There was an overabundance of spirits, as well, and Cecilia soon realized she had never partaken of so much wine in her life. Even only taking little sips, she began to feel woozy. She had the misfortune, or perhaps the luck, of sitting between Mr. Todd and Mr. Cavendish. The former regaled her with the importance and goodness of the assembled personages while Mr. Cavendish studiously ignored her, leaving Cecilia free to observe the other guests. As dinner wore on, for, of course, there had to be at least ten courses, Cecilia wondered what she was even doing there. In her hazy state, she spied Mr. Mainmount through the elaborate candelabra and, for a moment, mistook him for Mr. Cateret. Letting her fancy fly freely, she imagined he was Mr. Cateret and soon embarked on an elaborate daydream. Finally, the ladies retired to the drawing room, where Cecilia sat quietly, continuing in her fantasy.
Soon, she was interrupted in her imaginings by Lady Stanley, who asked Cecilia to take a turn in the garden with her. Cecilia was more than happy to do so, especially with the one guest she believed to be kind. She hoped the night air might clear her muddled head and was relieved when her mother gave her consent. As they walked out, Lady Stanley inquired about Cecilia’s visit and her family. When they reached the garden, which, though illuminated with a few lanterns, was still fairly dark, Lady Stanley stopped near a large tree. Apologizing for her sister, she begged Cecilia’s pardon for anything offensive Miss Latimer may have said.
“No, not at all, Lady Stanley. You need not have troubled yourself.”
“Oh, but I must. She has always needed me to get her out of scrapes and away from less desirable gentlemen,” Lady Stanley replied with a malicious flash in her eye.
Cecilia wondered at this turn, when a man’s sure footsteps approached. It took Cecilia a moment in the dark and seclusion of the spot to see it was Mr. Mainmount.
“Lady Stanley, Miss Wilcox, what a surprise to find you here,” he said in an even tone. “I thought the night air might be invigorating.”
As her head now ached and her stomach cramped, Cecilia would not agree.
“Mr. Mainmount. I assume I can trust Miss Wilcox to your care. I must return to my husband.” Lady Stanley walked back to the house, not giving Cecilia a chance to object.
Cecilia closed her eyes briefly, trying to collect herself, but images of ‘Ret floated before her. She felt a hand about her waist and on her cheek. Surely he must be here, holding her as he had on the hill that day before the picnic. The sour smell of spirits caused her to open her eyes.
“’Ret,” she whispered, her vision hazy in the dark garden. But it was Mr. Mainmount who held her and said her name. Shaking her head and trying to back up, she regained some of her sense. She must do something. There would be no Mr. Thornhill to rescue her this time, as he had at the ball. Putting up her hands and pushing Mr. Mainmount away, she moved aside, so as not to be forced into the unyielding tree trunk.
“Sir, this is most improper. I beg you take me back into the house now.” Her voice shook, as did her hands.
“I must speak to you. Will you not let me?” He advanced on her.
“Please, sir, I am unwell. I must beg to return to the house,” Cecilia said, trying to move past him up the walk. Mr. Mainmount was determined, however, for he grasped her arm, pulling her near him. Before he could speak, someone called her name from the terrace. Mr. Mainmount uttered an exasperated grunt before leading her up the path.
“Ah, Mrs. Higham. I was just escorting your niece back to the drawing room. She says she is unwell.” As soon as he released her, Cecilia wobbled to the stairs.
“Thank you, Mr. Mainmount, though Lady Stanley ought not have offered her company if she would be so derelict. Come, my dear, perhaps it is time we were off. Let us inside,” Mrs. Higham said, taking Cecilia back into the house as Mr. Mainmount followed. As soon as was politely possible, much to Mrs. Wilcox’s chagrin, they made their farewells and were, within the hour, back in the safety of Mrs. Higham’s abode.
