She, Wil, Polly, Mr. Hookham, and the blissful Mr. Allenby and Miss Hookham were out for a stroll around the grounds of the Allenbys’ estate one mellow afternoon. Mr. Hookham and Cecilia, both daily walkers, soon were well ahead of the others, making their usual conversation about sport and the cares of an estate when Mr. Hookham suddenly asked her if he might put to her a matter of a more personal nature. Cecilia agreed, thinking perhaps he wished to confide something to her, as he had over the last two weeks.
“You cannot doubt my regard for you, I am sure,” he began as Cecilia smiled at him while they continued their walk. “Shall we make it a happy three couples? I know your heart is not with me and your father is reluctant to see you engaged just now, but I can wait. If you will consider me, I would be glad of it. We get on very well together and I care for you. I believe we could be happy.” Mr. Hookham stopped, gazing at his companion. Cecilia, whose smile had vanished, looked about her, taking comfort in the chill air and blaze of changing colors around her.
“I am honored by your proposal, sir, but you must know my answer, just as you know who has my heart.”
“Yes and he has been fool enough to discard it. Surely you must have heard from your friends or your uncle that he has not been at home. I do not wish to shock you, but it is likely he is off enjoying female company. Why should you keep yourself alone for his sake?”
“Not for his sake, but my own.”
“Am I so odious, or do you not wish to marry?”
Cecilia laughed. “Are you always so blunt, sir?”
“When needs be,” Mr. Hookham said. “You did not answer.”
“As you said, my father will not let me accept anyone just now.” She took a step forward.
“I can wait, if you tell me I may be accepted.”
Cecilia blinked, watching some sheep grazing in a distant field. Were she so obedient as those animals, she should accept Mr. Hookham, but she could not.
“I can give no such promise. However, if you wish to dance attendance on me, I shall not try to stop you,” Cecilia said with a laugh as she faced him. Mr. Hookham chuckled.
“You are an impertinent woman,” he said with a flash in his eyes. “If you think to dissuade me with such talk, however, you will be disappointed.”
Cecilia laughed and stopped to wait on their less vigorous companions, who now approached.
At dinner that evening, Mr. Hookham was true to his proclamation. He attended Cecilia with as much devotion as if she had accepted his proposal, even without enjoying any liberties usually allowed in such an arrangement. Their mothers were most pleased. Cecilia surmised Mr. Hookham had told no one of his proposal, nor would she. Only her aunt Higham frowned upon the pair, which Cecilia found strange. But, her aunt had her moods and Cecilia ignored her, instead determined to keep thoughts of Mr. Thornhill shut away by fixing her mind on Mr. Hookham. Perhaps someday her heart would follow where her mind directed.
After retiring for the night, Cecilia sat brushing her hair at the dressing table. Sighing, Cecilia glanced at Tilly, who had traveled with them. The young maid stared at her, her cheeks red as the spencer she put away. “Is something wrong, Tilly?”
“No, miss,” she said. A knock caused her to rush to the door, admitting Mrs. Higham. Tilly scurried off, leaving Cecilia alone with her aunt.
Cecilia faced her, cozy in the snug room, a fire popped in the grate. Her aunt, still dressed in her regal scarlet gown, lowered herself onto the bench in front of the high bed, its yellow linens contrasting her aunt’s garment.
“My dear, I have been sorry for admonishing you during your visits in London. I see now that we, your mother and I, should have paid more heed to your father, who I believe knows you better.”
“Thank you. I am sorry to be such a disappointment to my mama, but I cannot betray myself to satisfy her whims, nor can I understand her persistence.”
“You are as outspoken as ever,” Mrs. Higham said, shaking her head. “I know you can be discreet, however, and I wish to tell you something of your mother which might help you to understand why she is so determined in her plans.” She motioned Cecilia to sit beside her. Cecilia eased next to her aunt and nodded.
“When we were young, our mother was much like yours is now, anxious for her children to make good matches, though we were but the children of an obscure parson. She had married down, as she was fond of telling my sisters and me, but she had married for love, not that it proved much consolation for her. Our youngest sister seemed a hopeless case, for she was more interested in running about the fields or keeping her pullets than in making herself a lady. Not so my sister Wilcox and I. She was a great beauty then, and she soon caught the eye of Sir Roderick Mainmount’s eldest son--”
Cecilia choked an exclamation. Her aunt held up her hand and Cecilia quieted.
