“Before I begin, I wish you to know my daughter has my full approval to be present and speak her mind. Aside from the other young woman we will speak of, it is my daughter’s happiness which has been most affected.” Mr. Wilcox clasped Cecilia’s hand.
“What have you done?” Mr. Hookham said, glaring at his son.
Young Mr. Hookham shifted his position but said nothing.
Mr. Wilcox cleared his throat. “I suppose his behavior has not been much worse than that of the Thornhill brothers, or so many other young men, I would say of this age, but they are no worse than many of the companions of my youth. What strikes me is your son’s vengeful motivation. In order to punish Mr. Thornhill, he has made false accusations, seduced my daughter’s young maid, used her to obtain a lock of Cecilia’s hair, with which he convinced Mr. Thornhill of a nonexistent engagement between himself and Cecilia.”
“You have never been satisfied.” Mr. Hookham said. “What have I done to deserve such a son?” He gazed away from them, appearing lost in his bitter thoughts.
“Mr. Hookham, should we not discuss what is to be done for the girl and child? And your son? Should he not make amends to all concerned?” Mr. Wilcox edged toward Mr. Hookham.
“The girl is none of my concern. How are we to know she has not been in other beds?” He waved a hand in dismissal.
“Do you not know your duty, sir?” Cecilia said. “Tell your father the truth. You must know Tilly was innocent until you--”
“I, you say!” Mr. Tom Hookham jumped up. “As your father says, my behavior is no worse than most men of our acquaintance. Yet my father condemns me. You all do.” He paced before them, a caged bear. “I have never been good enough. You have prized the son of a neighbor above your own. He seduced my cousin and then courted Miss Wilcox while promised to Rose! He forced Gregory away again and again. The favorite of the neighborhood--”
“It was Gregory who seduced your cousin, and you know it,” Cecilia said.
“Greyton forced him to say it. Gregory would never do that to me. He knew Rose was mine.”
Cecilia pondered his statement. If he would seduce Tilly, perhaps he…
“You are a fool,” Mr. Hookham said, rising and standing before his son, who stopped.
Young Mr. Hookham laughed. “I? Had you left well enough alone, had you helped me…a marriage between Miss Wilcox and myself would be beneficial to all. Her dowry would enable you to--”
“Enough!” Mr. Wilcox said. He squeezed Cecilia’s hand, who tensed, ready to spring up and shake sense into two such foolish men. “I say again, consequences must be given. At the very least, an apology to my daughter and provision made for the child.”
“I will not further imperil my estate to pay for the mistakes of this boy.” Mr. Hookham studied his son before sinking into his chair again. “You must go to your uncle. Perhaps he will give you a job at his cotton mill and you might pay your own way thusly. I am finished with you.”
“I’ll not debase myself. I could have saved our estate, exposed Thornhill for what he is. Rose should have trusted me, not him--”
“As Tilly trusted you? Perhaps Miss Benson’s child was not a Thornhill, but--”
“Mine? Very good, Miss Wilcox.” Young Mr. Hookham laughed, crazed and low. “He kept her from me, stole everything I should have had…he deserved all I had planned. But I chose weaklings to help me. Your silly maid and that fickle Frenchman--”
Mr. Wilcox rose with Cecilia, keeping himself in front of her. “You? You were behind his accusations of Mr. Thornhill?”
Mr. Hookham smirked. “And an excellent plan it was, had he not changed his story. The fool. He and his sister, both sold to the highest bidder.” Mr. Hookham stood before them, his face red, his fists clenched. “I should not have trusted to others what I could best accomplish myself.”
Before she or her father could move, young Mr. Hookham burst from the room, his heavy steps echoing to them. A chill breeze whipped in from the open door.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“
S
ir, we must send someone after your son. He has lost all reason,” Mr. Wilcox said to Mr. Hookham, who sat, unmoving in his chair.
“I have no son,” Mr. Hookham said in an even, hollow tone.
“He may do violence…”
Cecilia need not hear more. She knew who the object of young Mr. Hookham’s violence would be and she must act. She slipped from the room as her father admonished Mr. Hookham to take action. At a run, she made for the side door nearest the stable. Scuffling sounds from within the yard slowed her. In front of the door, two large men held young Mr. Hookham. A tall older man with bushy eyebrows and a competent air spoke lowly to them until he noticed Cecilia.
“Miss Wilcox, forgive my presumption, but would you be so kind as to return to the house? I assure you, we have the matter well in hand.” He bowed slightly.
“How do you know me? Who are you?”
“Jennings, miss. Mr. Thornhill’s valet. I promise you, all is well. We shall place young Mr. Hookham in the custody of the magistrate. I am certain you will be missed momentarily. Also, I believe you are to dine at Lionel Hall this evening. We must be going. Good day, Miss Wilcox.” He bowed again and motioned the men to follow him.
