Jennings bowed. No words were needed. Jennings had never failed him. Greyton had only failed himself; he must not allow himself to falter further.
Chapter Eleven
C
ecilia’s chilled skin warmed upon stepping into the drawing room at Lord Nefton’s. Her mother’s and aunt’s voices blended with the other guests’ while she noted the quiet elegance of the room, with its serene landscape paintings, silk drapes, and uncluttered arrangement. Lord Nefton and Miss Nefton welcomed her, introducing her to several other guests, whom she greeted along with the Shaunesseys. She smiled, though cold again seeped through her. Mr. Thornhill was nowhere to be seen.
“I once had the pleasure of serving with your uncle,” Captain Mountbank said. He was a navy man, his skin browned, eyes blue as a clear sea. They stood together, surveying the room.
“Oh yes, Lieutenant Mountbank as was? I am sorry. I would not have thought--”
“My reputation does not match my appearance?” He chuckled.
Cecilia laughed. “I have heard nothing so bad as that, sir. I assume you are the gentleman you appear.”
“Thank you for your confidence, Miss Wilcox. Will you do me the honor of a dance later?”
Cecilia nodded with a smile, though as he continued speaking, a pretty little woman in a canary yellow gown drew her attention. The woman giggled and whispered in Mr. Cateret’s ear. Whatever was he doing here? Annoyance prickled her. Why was he flirting shamelessly when only this morning he claimed to love her devotedly? Yet she could not help but notice how attractive he was, in a dark green dress coat which brought out that hue in his amber eyes. Those eyes, which had so played on her feelings, apparently had a similar effect on many other women as well.
As the evening progressed, Mr. Cateret made himself conspicuous, surrounded by an ever changing round of coquettes, flirting, laughing provocatively, kissing delicate hands, whispering into willing ears. Cecilia had never seen this side of Mr. Cateret laid so bare and she began to understand her own attraction to him as well as the folly of it.
“Miss Wilcox, I am pleased you decided to join us,” Mr. Thornhill said, breaking into her thoughts as she sat out a set. He was dashing in a midnight blue coat which intensified the cobalt of his penetrating eyes.
“Thank you,” Cecilia replied. A new tune began.
“May I have the honor?”
Cecilia nodded and he led her to the floor. His nearness caused an odd quaking sensation inside. When he gazed at her, it was with a depth and fire which at once plunged her into black waters and set her ablaze. So unbalanced did he make her, she missed a few steps in their dance.
“I understand from Captain Mountbank you are acquainted with my uncle, Captain James Wilcox?” she said in an attempt to divert her attention.
“Yes, my brother, Philip, served under him before he passed,” he said in a cautious voice.
“Have you ever journeyed by sea?”
“No.” His eyes darkened. “Your uncle is a good man. I hope to meet him again under more pleasant circumstances.”
Cecilia studied him. His expression and tense tone belied his words. She had no time to ponder it, for Mr. Thornhill escorted her from the floor.
“Miss Wilcox, may I ask what you wish for?”
“From this evening, sir, or more generally?” Cecilia said. His odd question and nervous rocking from heel to toe made her smile.
“I sound foolish, perhaps, but I desire to know what you would choose to do, independent of other’s dictates and wishes.”
“I am not sure what you mean, sir, but I believe if I were a woman of independent means, I would wish to live in the country, as I do now. I suppose my parents’ wishes for me are not so different than my own. However, I would only wish to marry a man I love, who loves me and wishes to live as I do. Now who is foolish, Mr. Thornhill?” As they approached the far side of the room, Mr. Thornhill stopped and searched her eyes.
“Not you, Miss Wilcox, unless we both are fools.”
She gazed up at him, unsure of his meaning. He held her eyes with his. Again an invisible cord pulled her toward him. She leaned nearer. Mr. Cateret approached, asking her for a turn. Focusing on him, she stepped away from Mr. Thornhill.
“I am sorry, but I have already promised the next dance to Mr. Holden.”
“May I ask the next, then?” Mr. Cateret said, raising an eyebrow. Despite everything, she had to restrain herself from giggling, for his gesture, a mimicry of their former curate, had always amused her.