“Yes, the very same who is now Sir Roderick. They became engaged, much to my father’s dismay. He had friends who had an estate outside Oxford and he was pleased to receive an invitation for us to visit them. I believe my mother had hopes the eldest son would favor me, but he had eyes only for your mother and, as soon became apparent, she for him. Much to my mother’s vexation, my sister wrote to Mainmount, breaking off their engagement and she soon after married your father, who was the son of my father’s friend. She had to endure much afterwards, for our mother and our friends at home all shunned her and your father’s family was none too pleased with his choice either, especially as your parents had married without their knowledge, only with my father’s consent. Soon after, our younger sister died, my mother insisted it was greensickness, chlorosis they now call it. Your mother was convinced of this as well. They both believed if she had but married, she would have lived. You know your mother’s disappointments which were to come. I believe she considers them, in part, a punishment for her jilting Mainmount, for her loving your father too much, too imprudently. Can you not now see why she should be so determined you should marry well and not only for love? Perhaps we both know she has been wrong in her decisions, but I would not wish you to assume she does not care for you or your happiness.”
Cecilia sat in shocked silence for some minutes, finally thanking her aunt for trusting her with the tale.
“I will try to be more forbearing from now on. But I must tell you I believe my heart will always belong to Mr. Thornhill, whatever he may choose to do.” Cecilia contemplated her aunt’s shrewd gaze and saw a new sympathy there. Perhaps her aunt had always been so, and Cecilia had been too childish to recognize it.
“I understand, my dear, more than you know. But I hope you will keep your heart and mind open. Your aunt Louisa shows the wisdom in that,” Mrs. Higham said. Cecilia knew she referred to her other aunt’s early loss of her first love, only to find happiness with Captain Wilcox some seven years later.
“I will try. Have you heard nothing of Mr. Thornhill, Aunt?”
“Lord Nefton wrote to me. I received his letter today. Miss Benson passed away, the child stillborn. Lord Nefton, who has only just learned of all the lies, is most concerned for his nephews. He plans to send Gregory to his cousin at Redding while he and his daughter will join Mr. Thornhill at Lionel Hall.” She patted Cecilia’s hand.
“But…I am sorry. Mr. Thornhill is at home? Alone?”
“By now, yes. I hope you may find some peace in that Mr. Thornhill’s worst action was only one of concealment.”
“He is not the man I believed him to be.”
“Yet still you love him.”
Cecilia and Mrs. Higham sighed together then laughed at themselves for it.
“Let us to sleep, niece,” Mrs. Higham commanded and they did.
Chapter Twenty-Four
C
ecilia was as good as her word and disarmed her mother with her kindness and docility. Of course, Cecilia did not need to maintain this for long, as, soon after their return to Middleton House, the Hookhams departed and then her mother and aunt were off to Bath for the month. Cecilia was relieved, for there had been some trying moments with her mother, but now, after some weeks, she almost missed her, though this was diminished by her mother’s long, gossipy letters.
Again Cecilia’s days took on the pattern they had before the Hookham’s arrival, with the added bustle of preparations for Miss Taylor and Mr. Drake’s wedding the week after her mother’s return from Bath, to be followed by Wil and Polly’s soon after. Though she thought of Mr. Thornhill, she believed she had resigned herself to his absence from her life. Sometimes, late at night, she would awaken and think of him with hope, for though she had heard from her father that Mr. Thornhill was calling on Miss Jenner, there had been no proposal as yet.
One rainy September afternoon, Cecilia curled into her favorite soft chair in the library to read. She soon became distracted, remembering Greyton’s strong embrace in the very spot before her. Why had he not come to her since their chance meeting in London? Why did he call on Miss Jenner instead of her? Was he so hypocritical as to condemn her for her cousin’s actions?
The door pushed open, her father and brother walked in. They sat on the settee next to her seat, both frowning and fidgeting.
“Papa, Wil, has something happened? Is Mama well?” Cecilia set her book aside and clasped her hands as she straightened herself.
“Yes, child. Your brother and I have both received letters today and we have much to tell you.”
“’Ret wrote me,” Wil said. “First, you ought know I was shocked by his behavior, both toward you and Felicity and he knows it. He was apologetic and wished me to tell you he will always care for you, however much circumstances might belie that. Also, he thought you should know Mrs. Carter found them soon after their arrival in France, and has attached herself to him and Felicity, who, though they travel as brother and sister, serves as Felicity’s chaperone. ‘Ret surmises someone paid Mrs. Carter handsomely for her trouble. We may tell our friends and neighbors now that Felicity has joined her mother’s cousin on a tour of the continent. There need be no fear of scandal.”
Cecilia smiled. “But this is wonderful.” Surely it must be Mr. Thornhill’s doing. That is why he took Mrs. Carter away in his carriage. He arranged all to prevent a scandal from scorching them. “Why do you not seem happy?”
Wil glanced at his father before rising to stand behind Cecilia’s chair.
“Child, Mr. Hookham has informed me that Mr. Thornhill and Miss Jenner are engaged.”
Cecilia shook her head. It could not be.
“He has also been cleared of any suspicion of radicalism and conspiracy. The only evidence which could be found in his case was that he subscribed to Cobbett’s
Register
, but many men do, it signifies nothing. I myself spoke to the Frenchman who had accused Mr. Thornhill. He is in Abingdon prison. It seems he made the whole tale up to revenge himself on his sister, Mrs. Carter.”