Cecilia opened her mouth to speak and closed it again. What an extraordinary man. Even more amazing, Mr. Hookham had remained silent. She shook her head and walked back to the house.
***
Cecilia studied herself in the mirror. The last hours had been a strange blur. The Hookhams acted as though young Mr. Hookham had never existed. Her father had ridden out, only to return later, assuring her things were as Mr. Jennings claimed. All would be well, her father had said. Her mother and aunt seemed pleased about the dinner party at Lionel Hall. Cecilia tried to form questions to gain answers why none of them was upset by the events of the day, but she decided it was best put behind them. She wished she could do the same with Mr. Thornhill’s engagement to Miss Jenner.
As her mother had instructed, Cecilia wore her blue gown, the one she had on her first night at Lionel Hall. But she did not feel as she had then, just discovering her love for Mr. Thornhill. Now, she knew she loved him, or the man she had believed him to be: her river god, her proper gentleman, her jealous suitor, her responsible landlord, her fierce protector, her dutiful man. Her choice.
***
She exited the carriage at Lionel Hall. The house loomed large against the darkening sky. She inhaled the sharp air, oak leaves and river and wet brick. They entered the hall. The fire lit the space, voices and laughter drew a smile to Cecilia’s face. Her aunt took her arm.
“I believe this evening will have a happy conclusion,” Aunt Higham said.
Cecilia laughed. “I had not known you to be an optimist.”
“I am merely well informed,” Aunt Higham said as they entered the crowded candlelit drawing room.
There he was. Cecilia recognized, even faced away from her, his upright posture, golden brown crop, and blue jacket well. She smiled and greeted everyone in turn: the Mountbanks, the Allenbys, the Jenners, the Shaunesseys, Miss Nefton, Lord Nefton, the Rivertons and a few other families of the neighborhood. She congratulated Miss Jenner and laughed with Captain Mountbank.
He was beside her, bowing, asking after her health, all the polite exchanges were made and he was gone. Cecilia felt again as she had sometimes in London when he would leave her side; she was bereft, but only briefly, and she laughed at herself for it. Mr. Jenner, escorting her in to dinner, wondered if he might share her joke, but she assured him there was none, save herself.
“You, a joke, Miss Wilcox? I question your turn of phrase.”
“Let me say, then, as I have been told, I am a silly, provoking girl, even to myself,” Cecilia replied, laughing once more.
“I cannot imagine who would tell you such a thing,” Mr. Jenner said, as they were seated. Cecilia’s laughter stopped as Mr. Thornhill took his place on her other side, but she had enough presence of mind to reply to her companion.
“My cousin, Miss Felicity, has said it and I have often proven her right.” She trained her eyes on Mr. Jenner lest she stare at Mr. Thornhill, even though she felt as if his eyes focused on her.
“She is in France with her mother’s cousin?” Mr. Jenner asked.
“Yes.”
“Her departure was unexpected, but I understand she has not regretted it,” Mr. Thornhill said.
“Quite. Perhaps she has no regrets, but I could not approve her decision.” She darted her eyes at him. Indeed, his intent gaze was on her.
“I am glad of it,” Mr. Thornhill asserted, his eyes studying hers. Cecilia again felt an invisible pull toward him and returned his look.
Mr. Jenner engaged Mr. Allenby on his other side in conversation.
“And what of Mr. Cateret?” Mr. Thornhill said. “Will he be returning?”
“No, indeed. Mr. Cateret is happily ensconced outside Naples, I understand. I do not believe he would have returned in any case, for our last meeting was not to his liking.”
“I see,” Mr. Thornhill said before turning his attention to his fiancée, who sat on his other side.
Cecilia spent the rest of the meal attempting to enjoy the roast fowl, root vegetables, and other hearty dishes, but she could not help but taste instead the bitterness of her envy toward Miss Jenner for having what Cecilia wanted most.
Mr. Thornhill, as the other gentlemen sat leisurely sipping their wine after dinner, paced the floor, much as he had the night of his uncle’s party in London, before the arrival of the guests. Then, as now, he was unsure of Cecilia’s feelings; then, as now, he did not know his own mind on the matter, however lovely she may be, however much he loved her. Yet it mattered not, for he was engaged, and he cursed himself for it. Mr. Wilcox, who had been having a quiet conversation with Mr. Jenner and Lord Nefton, approached Mr. Thornhill.
“Sir, if I may be so bold,” he began, as Mr. Thornhill stopped and faced him. “I wish you to know we harbor no ill feelings toward you. Your uncle tells me you have been informed of Mr. Hookham’s wrongdoings.”
Mr. Thornhill inclined his head, his neck stiff. Damn Tom for his deceit and villainy. Though he was as much to blame for believing Cecilia would be either so secretive or fickle and letting his jealousy drive him to such a foolish action as to propose to Miss Jenner.