“Yes, thank you, sir,” she replied as Mr. Holden led her out.
Mr. Thornhill bowed to Mr. Cateret before walking away. He wondered at that rake’s glances toward Cecilia and her reaction. Yet she had seemed to be drawn to himself, honest in her responses, when Mr. Cateret appeared, breaking the spell. She had moved away from him. He was so disturbed he stopped to speak to Mrs. Higham, hoping he might find some answer, something to ease his troubled mind. He first had to listen to her greetings and answer her questions; finally, seeing Mr. Cateret move about the room with Cecilia in the only waltz of the evening, he could hold his tongue no longer.
“I assume you know Mr. Cateret, as he is your neighbor?”
“Yes, and he is a friend of my nephew Wilcox. I have met him at Middleton House, though not for some years. His country house is but twenty miles from my brother’s, but he does not visit near as often as he used, when they were at Oxford together. My niece has always been a favorite with her brother’s friends. She was such a lively child. Of course, I doubt my brother would wish Mr. Cateret to favor her now, considering his reputation, of which I am sure you must have heard.” Mr. Thornhill inclined his head, for once glad of Mrs. Higham’s loquaciousness. “He is just returned from a visit at Middleton House. We are surprised at his arrival.”
“Oh? Was his visit cut short?” He clenched his hands.
“I suppose not, he had already been there some weeks.”
Mr. Thornhill’s hands grew cold and damp in his gloves. Mr. Cateret escorted Cecilia toward the far door. His blood roiled. Fortunately, his uncle approached Mrs. Higham, engaging her attention. Mr. Thornhill bowed with a jerk and moved to intercept the pair, pulling off his gloves, wanting to feel some small amount of release.
As Mr. Thornhill and Mrs. Higham spoke, so too did Mr. Cateret and Cecilia.
“I see I must wait behind Mr. Holden again,” he said while they danced.
“Perhaps you ought to be kept waiting. It seems you are in sore need of patience.”
“If I am rewarded with your company, I suppose I may learn. Will you instruct me?”
“I cannot teach you, I am afraid. Other men need no such instruction.”
“Other men? I suppose you prefer those men?”
“I cannot think what you mean,” Cecilia said. His flushed face and obvious pique made her rebellious.
“I have heard of your suitors. Do not be coy with me.”
“It is none of your concern, sir.”
“Is it not? Did I imagine our conversation this morning?”
“I made no promises, nor did you. You acted no better than your friend.”
“Do not be missish,” Mr. Cateret said.
“Insults again? I wonder at your concern for a schoolgirl like myself. But then, I have misjudged you before.”
“You have indeed. Will you accept Thornhill?”
“He has not offered,” Cecilia whispered, deflated, confused, and vexed.
The dance ended but Mr. Cateret was still nearer; his jaw flexed and his breath warmed her upturned face. Their eyes met, his gaze played on her feelings once again. Walking her toward the terrace, Mr. Cateret took her arm in his and stopped at the open door, murmuring “bella Cecilia.”
Mr. Thornhill swiftly approached, breaking Mr. Cateret’s silent hold on her. Cecilia, feeling a turmoil of shame and yearning, was grateful Mr. Thornhill rescued her from what she could only assume were Mr. Cateret’s dishonorable intentions. Excusing herself from Mr. Cateret, who bowed and moved away, Cecilia studied her shoes, half moons beneath the veil of her gown.
“May I beg your pardon, sir, I feel need of refreshment,” she quietly addressed Mr. Thornhill.
“Certainly,” he said, taking her to the dining room, where she slowly drank a glass of punch.
“Thank you for your kindness, sir. May I impose on you further? I would like to walk in the garden. I find it a bit close indoors.”
“I am happy to escort you. I assume you do not wish to tempt fate again by going alone.”
“Thank you, Mr. Thornhill,” Cecilia said, grateful for his strong and reassuring presence. She felt he would not mind walking in companionable silence and soon relaxed, refreshed by the cool night air.