Chapter Seven
M
rs. Wilcox tried to rouse Cecilia from her bed the next morning, but to no avail. Cecilia still felt too ill to come downstairs, nor was she inclined to force herself to, as she might have at home. Not only would her mother no doubt scold her severely, but also Cecilia needed time to consider what to do. That Mr. Mainmount might wish to propose to her already, if that was his intention, came as a shock and she did not know if she would welcome such a proposal, especially in light of her aversion to his family and friends, save for Mr. Cateret. He was the other problem. She still loved him, she supposed, though she was disappointed in him and did not like certain aspects of his character, which she felt had been revealed in his treatment of her. Perhaps, she admitted to herself, she had known all along they would not suit but ignored this practicality to give way to her feelings for him. Her head ached, so she buried it in the soft pillow until sleep blotted out her worries.
Upon awakening when the maid brought her something to eat, Cecilia’s queasiness abated. She got up to fetch her writing desk so she could begin the day’s correspondence.
“You ought not let your mother see you writing,” Amelia warned her when she came a few moments later to inquire after her cousin. “She has been irascible all morning and will force you to come down if she sees you doing anything but weakly reclining in bed,” she finished, sitting in a chair opposite Cecilia.
“I suppose you are right. Will you put this away for me, then? Perhaps we can hide in here together for a time. I am sorry to have caused her ill temper which has made you all uncomfortable.”
“Nonsense. I have heard all three versions of the evening. It is you who must have suffered. It seems to me Lady Stanley probably arranged the whole thing with Mr. Mainmount. He must have told her he would keep away from her sister if she helped him. I only hope his intentions toward you are honorable. Please be careful.”
“Surely he would not be so calculating? What do you imply, Amelia? That he wished to elope with me?” Cecilia sat up, forgetting her invalid status.
“Yes, he has done it before, as I tried to tell you.”
“Was he married, then?”
“Really, Cecilia,” she said in exasperation. “No, he never married the girl. I do not know all particulars, of course, but…”
“Then perhaps you are mistaken. We do not know what really happened. It does not matter for I shall not accept him. However, I must keep our engagements for the week if only to placate my mother. Surely he will not press his suit if I am unwilling. This is not one of those horrid novels Fanny is so fond of.” Cecilia crossed her arms.
“Perhaps not, but even my mother does not trust him and she is apt to excuse much of men’s behavior.”
Cecilia relaxed her posture at her cousin’s calm tone. “Thank you. I will try to be more cautious. Now, tell me about your evening. I hope it was better than mine,” Cecilia said, smiling. She and Amelia sat talking for some time until Mrs. Wilcox came up to check on her daughter.
“I see you are well enough to sit talking to your cousin. Why can you not come down to receive callers, then?”
“Mama, I am in no condition to receive gentlemen callers today. I was about to rest again, if you please. My stomach still cramps most awfully,” Cecilia replied, snuggling herself further into the cushions.
“Humph. Perhaps your absence will inflate expectations. Will you be well tomorrow, do you suppose? If you will not go riding with Mr. Mainmount, we ought tell him today.”
“I would rather ride on Thursday. I should be completely well by then, thank you.”
“I will tell him if he calls. You may rest, but I shall expect you downstairs tomorrow.”
“Yes, Mama,” Cecilia said, closing her eyes.
Naturally, the day Cecilia could not receive callers was the day she had the most gentlemen arrive to see her. She was glad to avoid Mr. Lapping, the puppy, Mr. Gottersham, the ogler, Lt. Mannerly, who was not what his name indicated, and even Mr. Mainmount, whose behavior so puzzled her. Mr. Holden, the young curate, also called to loan her a book they had discussed at Middleton House. While she had no special feeling for him, she did wish to know him better as he would be a near neighbor. It was Mr. Thornhill whom she regretted not seeing, though she could not understand why.
Mr. Thornhill entered Mrs. Higham’s drawing room. The afternoon light threw lines across the carpet. Miss Wilcox was absent from the room. His smile faded. Mrs. Higham greeted him, as Mrs. Wilcox entertained some other caller, a young man who had danced twice with Miss Wilcox at the ball. But it was he she assented to drive out with, not these other young men. Still, he was unsure how much time she had spent with Mainmount, who was the most immediate threat. Mrs. Higham fell into silence, rare for her, as was her worried frown, which he had never known that lady to evince. Mr. Thornhill became concerned that Miss Wilcox’s indisposition was more serious than Jennings had known.
