, staring across the square. Even now, Mr. Thornhill was probably breakfasting with his uncle and cousin. He might at this very moment be proposing. Cecilia’s ears rushed. The river swept her under its swift current. She would have to be still and let it take her where it may. It was her best chance of survival.
Cecilia’s mind was eased by the quiet service and the calm which often crept over her, albeit briefly, on Sundays. Her quietude was short-lived when she noticed not only the Mainmounts, save Mr. Mainmount, in attendance, but also Mr. Thornhill, his cousin, and a gentleman she assumed was his uncle. Small wonder there was a resemblance between the cousins; Lord Nefton looked as she imagined Mr. Thornhill would in twenty years or so. After the service, she shook, hemmed in by her aunt and mother, when Mr. Thornhill approached with his uncle and introduced him to herself and her family while Miss Nefton was occupied with other acquaintances.
“Miss Wilcox, may I say my nephew is a master of understatement? You are much lovelier than he led me to believe.” Cecilia blushed and thanked him as he said in an undertone to Mr. Thornhill: “Anna had the right of it, as usual.” He continued, now addressing her aunt Higham. “My daughter hopes you will all be able to join us for a small party on Tuesday, as do I.”
“Yes, thank you, we received the invitation yesterday. I sent a reply, perhaps she did not receive it yet. I ought speak to my footman,” Mrs. Higham said.
Cecilia glanced at her aunt, upset they had not told her of this invitation. What could it mean? She studied Mr. Thornhill, hoping for some clue to her puzzle, but was met with his most inscrutable gaze. As they made their farewells, Cecilia was waylaid by Miss Nefton, who approached with a young lady, another family close behind. Her mother and aunt spoke to Lord Nefton when Miss Nefton greeted her, introducing her friend. Mr. Thornhill whispered to his cousin. Cecilia noticed Miss Nefton’s bare hands and a ring sparkling on one of her slender, pale fingers. It looked very much like the ring Fanny had received from Mr. Borden. Cecilia was struck dumb but Miss Nefton’s acquaintance made Cecilia’s speech unnecessary.
“I was just congratulating Miss Nefton on her engagement. Her intended is very dashing, do you know him?” she remarked confidentially to Cecilia, as Miss Nefton spoke to Mr. Thornhill.
“Yes, they make a handsome couple,” Cecilia replied as Miss Nefton and Mr. Thornhill turned back to them. Her head throbbed. “Congratulations on your engagement,” Cecilia said as politely as she could. She would steal a steed, walk if she must, but she would go home today.
“Thank you,” Miss Nefton said. The other family, a stately couple and a tall ginger-haired officer, appeared behind her while Cecilia’s aunt and Lord Nefton cut off any escape. “You have not met my fiancé. May I introduce Captain Shaunessey and his family?”
Cecilia fought her broad smile as the introductions were made. Mr. Thornhill was not engaged. But why had he pretended an attachment to his cousin? Like ‘Ret, he had deceived her.
Unseeing, Cecilia soon left with her aunt and mother. Mr. Thornhill had not even attempted to speak with her. If he cared for her at all, he would have inquired after her. Trying to think through the fog enclosing her mind, she sat in the drawing room. Noise and voices seeped through to her, but she did not comprehend any of it. Rubbing her forehead, she recited poem after poem until her mind quieted.
The door opened at one point, but only Mr. Holden was announced, who had come to check on Cecilia and discuss the book he had loaned her. It was not a disagreeable visit, but he was not Mr. Thornhill.
“May I rest now,” Cecilia asked as the afternoon wore on.
“No. Mr. Thornhill may call,” her mother said.
Cecilia continued her waiting and wondering until she had to get dressed for dinner. Mr. Thornhill never called.
***
“Do you plan to sequester yourself until you return to Lionel Hall?” Lord Nefton said as he barged into the upstairs sitting room where Mr. Thornhill sat, ostensibly taking care of his correspondence.
“I begin to think it would be best.” He crossed his legs and faced his uncle, who poured himself a brandy and sat on the sofa.
“A young woman such as Miss Wilcox will not long remain unattached.”
Mr. Thornhill attempted to confront his uncle’s appraisal, only to rise and pour himself a drink in defeat. “She has made no indication of her feelings toward me--”
“Fool boy. Anyone could see--”
“And her mother. You cannot expect me to--” He faced his uncle, gesturing with his free hand.
“Do not interrupt me.”
Mr. Thornhill sat with a sigh. He had always preferred to avoid his uncle when they disagreed. Lord Nefton had a disturbing way of not only getting his way but also of being correct.
“I know what Mrs. Wilcox is. She is much like her own mother. Do not make the mistake I did, Greyton. Mrs. Higham, Miss Rigg as was…such beauty and spirit I have not known before or since.”
Mr. Thornhill raised an eyebrow. His uncle had travelled the world, known many women.
Lord Nefton stared him down and waved a dismissive hand. “Perhaps there are women more outwardly pleasing, but hers was a beauty encompassing all dimensions. You would do well to recognize Miss Wilcox has the same quality. Having been lied to in your past affairs, I do not doubt you may not see her true character, but you ought trust me, at least.”
“I do not trust her feelings as yet, or my own. You yourself know how mercurial such a passion--”
“You admit you are in love with her, then?”
