“At least you only have two to upbraid you. I have had four.” Cecilia smiled until the question she wished to pose edged to the front of her mind. “Mr. Thornhill, why did you choose to mislead me? I know I ignored your warning, but could you not have found some other way to help, if that is what you felt you must do?”
“I suppose so. I wanted to tell you last week I wished you would not receive Mr. Mainmount anymore, but that gentleman interrupted me. I could not like your reaction to him and his remarks. I am sorry, it was wrong of me.”
“Thank you, sir. I am sorry if my behavior was not what you would like, but I truly did not see the harm in it. I certainly did not believe I caused you a moment’s consternation.”
“Are you really so naïve, Miss Wilcox?”
“Excuse me?” Cecilia said, swallowing back her tears and dismay. “One day you tell me my innocence and modesty must be protected and the next you leave me to the devices of a man you know to be a seducer only to have you then blame me for being too naïve? What do you want of me, sir? You are a man of the world and a gentleman, should you not know better than I? Yet your behavior of late does not recommend you to my trust.”
“I believe you misunderstand me, Miss Wilcox. Perhaps I ought to go,” he said, standing.
“It seems I understand very little, Mr. Thornhill. I think I ought to have stayed at home. I would gladly return there today if I could,” Cecilia replied, having composed herself. “Perhaps you will be so kind as to make my apologies to Lord Nefton and Miss Nefton. I feel it would be best if I do not leave Mrs. Higham’s again.”
“If you truly do not wish to attend their party, I will do as you ask. I wish you to know I would miss your company. I hope you will reconsider,” Mr. Thornhill said.
Cecilia nodded her head but did not speak; she was afraid of more tears. She rose, giving a little curtsy. He bowed. After he shut the door, she sat, her cheeks wet as the rain-pelted pane.
Mr. Thornhill strode across the Square, his umbrella shielding him from the torrent battering from the sky. Had he his choice, he would mount his horse and ride out until the wind and motion numbed him. But Anna and his uncle expected him back.
Slamming into his room, he startled Jennings, who readied his evening attire.
“May I--” Jennings began.
“You may send all women to the devil!” Mr. Thornhill said as he shook off his greatcoat and slumped into the chair. Jennings frowned, his eyebrows pushed together. “I apologize.”
Jennings nodded and handed him a brandy. “Your interview with Miss Wilcox was less than satisfactory?”
Satisfaction could come only when she was his wife. He shook his head. That would never be.
“May I be so bold as to impart something I have learned?”
Mr. Thornhill nodded. One of his earliest memories was of Jennings teaching him to fish his uncle’s lake.
“Perhaps Miss Wilcox does not know her mind in matters of the heart yet, but she has spirit and intelligence, a kindness and sensibility which recommend her.”
“That was suitably vague,” Mr. Thornhill said.
“This is not: you need a wife. You are nine and twenty, sir…and too open to the machinations of women like Mrs. Carter--”
“You have said enough. I will not play the fool again, you may be sure.”
“Very well. If there is nothing else…”
Mr. Thornhill shook his head and leaned back. For now, he would stay true to his heart, however foolish and frustrated he felt, however much a blackguard he was. He had obligations elsewhere. If only Gregory would return. Then he would be free.
As he sat in the study an hour later, his cousin entered with a note she had just received from Cecilia. After apologizing for interrupting him, which Mr. Thornhill waved away, she sat down in the chair next to his.
“Greyton, can you not even apologize to Miss Wilcox without upsetting her? Of course she does not say so, as she writes she is sorry for saying anything impolite to you and if she has misunderstood you, she is sorry for that too. I am sure it is not her fault, however. You deserve a round scolding for misleading her.”
“And I have received one. Will she be joining us day after tomorrow?”
“Yes. I hope you will try not to be quite so proud. A man in love needs to learn a little humility, you know,” she admonished with a bright smile.
“I have never said I am in love with Miss Wilcox and she seems unsettled just now. I had rather wait. She will return home in a fortnight. I doubt she will come across such another as Mr. Mainmount in that time. Perhaps I could invite her family to join us at Lionel Hall when you will be there in July.”
