“Why are you saying these things? I have known you too long. The girl I knew would never be capable of using me so nor lying to me before in telling me you loved me.”
“You knew the girl I was, yes. But you had not met me in two years. Do you imagine I had not changed? As I said, I did fancy you, but I would never consider marrying you, as I would not your friend. You are both amusing and attractive companions, but as a marriage partner you have even less to recommend you than Mr. Mainmount. I am sorry it has come to this, I had tried to be more kind, but you chose to misunderstand me. I hope I have been clear enough now,” Cecilia said, adopting the tone her mother used when she spoke to an errant child or servant, though her stomach churned at the hearing of it.
“You have,” Mr. Cateret said. His eyes glazed again, utterly lost and dejected. Her chest tightened. She could not let him suffer so.
Cecilia grasped his hand before he stood and leaned near. “I love you,” she whispered before pressing a note to his palm. She sat up and studied the stripes on her gown. No more could be said, not with her father close by.
Mr. Cateret exchanged goodbyes with Mr. Wilcox and Felicity, only glancing once at Cecilia again. But he had been happy, his eyes merry again.
Mr. Wilcox studied his daughter, who crumpled in her seat. She did not cry, there had been enough tears. Felicity left the room without a word, winking at Cecilia, who frowned.
“Is everything settled, then?” Mr. Wilcox asked.
“Yes, Papa, though I had to lie to him. He would not give up hope of me less I did.” Perhaps lies were sometimes necessary to ensure a loved one’s happiness.
“I am sorry, you did not have to do that. I could have spoken to him for you.”
“No, it was better I told him. I only hope his pain will be over soon and he may find happiness again. I may have been cruel, but it would have been more so to let him continue to have hope of me.”
“I am proud of you. You are not so young as I had thought.” He touched her hair, almost a pat.
“Young enough that you shall not be rid of me for some time, if ever.” Cecilia smiled up at her father with her old impish grin.
“I have no wish to be, my dear. Shall we persuade your mother and aunt to leave sooner than we planned?” Mr. Wilcox asked. “They might be sorry to be missing the possibilities at home, for I understand your uncle has invited the Mountbanks to Landsdown and they plan to give a ball. Surely they will need time to prepare you and your cousins,” he said with a grin which matched Cecilia’s.
“Yes, that will be fine. But when is this? I had thought they were to be at Lionel Hall.”
“Next week, yes, but they may come to Landsdown the week following.”
“I will look forward to it,” Cecilia replied, forcing a smile. Soon enough the false smiles would be real once more. There was much to be glad about and much to do for her journey.
Chapter Twenty-Three
M
r. Thornhill strode up the stairs of Mrs. Higham’s home. His knock echoed back to him, as loud as the thump within his chest. The grey, foggy early morning made it impossible to see further than a few houses down the street. He rocked onto his heels. The man let him in and Mr. Thornhill asked to speak privately to Mr. Wilcox. Within a few moments, he was shown into the study.
Polite greetings exchanged, Mr. Thornhill could wait no longer. “Sir, there is much I would tell you, but for now I must warn you. Mrs. Brown informed me early this morning that Mr. Cateret does not intend to travel alone. I would not wish to think--” Thinking Cecilia would be Cateret’s companion had driven him to distraction, as well as having to wait until a decent, if not proper, hour to call on Mr. Wilcox.
Voices raised in the hall. The door banged open. Mrs. Wilcox burst forth. “She is gone!”
Mr. Thornhill moved to the wall and leaned into the hard rows of books. Mrs. Wilcox made no acknowledgement of him, though this was not surprising as her attention was riveted on her husband. Mr. Thornhill scraped his hand over his face and into his hair. He was too late.
“Oh, Mr. Wilcox, I knew those girls were headed for ruin and now she is gone, run off with that Cateret! What can we do, we must do something!” She threw up her hands, as close to a plea as Mr. Thornhill could imagine her making.
Mr. Wilcox took his wife’s hands, his face alternately pale and reddened.
“Mrs. Wilcox! Who is gone? Not our girl, surely…”
“I found this note on her pillow.” Mrs. Wilcox handed it to her husband.
“’We have left. Do not try to follow us. All is not as you think. We will write soon.’ But this is not Cecilia’s hand.”
“What does it matter? You must go after them, stop them! That Cateret has stolen her away!”
Mr. Thornhill closed his eyes. He heard her voice near. He was going mad.
“Mama, Papa, I cannot find Felicity. Mr. Thornhill?” Cecilia said.
He opened his eyes and pulled himself tall. She was a vision, her cheeks pink, her dark hair glistening with shining droplets, her dark green pelisse over a pale celadon dress, a rose ready to bloom.
Mrs. Wilcox pulled her daughter into her. “I knew you had more sense than that,” she said, pushing Cecilia away. “Where did you leave your cousin? Where were you? Jenkins!”
The manservant rushed in.
“Why did you not tell me Miss Wilcox was out?”
“There was a disturbance at the back door, Mrs. Wilcox. I was not aware the young ladies had gone out.”