Mr. Thornhill ground his teeth. His uncle would interrupt him. “I care for her. I told you what happened with that rogue Mainmount. I nearly snapped his neck for what he presumed…had you seen her eyes, you would not wonder at my hesitation. She has been through enough.” He set down his glass and pushed his hands through his hair.
“Had you declared yourself in the beginning, she need not have experienced any unpleasantness.” His uncle rose and strode to the door. “Anna expects you at dinner.”
Mr. Thornhill said nothing as his uncle shut the door behind him. The polite refusal lodged in his throat behind the groan of shame: his uncle was right again.
“Why will you not admit I am right?” Anna said as they finished dinner that night.
Mr. Thornhill wished she had gone to dine with Captain Shaunessey and his family. Instead, only Anna, his uncle, and himself supped together, most likely so the two could continue scolding him as if he was a boy of five.
“I oughtn’t have let you talk me into deceiving Miss Wilcox. She would suit you perfectly and I say again she likes you very much. Did you not see her smile when she found it was not you to whom I was engaged?”
Mr. Thornhill threw down his napkin and stood. He strode to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of port, hoping Anna would leave. He had seen Cecilia’s smile, but she had also frowned, her eyes flashing in pain.
“Perhaps she is too good for you. She does not deserve such a stubborn, foolish man as you.” She drew herself to her full height as Mr. Thornhill faced her. How a woman barely over five feet could intimidate him forced a small chuckle. She narrowed her eyes as he stared back at her. “You will deliver my note of apology to her tomorrow or I shan’t speak to you again, except as civility dictates.” She flounced from the room, slamming the door on her way out.
Lord Nefton laughed. “Anna is quite right.”
“Were she a man…” Mr. Thornhill rubbed the back of his neck.
“She would thrash some sense into you.” Lord Nefton clapped him on the back. “I would myself, but I have always preferred diplomacy.”
Mr. Thornhill barked a laugh and settled himself with another drink.
***
Silence rang in Cecilia’s ears as she sat alone at breakfast the next morning. Her aunt, mother, and cousins all asserted the night before it was her stubborn refusal to listen to each of them, though they had all given her different advice, which led her into her current, suitor-less situation. Of course, only Amelia did not care about that part of things, yet she was still upset with Cecilia for her behavior and unwillingness to listen or speak to her about her problems. Thus none of them spoke to Cecilia that morning; they were all busy with Amelia’s wedding in any event. Cecilia did not mind their ignoring her. It gave her some respite and time to consider her feelings.
As she sat in St. George’s Chapel, Cecilia fingered her pale pink dress while Amelia said her vows, vows Cecilia had dreamed so many times to exchange with ‘Ret. Yet, when she closed her eyes, it was Mr. Thornhill who appeared at the altar with her, no matter how many times she tried to place ‘Ret there. Mr. Thornhill, whom she had merely thought of as a proper, if enigmatic and arresting, gentleman.
The behavior of both of these gentlemen still puzzled her and she was vexed with them both for their different deceptions of her. Also, Mr. Thornhill could not care for her. If he cared anything for her he would wish to make sure she was well. Clearly, he did not like her any more than Mr. Cateret did. It must have been as he said. Mr. Thornhill only acted out of honor. Yet that did not explain his seeming regard during the ball and their drives out together. She had no explanation for Mr. Cateret’s behavior either, however, which had seemed much more amorous than Mr. Thornhill’s, though she suspected from her dealings with Mr. Mainmount such behavior was simply that of a rake and Mr. Cateret had desisted out of friendship for Wil. If this was the case, he too acted out of honor, like Mr. Thornhill. It was sore comfort to know the two men were honorable if neither returned her feelings.
Cecilia was again ashamed of herself. From her aunt’s drawing room window, she watched Amelia, now Mrs. Dryden, drive off with Mr. Dryden, knowing she had barely paid any attention to anything or anyone other than herself and her own troubles. No wonder Amelia and everyone else, for that matter, was so annoyed with her.
She had ample time for reflection, as her mother, aunt, and Fanny retired to their rooms for the afternoon, tired from the morning’s activity and, perhaps, Cecilia’s company. She sat alone in the drawing room, writing letters, reading, and practicing on the pianoforte. As she went to gaze out the window, only to sigh again over the drizzly pane and dark skies, she started at a knock on the door. Mr. Thornhill was announced; he entered carrying a large bouquet of pink roses, greeting her with detached politeness. She smiled a little, glad of the company, yet she trembled as she invited him to sit. Handing her the flowers, he sat, uncomfortably rigid, in a chair across from the sofa, where Cecilia perched.
“Miss Wilcox, I beg your pardon for any intrusion. I come on an errand for my cousin.”
“I am at your disposal, sir.”
“You are well, then?”
“As you see.” She fingered the silken rose petals; their fragrance soothed her.
“We, or rather I, wish to apologize for letting you believe Miss Nefton and I had an attachment. It was my doing entirely.”
“I do not see the need for apology. I am sure she meant no harm.”
“But you believe I did?”
“I do not know what to believe, sir. I only know I would not have…” Cecilia stopped, not wanting to reveal her feelings. She placed the bouquet on the cushion. “I suppose it does not matter. I ought not have encouraged Mr. Mainmount when I did not love him, as my aunt and cousin have been telling me these last two days.”
“Your relations have been advising you?” Mr. Thornhill asked with a sarcastic chuckle. “Mine as well, I’m afraid. I do not think I have received such scolding since I was a boy,” he finished with a sly smile.