Anna sighed at his stubbornness. “If you wish, certainly I should like to continue the acquaintance. However, I tell you she is not so confused. I could see she likes you very much. Why you choose not to believe me when you are clearly in love with her I do not know, except we all know you are infuriatingly stubborn,” she said, rising to leave.
“No more so than you are, dear cousin,” Mr. Thornhill replied. He stood to give her a bow as she exited the room. His cousin was correct, as usual, but he would not give her the satisfaction of admitting it.
***
Mr. Cateret lounged as best he could in the hard-backed bench of the tavern. On the dingy table stood two cups of inferior but potent whiskey. The cackling laughter, low moans, shouts, and slurred bawdy songs contrasted sharply with the quiet atmosphere of Middleton House, where he had been until this morning. He had hoped to find peace, had sought release in sport, in certain houses in Oxford, but none had driven Cecilia from his mind and heart. Upon hearing of ‘Mount’s courting her, he had convinced Mr. Wilcox of the unsuitability of such a match. That good gentleman had written without delay informing Cecilia she may not become engaged to anyone at present. ‘Ret smiled, causing a passing woman in a too-small dress to stop. He waved his hand at her. He had no need for such as she. Soon enough he and Cecilia would be together.
“Fratéllo mío,” ‘Mount said as he appeared beside the table.
‘Ret stood and clapped him on the back, any further show of friendship curtailed by the sling on ‘Mount’s right arm. ‘Ret raised his eyebrow once they sat facing each other.
‘Mount waved his uninjured arm. “Merely the work of a jealous rival. I believe I know why you seek me out so quickly after your arrival. It is not just for the pleasure of my company”
“No, I wish to know what you are up to with Miss Wilcox.”
“Yes, I know you have an interest there. My intentions were honorable, I assure you, but that Thornhill fellow constantly interrupted and meddled with my plans.” As Mr. Mainmount recounted what had occurred with Cecilia, ‘Ret was by turns amused and enraged; upon hearing his telling of ‘Mount’s proposal to Cecilia and the events following, ‘Ret stood glaring his friend.
“Do sit down. I honestly believed she was being coy. I was sure she must have been broken in a bit by you, for when I tried the same in the garden during our dinner party, she whispered your name. Didn’t get anywhere then, of course. Her nosy aunt interrupted us. Besides, I truly wanted to marry her and I could have persuaded her had it not been for Thornhill.”
“You are a bastard, ‘Mount,” said ‘Ret, reseating himself.
“True enough,” ‘Mount said as the two exchanged a secret smile. “But what has that to do with Miss Wilcox? She will never have me now, as Thornhill made known to her my current behavior. A little vixen she is, she slapped me, hard too, after he spilled my secrets,” ‘Mount said with a hint of regret.
“Not the first time for you and won’t be the last, no doubt. What of this Thornhill then?”
“Oh, he prattles on about honor and such nonsense, but he wants her, the same as we do.”
“Do you say he would seduce her?”
“No, I never said I would, did you?”
‘Ret shook his head vehemently. An elopement was not a seduction. All would be forgiven once he and Cecilia returned from the continent after a few years.
“I did not think so,” ‘Mount said. “He probably wants to marry her, I expect, as I did. I would rather you had her, ‘Ret. At least she would be in the family.”
“Not that I’ll let you near her. Do you think her in love with him? Surely not, if you believe she might have accepted you.”
“I do not think her in love with him, not yet. I believe my chance was because she had an attachment to you and she saw how alike we are. I had hoped she would transfer that affection to me,” Mr. Mainmount finished, shrugging. “Now I shall have to have that insipid girl Mary Cavendish, I suppose, as my mother decided Miss Wilcox would not bring in enough to support me.” He chuckled, musing over the greediness of his parent.
“Not I. I would take Cecilia with nothing, but I do not have anyone to answer to.”
“Too bad we cannot both marry her, then she could be Lady Mainmount and you could keep her happy when I tire of her.”
“Shut up, ‘Mount.”
“Oh, you are in love.” Mr. Mainmount laughed. “I hope you can secure her, but I wish you would not condemn my idea, for we both know you are as likely to lose interest as I, even in such a one as she, after a while.”
“Speak for yourself. She is not like any other woman I have known.”
“I seem to recall you saying the same about--”
“Do stop it, or I will leave.”
“Very well, let us find some other amusement, then,” Mr. Mainmount said, his roving eye active once again.