Cecilia held a breath. “But why? I do not understand.”
“There was not much sense to be had from him. I gathered he believed Mr. Thornhill would marry Mrs. Carter and her brother wished to ruin them both. Let us speak no more of it. There have been troubles enough. Mr. Hookham also wrote to invite us to the wedding of Miss Hookham and Mr. Allenby.”
Cecilia had managed to force herself to steady during her father’s discourse, helped by the firm touch of her brother’s hand on her shoulder.
“Do you wish me to go, Papa?”
“Your mother will want to be there. Wil and Polly will be on their honeymoon trip, Mrs. Partridge visiting the Taylors…only Jane and Mr. Holden will remain. Which reminds me of my other news: my brother has accepted his old position at Oxford, leaving the parsonage to Mr. Holden.”
“He and Jane will share their wedding day with us,” Wil said.
Cecilia grasped her brother’s hand. “I am so happy for you all.”
“Yes, there is much to celebrate,” Mr. Wilcox said. “Shall I accept the Hookhams’ invitation, then?” He rose and moved toward the door.
“If you wish it,” Cecilia said. She would have to face the truth of Mr. Thornhill and Miss Jenner someday. Better to have it over so she might then kill the sprout of hope which had grown.
***
Soon after Mrs. Higham and Mrs. Wilcox’s return from Bath, more news reached them. It seemed Mr. Mainmount had left his new wife again, joining Miss Latimer in Portman Square. Mrs. Wilcox congratulated her sister for her foresight about Mr. Mainmount and, even better for Cecilia, her mother became less eager in her husband hunting for her daughter. Of course, she was also distracted by the wedding of Miss Taylor and Mr. Drake, quickly followed by those of Polly, Wil, Jane, and Mr. Holden.
There was joy upon joy that autumn, for not only did the Wilcoxes celebrate two weddings, but they also had the pleasure of hosting both Mr. Wilcox’s brothers and their families and friends for the nuptials. The newly wed Wil and Polly were set off on their honeymoon journey, while Jane and Mr. Holden took up residence in the parsonage, which Reverend Wilcox had already vacated; he and his wife now leased a cottage in Oxford, near Christ Church meadow. With the weddings over and their guests departed, Cecilia, left at home with only her mother, aunt, and father, unable to venture out much with the heavy rains battering the countryside, began to feel downcast, especially anticipating their trip to the Hookhams’ in a few days’ time.
The morning of their departure, the weather cleared. She sloshed on the garden path, studying the bruised leaves and fallen branches littering her walk. The barrenness of it struck her, all life seemed slumbering, the almost black branches of tree and bush reaching toward a dimmed sun. She supposed it was because she felt a kinship with those limbs, for she missed the light she felt when Mr. Thornhill’s smile shone on her and how his love had radiated throughout her being. But it had all been false, for he was again attached to another, this time of his own choosing, not from a sense of duty.
“Miss Wilcox!” John said, running to her, his breeches splattered with mud. “Mrs. Holden sent you this.” He handed her a note.
“Thank you,” she said. She opened the missive. Jane asked that she visit young Tilly, who had, the previous week, inexplicably quit and gone back to her grandmother. Apparently Tilly had been ill, but Jane had too many others to visit and no carriage at her disposal to travel the eight miles to the cottage. “John,” Cecilia called to his retreating figure, “ready the carriage. I must go out.”
He affirmed her instructions and she rushed to the kitchen, where she told Mrs. Willet to prepare a basket of food. She then ran upstairs, where she found her father in his study.
“Papa,” she said. His silver head was bent over his books, but he smiled as he raised his eyes to her. “Jane has asked me to visit Tilly and her grandmother. May I go?”
“We are to be off in a few hours for the Hookhams’.”
“But she has been ill and I did wish to know why she quit us. I liked her, she was capable and quiet.”
“Yes, it was odd, for she had been in favor even with your mama. I will accompany you. Do not frown. There is a pleasant path nearby her grandmother’s cottage I can walk while you attend them. The bracing air might clear these figures from my head.” He rose and stretched his arms forward. “I will leave a note for your mama that she and your aunt should be ready to depart upon our return.”
Twenty minutes later, Cecilia and her father jostled in the carriage. It bumped and tilted on the newly pitted road, tossing Cecilia as the storm had the flowers and leaves of the garden plants. They did not speak. Wind screamed through the flaps. Cecilia pulled the carriage rug more securely around her feet.
Aching, Cecilia alighted at the tiny cottage, smoke from the chimney blown in all directions. John brought along the basket for her, and her father set off on what must be a short jaunt in such a brewing storm.