“Is Miss Wilcox dangerously unwell, Mrs. Higham? You seem very troubled. If I may be of service to her, please tell me.” He sat on the edge of the sofa, uncomfortable in the company and his own desire to protect Miss Wilcox.
“Thank you, sir. You are most kind, as always. My niece should be well enough tomorrow. I hesitate to tell you what worries me, however. It is really a matter for the Misters Wilcox.”
“But they are not here. Is it a pressing matter? Perhaps you ought send for Mr. Wilcox.”
“No, that would not do.” Mrs. Higham tapped her fingers on the arm of the couch, as if counting off her options.
“I assume it is something to do with Miss Wilcox? I offer my help, in any way I can. I would be most grieved if she came to harm.” He pulled himself taller to remind himself it was never correct to reveal too much.
“Thank you, sir. It would ease my mind to unburden myself,” Mrs. Higham began in hushed tones. “I am concerned by Mr. Mainmount’s behavior. After dinner last night, he contrived to be alone in the garden with her. Fortunately, I realized what was afoot and found her before any mischief could be made. While I know she would not welcome any forward attentions, I fear she may be unequal to repelling them. Though I make every effort to see she is properly chaperoned, I am afraid Mrs. Wilcox favors his suit and so is liable to let him act too freely. I am sorry, I ought not have told you any of this. It was wrong of me…” Mrs. Higham broke off.
He slumped slightly as if someone jabbed him in his gut. Forcing himself to sit taller again, he clenched his jaw, biting back the fury which would blind him if he did not squelch it. “No, madam. I offered my help. Are you certain Miss Wilcox does not welcome his attentions? I do not wish to interfere where I ought not.”
“I assure you, she does not. She may like him, I suppose, but she does not wish to marry him. She told Miss Amelia so.”
He prayed this was true. His neck prickled, hot with his suppressed feelings. “Why do you not speak to her then? She need not receive him if she does not wish to.”
“You do not know my sister, Mr. Thornhill. My niece rightly feels it would be better to keep those engagements she has already made with that gentleman. I only feel at a loss as to how to prevent any further schemes on his part.”
Why was this woman torturing him? He shifted in his seat. Miss Wilcox had spirit enough to refuse Mr. Mainmount, if she did not like him. “I do not know what I can accomplish, Mrs. Higham. My uncle and his daughter arrive tomorrow and I will be much occupied with them. However, I will call on Miss Wilcox before then and think of what might be done. I urge you to speak with her. It would be best if she did not see him again,” Mr. Thornhill said, rising and taking his leave. Perhaps he should speak to Anna, she had a clear mind and was a comfort, unlike Miss Wilcox, who bedeviled him at every turn. Of course, when had love not treated him thusly? He shook his head, knowing the only sensible course was to forget Miss Wilcox.
Cecilia, after her day of rest and applications of a hot water bottle, indeed felt much better the next morning, though she did not regret her assertion that she would not ride out that day. Her recovery was soon tested by the scoldings of her mother and the questions of her aunt, who had managed to send Fanny and Amelia out after breakfast. Cecilia did not like to discuss such matters with them and certainly not in these circumstances, where their scrutiny was centered on she herself. Mrs. Wilcox and Mrs. Higham both seemed to believe there was something wrong with Cecilia’s very nature and she needed a husband to correct her, as her own family had been unable to do so. After over an hour of their harassment, Cecilia could hold her temper and her tongue no longer.
“What would you have me do? Accept Mr. Mainmount even though I do not love him?”
“When I was a girl, one married who one’s parents chose.”
“Oh, really, Mama? I thought you chose Papa.” Cecilia perched on a chair, hands clasped. Better to look dutiful and meek, even if she was not.