Chapter Ten
C
ecilia, with a tug, pulled on her gloves and pelisse. She had been in London a fortnight and while she tried to take a walk every day, the weather had often made this impossible when her own indisposition had not. Also, she could not venture very far in the city, as she could at home. Still, some bit of air and greenery was better than being shut inside her aunt’s all day. Though rain threatened again, she ventured out. She was restless, knowing Lord Nefton’s party was that evening. The chill air whipped at her cheeks, which she chafed a few times while she looked about, noticing the heavy clouds. Glancing ahead, she stopped. She needn’t rub her cheeks now, they burned.
“Good morning, I had hoped to find you here.”
“Mr. Cateret. I had not heard you were in town.” Her stomach dipped, queasy.
“I believe you know why. Will you give me a few moments, please?”
Cecilia nodded, but her ill feeling increased as he led her into the same copse of trees Mr. Mainmount had. Cecilia did not know what to say. Had he changed his mind and now wished to declare himself? She stood silently, for she had been so confused and now everything seemed topsy-turvy once again.
“Cecilia, bella, I am sorry for not declaring myself at Middleton House,” ‘Ret began, grasping her hands in his. “I felt I had to deny my feelings for you, they were so overwhelming and I did not wish to engulf you in them. Every moment since the day of the picnic has been painful to me. I was wrong for trying to mislead you, for not seeking you out. I love you, passionately, devotedly. Say you will be mine, dearest,” ‘Ret finished as he caressed her cheek. Cecilia’s throat constricted but when she returned his gaze, his eyes pooled, tender and sad, as when he had grieved for his mother and sisters. He was dear to her—she did not wish to hurt him.
“I have loved you, ‘Ret,” she said in a whisper.
Giving a quick smile, ‘Ret leant over and kissed her cheek, then, clasping her arms, he moved to her lips. As he did, Cecilia started, for his kiss was so like Mr. Mainmount’s that all their similarities, the good and the bad, came flooding to her. Muffling a cry, she pushed him away. She darted her eyes around the stand of trees, half expecting Mr. Thornhill to emerge again, as he had a few days before. Squeezing shut her eyes, his image swam before her, leaning into her, holding her…
“I am sorry, dearest. I know why you hesitate. I should have been here to protect you from Mr. Mainmount’s advances,” he said. Cecilia opened her eyes and studied him.
“How do you know of what happened with Mr. Mainmount?” Cecilia asked. She rubbed her arms, cold after the summery mirage of Mr. Thornhill’s embrace.
“I spoke to ‘Mount last night,” he began as Cecilia’s brow crinkled. “I needed to know what he was about with you and perhaps persuade him to leave off, which proved unnecessary, of course.”
“Was he sorry? Did you make him sorry for what he did to me?”
“He was, or as sorry as ‘Mount ever is. I would not call him out, if that is what you mean. I can understand how he was overcome. Besides, as to making him sorry, his arm was slinged, thanks to Mr. Thornhill.”
“Good. Do you understand he took liberties with me no man should who has been told he is not loved or accepted by the woman he desires? I am only thankful Mr. Thornhill happened upon us, for I shudder to think what else your friend may have decided to do.”
“Yes, Mr. Thornhill, that honorable gentleman,” ‘Ret snapped.
“He is an honorable man, which is much more than I can say for your friend, and perhaps yourself.” Cecilia did not feel the cold wind, as heat flashed through her at ‘Ret’s tone.
“When it comes to you, I have tried. I wished to protect you, whatever pain it cost me.”
“I am sorry for your pain, but if your intentions had been honorable, I believe you would have declared yourself,” Cecilia asserted, crossing her arms.
“Has Mr. Thornhill declared himself?”
“No.” She held herself tighter. “What has that to do with you? He has only known me a fortnight, you have been our friend these eight years past. Yet he would not excuse Mr. Mainmount’s behavior as you seem to. If I had not been there, he would have taught Mr. Mainmount a lesson he would not soon forget. As it is, I am grateful to Mr. Thornhill for his protection and kindness.”
“I hope you will not confuse your gratitude to him for some other feeling,” ‘Ret said.
“It is you who my feelings have been confused about. If you will excuse me, I should return to my aunt’s.”