“My daughter seems to have recovered herself, though she is not the girl she was.”
“I gathered that, sir, though I thank you for your words all the same. I apologize again to you. It was wrong of me to conceal the truth from either of you. I hope your daughter may find her happiness.”
“I believe she will, thank you. I hope to witness another engagement soon. There have been many happy unions this year. I congratulate you on your own, sir.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Thornhill said with a frown as they bowed to each other. Lord Nefton approached, claiming his nephew’s attention as Mr. Wilcox walked away.
“Greyton, I have need of your company,” he said. Mr. Thornhill nodded and followed his uncle into his study as the other gentlemen went to join the ladies in the drawing room.
The ladies took turns at the pianoforte, Cecilia being the last to perform. She was especially glad of this, as Mr. Thornhill had entered well after the other gentlemen. There had been some uncomfortable moments with her mother, who tried to convince her to be pleasant to Captain Mountbank, but Aunt Higham ably distracted her.
When Miss Jenner entered the room on Mr. Thornhill’s arm, a stinging pain pricked Cecilia. They must have been off somewhere, alone together. Cecilia wandered about the room, pleased to hear new friends and old enjoying one another’s company, the scent of beeswax and tea lingering in the air, all combining to ease the ache of her longing.
She sang the same song she had in London, that favorite of Mr. Thornhill’s. He studied her as she played. Her face was a bit thinner than it had been, but this only made her wide, high cheekbones stand out, her lips appear fuller, her eyes brighter. Her hair was still in glossy ringlets, still shining and full, her voice still sweet and full of hopes and promises. He could not keep his eyes from her, but yet, when she finished, he remained rooted to his seat, as the oaks behind his home were bound in the earth. He watched her talking to his cousin Anna and Mrs. Higham until he had to move; he was a fool for her still, he must compose himself.
Going to the window, he parted the drape, though he would not be able to see much on such a dark night. He shut his eyes, it did not matter, all he could see was Cecilia and how mistaken he had been. Time and again, he had been ruled by jealousy and pride, his wounded pride in having been betrayed before, by his arrogant regard for his reputation, his placing propriety and duty above all else. He remembered the first time he had seen Cecilia, almost as she was now. How she had been here in that same enchanting gown before, ready to be mistress of his home and his heart. He had let his true vision of her--innocent, lovely, adoring--be clouded by his own assumptions and sense of rightness.
“Sir?” he heard her sweet, strong voice inquire. He felt her warmth next to him, though they did not touch, and he breathed in her scent, the gentle fragrance of spring blossoms. Opening his eyes, he turned to her, gazing at her as if for the first time, studying her features as if it might be the last chance he had. Noticing her frown, he stopped; she always had such an effect on him and he did not like it, much.
“I am a fool,” he whispered. Cecilia glanced up at him, still frowning. He continued, in a low tone. “I am a fool, at least where you have been concerned. Perhaps I shall always be, but if only you love me still, I cannot care. I thought to spare you pain by leaving you. Instead I fear I have caused us both undo suffering. I thought a loveless marriage would release me from my passions, but, thankfully, I will never know. Everyone tried to tell me I was wrong, but I was stubborn and would not hear them. I love you still. I am sorry for causing you pain and I repent of my pride and wrong actions. Can I hope for your forgiveness?”
“Yes, I forgive you,” she said, suppressing a smile. Mr. Thornhill’s cousin and her aunt had been most informative; Aunt Higham and Lord Nefton made quite a pair, with their capable plans for arranging the happiness of their loved ones. “But you ought not say such things. Are you not engaged to Miss Jenner?”
“She has broken our engagement,” he replied with a smile. “An anonymous benefactor has offered to sponsor her in her wish to go into the mission field. She only accepted me to use her position as my wife to further her own causes,” he said in a light tone.
“Miss Jenner, an evangelist?” Cecilia said as Greyton nodded. “Thank goodness she jilted you then or I should fear for your health.” He chuckled as Cecilia grew serious. “I need ask forgiveness as well as you. If I had not always let my temper rule me, if I had trusted you as you asked, we should not have quarreled as we did.”
“I forgive you, though I insist upon assuming the blame.” He gazed at her, slowly removing her gloves, his fingers caressing her bare softness, so like a newly unfurled rose petal. “I have loved you faithfully these six months past. I have needed your smiles and laughter, your sweet care and spirited temper. May we begin again, love?”
“Yes, Greyton,” Cecilia said, as he slid her gloves off completely. His touch sent that summery liquid coursing through her, his eyes were the sun and water, transforming, awakening each spring blossom.
“As man and wife?” he asked, their bare hands intertwining as he drew her to him.
“Yes, of course.” Cecilia grinned mischievously. Greyton smiled his warm, broad smile and kissed her, caring not who saw, caring naught but for Cecilia.
She squeezed his hands and met his adoring eyes. “For as you know, I am in need of a husband.”