The garden was dimly illumed by lanterns and their gentle glow and the faint scent of dew and fading blossoms soothed Cecilia. She moved away from Mr. Thornhill, breathing deeply the fresh crystalline sky, so clear after the day’s rain, and pulled off her gloves. She stopped, studying the sparkling droplets on the boxwood leaves, touching one gently with her fingertip, laughing as the bead of liquid coursed down her hand.
Mr. Thornhill watched her. Her glimmering laughter filled the air and he took in as much as he could, wanting her to sate him. She closed her eyes a moment, tilting her face toward the moon’s soft light. As Mr. Thornhill gazed at her, he forgot all his doubts and plans, overwhelmed with love for her, even as he wanted to possess her. She appeared almost angelic in her white gown, her soft features and dark beauty utterly radiant in the gentle, cool light of the night. He went to her, turning her face to him. He clasped her hands in his, how smooth and warm they were, how delicate in his own; he ought not be touching her, but he could not deny himself. It was only a small impropriety. She gazed at him questioningly, her eyes wide. He lost himself in her again.
“Miss Wilcox, forgive my abruptness, but I love you and I desire …to cherish you, always. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Words were not adequate, not the proper words. There was so much more he wished to tell her, but could not risk forgetting himself and his duties in his craving for her. He had already gone too far.
Cecilia trembled at his words and the tenderness and longing in Mr. Thornhill’s eyes. She choked back the unthinking
yes
which rushed up. She could not accept him--her first loyalty was to her papa and his wishes. And had she not thought herself in love with Mr. Cateret? She could not trust her own feelings.
“I am honored by your proposal, sir. I do not want to offend you, but I received a letter today from my father telling me not to accept anyone without his direct approval.” Cecilia darted her eyes at him.
“I see,” Mr. Thornhill stated as he released her hands. “Yet why did he allow you to London, then?”
“I wished to, or that is what I told him. Please, do not think ill of him.”
Or of me.
“May I write to him of my intentions?”
“I, I cannot think. At home, I would go to our wood or the hill when people or problems confused me. I have been unable to do so here and I…please, may I ask for a few moments to consider, sir?”
“I understand. I will do as you wish. I shall return shortly.” His tone froze her, as did his icy stare.
“Thank you,” she said, turning from his retreating form. Perhaps he was hurt by her reluctance to answer as she was distressed by her mistrust of herself.
“Cecilia,” Mr. Cateret whispered from behind her. He pulled her gently over to him, almost hidden behind the shrubbery. “Do not encourage him. I know you do not love him.”
“Must I add spying to your roll of dishonor, sir?” Cecilia asked. Her voice, like her hands, trembled.
Mr. Cateret gave a quick, derisive chuckle. “If I am dishonorable, it is only because all honor has been driven from me in my love for you. Honor will not keep me from losing you to that passionless man. Come with me, Cecilia, our spirits are already joined. Let us be together as man and woman.”
Cecilia shook her head. “No. Your intentions are not what they should be.”
“I will marry you. I would have once we were safely away from Middleton House, if I had not been fool enough to follow the dictates of honor and propriety.”
“You are a fool if you think I would elope with you,” Cecilia lashed out, regretting her harsh words on seeing the pain in his eyes. “I have loved you, but I cannot…” As Mr. Cateret leaned down toward her, footsteps approached. She turned.
“Miss Wilcox?” Mr. Thornhill said, inscrutable once more. Cecilia tried to move away from Mr. Cateret, but he held her tightly. She glanced at Mr. Thornhill, whose fists clenched, his body a ramrod.
“Cecilia,” ‘Ret whispered. “I know you love me as I love you. Nothing else matters.”
“I see you will try where your friend Mainmount failed,” Mr. Thornhill said, his face full of fury. “Are his attentions also unwelcome, Miss Wilcox?”
“Much else matters, ‘Ret,” Cecilia whispered. “Yes, they are unwelcome, sir.” ‘Ret stared at her in disbelief, finally releasing her.
Before she could take two steps, Mr. Thornhill was upon Mr. Cateret, delivering a quick blow to his stomach. Cecilia gasped as Mr. Cateret doubled over. He groaned while he tried to right himself. Facing Mr. Thornhill and stepping in front of him, she effectively stopped him.