“No, wait,” he said, holding her arm, “let us not argue, dearest.”
“Do not call me that. You have no right. You have made no honest declaration, other than of your love. How am I to know you would not have used me and left me to other men, like Mr. Mainmount, perhaps? You probably had it all arranged between you.”
“Please, do not mistake me. Let me speak,” Mr. Cateret said.
“No,” Cecilia retorted.
“Tell me you do not love me and I shall leave.”
“I will let Shakespeare speak for me: ‘O, how can Love’s eye be true, / That is so vex’d with watching and with tears? / No marvel then that I mistake my view, / The sun itself sees not till heaven clears. / O cunning Love, with tears thou keep’st me blind, / Lest eyes well seeing thy foul faults should find.’ Please, let me go.”
“Why, so your mother can force you to marry where you do not love?”
“I will marry for love.”
“Then you shall marry me.”
Cecilia sighed and stared through the trees. A tiny part of her flitted, elated ‘Ret finally told her he loved her, but she believed he did not, whatever he may say, or had not, meant to marry her. This made his love unacceptable and her feelings for him misguided, at least. Then too was his disturbing similarity to Mr. Mainmount, as well as Mr. Thornhill entering her mind when ‘Ret kissed her.
“Will you not answer me? I can take you away now, we can…”
“No, I cannot. Is this, has this been your plan? To elope with me? I will never do that. Do you think me a simpleton? Perhaps I did not understand before, but I have learned much in these weeks, much I wish I knew not. I must go, please.” Mr. Cateret held her still, but released her on hearing someone call Cecilia’s name faintly. She slid through an opening in the trees; it was Fanny, an impatient frown pushed her lips into a thin line. Fortunately, she appeared to have seen nothing.
“You and your walks. Your mama felt you had been gone long enough, especially when she read her letters. Mr. Cateret has left Middleton House.”
“Has he?” Cecilia said, amazed at her new ability of concealment, though it made her stomach hollow.
Pacing about her room later, Cecilia fretted over the meaning of it all, and worried she had not the proper feelings of a young lady. A proprietous young lady would not have let ‘Ret or Mr. Mainmount kiss her, nor would she enjoy it in the least, nor would she wonder how she might feel should Mr. Thornhill embrace her. At least she had the decency to blush over the imagining of it.
Her mother scolded her after breakfast, tried to discover if Cecilia had seen Mr. Cateret, but Cecilia merely shrugged. In exasperation, Mrs. Wilcox sent her to her room, where Cecilia spent the afternoon writing letters, reading, and sewing, though she had to give up the last after picking out several stitches in a row. Fortunately, the maid knocked, having been sent to help Cecilia ready herself for Lord Nefton’s party. Now she need not think further over the puzzling and vexing behavior of men, or herself.
As the maid put up Cecilia’s hair and wound delicate gold braid through her coils and burnished ringlets, Cecilia touched the roses Mr. Thornhill had given her and smiled. He was so kind and gallant and most unlike Mr. Cateret. She frowned briefly then smiled, knowing she must cheer herself. Her mother came in, watching as the maid finished Cecilia’s hair, curling small ringlets framing her face. Dismissing the maid, she chided Cecilia, whose smile faded again.
“What is the matter with you, child? Are you hiding something from me? You had best tell me. You know I shall discover it eventually.”
“I am only a little nervous, Mama. You and Aunt Higham seem to think I will be ignored since you say I drove away all my callers,” Cecilia said. Though this was true, Cecilia felt guilty for her deception; she was really anxious about Mr. Cateret and Mr. Thornhill.
“What? We have said no such thing. Where do you get these ideas, girl.” Mrs. Wilcox sighed. “You have no call to be nervous. Mr. Thornhill will be attending you, no doubt, and you will not lack for partners or attention. Gentlemen pay no mind to what happened last week. They only want a pretty and agreeable partner for a dance or conversation. Be grateful for your youth and beauty. Just remember not to be impertinent and you will have more attention than you deserve, I am sure,” Mrs. Wilcox said with a mixture of pleasure and admonishment.