“Yes, we made a love match, it is true, and while I do not necessarily regret it, I do not know I would do the same knowing what I do now. Your aunt Higham was more prudent than I and she now reaps the benefit of it.” Mrs. Wilcox stopped in front of Cecilia’s chair and met her eyes.
“I cannot believe you would say this. You would have me marry for money and position?”
“You like Mr. Mainmount. In time your feelings would grow, I am sure.” Her mother waved a hand and turned, walking to the sofa. “As I say, there is much else to consider. Love always fades in time while connections and security grow more important.” Mrs. Wilcox settled herself on the sofa while Cecilia moved to rise, but her aunt stayed her.
“I do not wish to hear any more. Please let me return to my room.”
“Cecilia, listen to us. We have the wisdom of experience. You know your father entrusted us to guide you,” Mrs. Higham added in a calm tone.
“He would not force me to marry where I do not love.”
“You are and have always been a stubborn and willful child,” Mrs. Wilcox said, narrowing her eyes. “Your father is a fool when it comes to you, as well as in his notions about love. I suppose that is where you got it from.”
“Do not speak of him so,” Cecilia replied, close to tears.
“Very well. I know why you do not wish to accept Mr. Mainmount. It is that Mr. Cateret. You think yourself in love with him, don’t you? He will never marry you, Cecilia. He has made it no secret he does not ever plan to marry.”
Cecilia felt the sting of her mother’s words and opened her mouth to speak but no sounds came.
“Mr. Mainmount is much like him, you must see that. He will take better care of you, he will marry you. Do not throw yourself away on a man who would ruin you, daughter,” Mrs. Wilcox said in a placating manner.
Cecilia pulled herself up, her face hot.
Mrs. Higham joined Mrs. Wilcox on the sofa. “You need not decide anything now. No proposals have been made. We only ask you not to decide against anyone yet. Give your suitors a fair chance. Surely you must see the sense of that.”
“I will try,” Cecilia replied, though she no longer knew whether to believe her own words or not. Only the clear air and open hills of home could help her see clearly. “May I go now?”
“Yes, you need to rest awhile in case anyone calls later. Do you want a tray sent up for your luncheon?” Mrs. Wilcox asked.
Cecilia nodded her head in assent and trudged upstairs.
A few hours later, Cecilia was well enough to come downstairs, but her spirits were still low. Perhaps she did not know anything; it would be so much easier to give in and do as her mother wished. Certainly she did not believe she could feel much more miserable. She was happy with nothing, from her pale countenance to her dark scarlet dress. Looking down at the folds of her garment as she sat on the sofa, she thought how much she disliked the color. Whatever possessed her to choose it? She felt possessed just now, perhaps by the spirit of some contrary and melancholy imp.
However, at least her fractious mood seemed to have driven off Mr. Lapping while her appearance seemed to have done the trick on Mr. Gottersham. Her mother and aunt scolded her again for her behavior and urged her to improve lest Mr. Thornhill or Mr. Mainmount made an appearance. Cecilia had rather not even see them; surely she would scare them off as well. Yet she could not seem to rally herself. She wanted only to return home. If Mr. Cateret was here, he would be able to make her laugh. This thought drove her deeper into darkness.
As she sat twisting her handkerchief, Mr. Thornhill was announced. From his deep frown and glowering eyes, she gathered he was none too pleased to be here. She wondered then why he had bothered at all. When he strode over and sat on the sofa with her, his nearness gripped her and she shivered. After inquiring about her health and other such pleasantries, he sat quietly a moment, seeming to study her.
“Miss Wilcox, are you certain you are well enough to be downstairs? I would not wish you to tax yourself.”
“I believe I know my own strength, thank you, sir. I am sorry if I look so ill as to rouse your concern,” Cecilia said with a petulant frown. She knew she was rude but somehow could not help herself.
“You know very well I did not mean that,” Mr. Thornhill replied in an irate whisper, his face a reddish hue. Cecilia was taken aback, she had never seen him so, not even when he had confronted the young man at the ball.