Mrs. Wilcox waved her hand at him. He bowed and shut the door as he exited.
“Felicity and I went for a walk, Mama,” Cecilia said. “She told me she wished to draw and went back to the house for her case. I waited in the park but it began to rain. She is not here?”
Mr. Wilcox handed her the note. Cecilia sank into the settee as she read. Mr. Thornhill stepped forward.
“I am afraid your cousin has run off with Mr. Cateret,” he said. He forced his mouth into a set line. It would not be kind to smile at such news. Yet a thousand doves beat in his chest, straining to be free. Cecilia was here and Gregory had come back.
“No, it cannot be.” She glanced at her father.
A knock drew their attention to the door. The man entered, a letter in hand. Mr. Wilcox opened and read it.
“Foolish girl,” Mr. Wilcox muttered. “I can hardly believe even Cateret would…my poor brother, what will he do? I must be off, to see if I might waylay them. You promise me you knew nothing of this, child?”
“Of course not, Papa. What says it?” She reached for the letter.
“They are gone. Your cousin claims they shall travel as brother and sister, for us not to worry.” He handed the letter to his wife. “I will send word when I may.”
“May I be of assistance?” Mr. Thornhill said. He stepped forward.
“Thank you, but I know you have your own affairs. I appreciate your concern. Mrs. Wilcox, I hope I do not need to say discretion is called for.”
Mrs. Wilcox harrumphed. “I will speak to my sister directly. None will talk of this, you may be sure.”
Mr. Wilcox rushed from the room, his wife close behind. Mr. Thornhill glanced at Cecilia. Her hands shook, her face pale.
“People will know. There will be a scandal,” she said. “Jane, my uncle…my aunt--her health is not fully recovered. How could Felicity be so thoughtless?”
She stared at the far wall, probably only seeing her distant loved ones. No thought for herself, but only of them. His arms ached to hold her, whisper comfort in her delicate ear. He knew one who could provide a different story for Miss Felicity’s disappearance. He must act now.
“Will you be well, Miss Wilcox? I have an urgent matter requiring my attention.” He moved toward the door.
“But…yes, of course. Good morning.” She rose and curtsied, never once meeting his gaze.
Mr. Thornhill seared her image into his mind. What he would do was for her. Once he settled all these problems, he would see her again. He tugged at his gloves and strode from the room.
Cecilia sat in the drawing room, shaking. That Felicity would behave so shocked her, even though she knew well her cousin’s previous behavior. She thought Felicity would have more concern for the proprieties, if not for her own sake, but for her family’s. And ‘Ret, he claimed to love her and yet would run away with her cousin, would ruin Felicity’s reputation, thereby sullying her entire family? She had given him part of what he wanted, telling him she loved him, even if her note to him insisted she could never be his, that he should indeed give up hope of her. That he would so quickly plan this departure with Felicity was almost unthinkable. Yet think was all she could do.
Why had Mr. Thornhill been there? For a brief happy moment, she believed he had come for her, to apologize for his deceit and earn her trust again. Instead, he acted the proper, cold version of himself, or maybe that was who he truly was. Left in the drawing room alone all day, while her mother and aunt made discreet inquiries, while her father tried to find them, Cecilia thought until she nearly drove herself to distraction. She sat and wrote, letters which she would probably not send, but which relieved her mind.
Before dinner, she rose and stared out the front window. The sun still cloaked itself in clouds, but the rain had stopped. She hurried on her pelisse and dark green hat, its saucy upturned brim not reflective of her mood. As she walked into the cold street, she pulled on her gloves and chaffed her arms. With slicing steps, she made her way across the park, soon finding herself opposite Lord Nefton’s high detached brick home. A carriage waited before it, Mr. Thornhill’s carriage, distinctive with its dark green paint, a bright yellow stripe across the rear foothold. She gripped the ironwork fence to prevent herself from running to it, to throw herself into the arms of its owner. A familiar raven haired beauty glided down the stairs of the house and into the carriage, where Mr. Thornhill himself handed her up. The carriage was loaded with cases and a trunk, as if for a long journey. Cecilia pressed herself into the fence, her palm nearly pierced by the sharp finial on the post. Mr. Thornhill entered the carriage. It lurched away, Mrs. Carter and Mr. Thornhill cozy in its snug interior. With it went the last of Cecilia’s hope. She hit the bars, their hollow echo chasing her as she ran across the park to Mrs. Higham’s.
***
Mr. Wilcox returned a few days later, having traced Mr. Cateret and Felicity as far as the port, where, with the assistance of Captain Mountbank, he had discovered he was too late; Mr. Cateret and Felicity were already aboard a vessel, bound for France. Upon his return, they were all ready to leave the city, which was being rapidly deserted by good society and was becoming increasingly muggy and unbearable. All four were glad to return to Middleton House, where the air was more pleasant and the society agreeable, though relating the events of the week to Reverend Wilcox, Mrs. Wilcox, Jane, and Wil was not.