“Yes, Mama,” Cecilia replied. She had never had an easy time expressing herself to her mother, for Mrs. Wilcox was apt to scold overmuch. Though part of her still wished herself home, her father was correct: her mother was only doing what she believed best for Cecilia, even if she was sometimes wrong in her judgment. Perhaps her mother had been correct in her first choice, before Mr. Mainmount had appeared, of Mr. Thornhill. Cecilia would not wish him gone from her acquaintance, though her growing feelings for him only complicated her situation, which would have been much simpler if she only loved Mr. Cateret. She just wanted some peace from all her turbulent feelings. With a hollow queasiness, Cecilia realized that even had she never met Mr. Thornhill, she would experience no such calm with Mr. Cateret.
Certainly the excitement and nervousness engendered by the prospect of the evening’s dance at Lord Nefton’s induced no such emotion. Trying to forget her vexation over the two gentlemen, Cecilia concentrated on the enjoyment of the dance itself and the opportunity to visit with Mr. Thornhill and perhaps Mr. Holden, who was to attend as well. Also, she glowed as she studied herself in the mirror. Once again, her mother had been right. It was Mrs. Wilcox who ordered the dress and when it was complete, Cecilia understood why even her aunt respected her mother’s advice on fashion. Mrs. Wilcox had an eye for what suited a woman, especially her daughter. The low cut and slightly high waist of the pristine white muslin dress accentuated Cecilia’s now womanly, well-proportioned figure, while the delicate silver, blue, jonquil, and deep pink floral embroidery and tiny gold braid along the bodice and short, puffed sleeves underscored her natural and artless beauty. Cecilia had never preferred white, even if it was fashionable, for she always dirtied it too quickly, but she would be more careful with this dress. Even her mother and aunt stood silently a moment as they prepared to leave, admiring Cecilia’s fresh beauty.
“You should have your pick of admirers tonight, Cecilia,” Mrs. Higham remarked, as she and Mrs. Wilcox exchanged sly smiles. Cecilia thanked her and, gripping her tiny recticule, followed her mother out to the waiting carriage.
***
Mr. Thornhill leaned against his forearm and stared across the square. Mrs. Higham’s carriage awaited Cecilia and her party. He stood tall and pushed his hands through his hair. Pacing, he tried to make order of the turmoil of the last few years, but Cecilia’s image, her stirring beauty and innocent countenance, blocked him at each turn.
“Sir,” Jennings intoned as he appeared before him.
“Can you not see I’m busy?” Mr. Thornill snapped, continuing to pace.
“Lord Nefton will be displeased should you keep the guests waiting.”
Mr. Thornhill stopped and rubbed his jaw. He did not need to hear another lecture from his uncle. He disrobed and began dressing for the evening. Jennings brushed his evening coat again.
“I spoke to Mrs. Carter’s maid this morning, sir.”
Mr. Thornhill froze, his arm halfway in his right shirtsleeve. He pulled it through and faced Jennings. “And?”
“She is as crafty as her mistress. But I have discovered Mrs. Carter’s brother is being transported to Abingdon prison, a suspected spy.”
“Lisette, ah, Mrs. Carter, never cared for him, so what of it?”
“If she can be believed, sir. That, as you well know, is not a correct assumption.”
“Again, I do not see any relevance. Unless you mean he has been spreading tales…”
“Perhaps. I must make further enquires. Mrs. Carter is not to be trusted--”
Mr. Thornhill’s gut burned with the remembered pain and humiliation of nearly two years before. The image of Lisette and Tom Hookham in bed together, the bed he had also shared with her, seared in his mind forever. “I told you, I only went to see her a fortnight ago to be certain she discloses nothing. She has her price, as you know.”
Jennings nodded as he straightened Mr. Thornhill’s cravat and coat. “For any man, yes. That is what concerns me.”
“What concerns me is finding Gregory. I cannot wait, Rose cannot wait. You must find him.”
“I do not like--”
“You are the only one who can find him.” He knew Jennings did not wish to leave, did not trust him to make the correct decisions. But Mr. Thornhill was not a boy anymore. Perhaps it was a mistake to keep Jennings on; the man seemed to treat him more as a nephew than an employer. It was so with all his staff, for they had known him from boyhood. But only Jennings was privy to his darkest moments. And no man could be trusted as Jennings could. Mr. Thornhill pushed his shoulders back and met Jennings’s appraisal. “I know you will succeed.”