Tilly, wide-eyed, welcomed Cecilia in. John placed the basket on the trestle table and bowed before venturing out to check the horses. An old woman, white-haired but round as an apple, sat by the hearth in an old high-backed wooden chair. The cottage was dim, but clean. A crackling blaze filled the large stone fireplace, a cast iron pot off to the side, steam rising from the surface. The savory aroma of long-stewed root vegetables and herbs wafted to her.
“My cousin, Mrs. Holden, was concerned you have been unwell.”
“I’m sorry you troubled yourself to come all this way, miss,” Tilly said in her soft voice.
“I am sorry you had to leave us, Tilly,” Cecilia said.
Tilly ducked her head.
“Won’t you sit down?” the grandmother asked.
Cecilia eased herself onto the bench.
“Offer the miss something, Tilly.”
“No, thank you,” Cecilia said. “I must be off soon. We are leaving for the Hookhams’ later today.”
Tilly dropped the cup she had been filling into the water bucket. Water splashed up.
“Tell her, girl, or I will,” Tilly’s grandmother said, her voice firm.
“No, Gran,” Tilly said, cowering back like a mouse before a cat.
“Tell me what?” Cecilia said, glancing between the two. “Should I not be going to the Hookhams’?”
“Oh, miss,” Tilly said. She sat on the bench opposite Cecilia. “I’ve been wrong. You ain’t marrying that Tom Hookham?”
“No, why?”
Tilly exhaled. “No need to tell her, Gran.”
“Won’t be able to hide much longer.”
“Please, Tilly, tell me what troubles you.” Cecilia rubbed her arms, though the room steamed with warmth.
“Mr. Hookham, Tom, he…I thought…he asked me to get him a lock of your hair and a bit of that gold braid you wore. Said you was too good for that Mr. Thornhill and he wanted to fool him, see, pretend you promised yourself to him, Tom, that is. But I…then he said he loved me but afore we could be together, he wanted to make Mr. Thornhill pay for taking away his friend and his cousin. He’d tried something else, but this, he said, would be the most fitting punishment, keeping you from Mr. Thornhill. Said he’d take all his love away like he’d done to Tom. I loved him, so I thought, and he said the same. But once he had what he wanted from me, he wouldn’t see me no more. I told him I’m having his child, but he didn’t believe me.” Tilly wiped her sleeve across her eyes, streaking the tears which pooled. “He’s a wicked man.”
Cecilia rose and went to her, placing her hands on her shoulders. “You should have told me.” How could Mr. Thornhill have believed him? Was this falsehood why he proposed to Miss Jenner? How much could she blame him, for would she not have accepted ‘Ret, had it not been for her papa?
“I’m sorry, miss. I’ve shamed everyone. I can’t stay here, or…”
“No, Tilly, it is Mr. Hookham who should be sorry. Now, I know of someone in London who takes in young women in your condition. I understand she is a kind woman and will help you, I am sure. Shall I write her?” Cecilia turned the girl to face her, keeping her voice soft yet firm.
“Me, in London?” Tilly said. She trembled.
“You would stay in her house, there would be nothing to fear.”
“Thank you, miss.” Tilly nodded.
“Yes,” Tilly’s grandmother said, rising and hobbling to Cecilia. “Thank you. I says to Tilly the Wilcoxes know their duty, they’ll do right by you.”
A knock startled them from their huddled group. Mr. Wilcox entered, windblown and ruddy.
“Papa, we have much to tell you,” Cecilia said.
With a quizzical look, he approached. The four sat and Tilly told the tale anew.
***
Cecilia did not know how much more shaking her limbs could endure. Fortunately, their carriage soon pulled into the drive of the Hookhams’ compact red brick Palladian home, as upright and straight lined as its owner. Mr. Wilcox had not informed Mrs. Wilcox of Tilly’s story. Instead, he made it known that he and Cecilia needed to speak with the Hookham men upon their arrival and let his wife come to what conclusions she may, however false. At least she was smiling, unlike Mr. Wilcox and Cecilia, who, after greetings, followed Mr. Hookham and Mr. Tom Hookham into the elder’s study.
Mr. Tom Hookham smiled, probably believing his plans succeeded. Cecilia maintained what she hoped was a pleasant expression when truly her hands itched to slap him as she had Mr. Mainmount. Mr. Wilcox moved quickly to sit beside her on the burgundy sofa, forcing Mr. Hookham and his father to occupy the wing chairs on either side.
“I hope this is the discussion I have anticipated, Mr. Wilcox. Our families uniting will bring pleasure to us all,” the elder Mr. Hookham said.
Cecilia glanced at Mr. Tom Hookham, whose limbs knotted beneath his coat and trousers. He must know something was not right.
“I am afraid not,” Mr. Wilcox said. “My daughter and I have discovered some disturbing information.”
Mr. Hookham edged forward while his son leaned back, his chin resting on his palm in an attitude of indifference.