Their visit to Landsdown, her uncle James and aunt Louisa’s new home, provided some distraction and comfort; they made a large party, with all the Wilcoxes, the Partridges, and the Mountbanks, who had left London with them, confirming for Cecilia that Mr. Thornhill was gone. No one said where, but the Mountbanks told them he had been detained from Lionel Hall, and so had postponed his party. While Cecilia was at first a little uncomfortable, both at being in ‘Ret’s former home and by the attentiveness of Captain Mountbank, she soon lightened in the warmth of her family and friends. Mrs. Wilcox and Mrs. Higham were also in good spirits, along with everyone else, for here was another neighborhood and its people to study, not to mention more matchmaking for Cecilia and her cousin. Once they all returned to their own neighborhood, with promises to return in a few weeks, they were busy preparing for the Hookhams’ visit in a fortnight.
Cecilia, always active, was now drawn into not only helping Polly and Mrs. Partridge, but also Jane and her mother, as well as doing tasks for her own mother. Between all this, their increased sociability on account of Mrs. Higham’s presence, her usual walks, and rides with Wil or her father, she scarce had time to read or listen to her father’s talks with Wil or her uncle. Even her nights were easier; she was often so tired from the day’s activities, she fell asleep as soon as she lay down.
One bright morning, after returning from her walk, Cecilia carried in some branches to arrange for the drawing room. As she brought the bit of late summer brilliance into the room, she received the compliments of her mother and aunt. They were bursting with the London news, such as it was, for they had received a letter from Mr. Treacle. All their town acquaintances believed Felicity had been ill, and this accounted for her not being seen their last days in London. Cecilia did not believe they could long keep such a secret. Mr. Mainmount had returned to his wife at Upton Park, though Miss Latimer, much to Mrs. Higham’s chagrin, was installed at Mr. Cateret’s London residence.
“What will be next?” she cried, asserting she may have to move should any more neighbors of that kind take up residence. She and Mrs. Wilcox were mollified, though, by Mr. Treacle’s invitation to join him at Bath in September. Cecilia hoped she would be spared this trip, for she had rather stay home, but she said nothing then, instead letting her mother and aunt chatter on about their plans and the other little tidbits of gossip they had read.
The Hookhams arrived soon after. They were agreeable guests, for Mrs. Hookham fell in with Mrs. Wilcox and Mrs. Higham, much as they had at school those many years ago, while Mr. Hookham and Mr. Wilcox enjoyed outdoor pursuits with their sons, and Miss Hookham visited Mrs. Partridge with Cecilia so she could study the extensive garden at Partridge Place. After a week, during which Mr. Hookham’s evening attentions to Cecilia grew more noticeable to all, they journeyed to Landsdown, again with all the Wilcoxes, as well as Mr. Holden, who, if Cecilia surmised rightly, would not again let Jane visit with the Allenbys unseen by him. It was to be a shorter visit than the last, especially for her uncle’s family and Mr. Holden, who had to return to their parish before the week was up.
Cecilia looked a bit peaked by the time of their arrival, for she was unsure of the genuineness of Mr. Hookham’s attentions toward her, but she saw no way to make him discontinue them without being presumptuous or rude. Besides, she did like him, but she was careful not to flirt with him or encourage him, if she could help it. Also, Cecilia was busy observing the polite tussle over her cousin occurring between Mr. Allenby and Mr. Holden. After a few days, Mr. Holden could apparently stand no more, for he made the bold move of proposing to Jane, though he had no hope of marrying on a curate’s pay. Mr. Allenby and all assembled, save the Wilcox men, and Cecilia, were duly shocked, then, when the engagement of Jane and Mr. Holden was announced. Jane had tried to let Mr. Allenby know of her preference before, but he was immune to subtlety and Jane was too kind and polite to be blunt. Cecilia especially was delighted, for she had seen Jane blossom, even after the terrible departure of Felicity, both in her native country air and in the attentions of the earnest but endearing young curate. Practical Jane also knew that, besides the fact her heart was with Mr. Holden, they would suit each other; she could never envision herself the mistress of an estate like the Allenbys’. She would be a good parson’s wife, and happier in it.
As will sometimes happen, there was soon after a fever among the young people, a veritable epidemic of proposing. The newly engaged couple and her parents left the next day, not guessing the illness they left in their wake. The next evening, at a dinner party, an ardent youth of the neighborhood offered his heart to Cecilia, who apologized that her father would not allow it, while silently laughing at such impetuosity. It was her fourth proposal and she began to feel an old hand at refusing. The next to succumb was Mr. Allenby, who surprised everyone, including himself, by asking for the honor of Miss Hookham’s hand, which was duly granted. It was not much of a surprise to some, who had seen the fast friendship between the two over their shared passion, gardening, and Cecilia laughed over the pair’s suitability; in Miss Hookham, Mr. Allenby found an able and commanding mistress who would, all the same, surely make him happy. Cecilia hoped she would be spared another proposal, though she believed it would befall her.