Cavendon Hall (46 page)

“I don’t think I have to do that, Cecily. I believe you.”

“Thank you,” Cecily said, and gave her a wan little smile.

“You can’t see him anymore, privately I mean. I’m sure you’ll run into him at Cavendon, but you can’t continue this … romantic liaison. You can’t become his mistress after he’s married.”

“I wouldn’t want to! I really wouldn’t!” Cecily said quietly.

Charlotte looked at her. “I’m so sorry, darling, so very sorry this happened. I tried to protect you. I got you away. I saw it happening even when you were children.” She shook her head helplessly.

“I know,” Cecily murmured, and then she looked into Charlotte’s eyes, so like her own, and asked, “Whatever am I going to do without him? I love him so much. He’s part of me. Part of my heart and soul.” She began to weep.

Charlotte put her arms around Cecily and held her close. Twice in her life she had been where Cecily was now. Two Ingham men she had loved, and one she still loved. She had no answer. She was crying herself.

Ten minutes later, after they had both composed themselves, Charlotte said, “Let me change the subject for a moment. I’d like to discuss business. To be precise, your business. The shop in Burlington Arcade to begin with. All right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“It is yours. The lease is in your name, and you have a five-year lease. The first year’s rent is paid, and it will be paid by me for the next five years. And—”

“But Aunt Charlotte, I can’t let you do that,” Cecily interjected. “Not unless you become my partner.”

“I was just going to suggest that. I will be your financial, but silent, partner. You can run the business the way you see fit. And it is yours.” She moved slightly on the sofa, and went on, “How much did DeLacy lend you to open the little shop?”

“About a thousand pounds, and then she gave me some extra money for fabrics. Altogether I owe her about fifteen hundred pounds,” Cecily explained.

“Is she a partner? Did you make a contract with her?”

“No, I didn’t. Why?”

“I’m happy she just loaned you the money as a friend. Tomorrow I’ll work out the interest you owe her. I will give you the money to repay her everything. I really don’t want you to have any financial obligations to anyone out of the Swann family.”

“I understand. And thank you, from the bottom of my heart.”

“I was leaving you this money in my will, better you have it now.” Charlotte sat up straighter on the sofa, and took Cecily’s hand in hers again. “You are nineteen years old, and your life is ahead of you. You have two choices, Cecily. You can grab hold of that life and make something of it. You have beauty and charm, but most important of all, you have a God-given talent that borders on genius. Or, if you prefer, you can yearn after Miles, become his mistress, and let everything else fall by the wayside. Which is it going to be?”

“I told him I wouldn’t become his mistress, even though he didn’t ask me. And I won’t,” Cecily said in that vehement tone.

“He’ll still come after you, Cecily. I know the Ingham men. They just can’t resist Swann women. You’ll have to be very strong.”

Cecily was silent. She knew her aunt spoke the truth.

After a while Charlotte said, “Come on, give me an answer, Cecily. What’s it going to be?”

“My choice is to become a famous fashion designer. A success.” She paused, took a deep breath, and said, “I want to follow my dream. And I choose to walk alone.”

And she did.

Fifty-nine

M
iles was the first Ingham to arrive at Lord and Lady Meldrew’s Mayfair house, located in Charles Street, just off Berkeley Square. It was his engagement party, after all, and he had to be there before everyone else, to greet the guests along with the Meldrews.

And so there he was, standing next to Lady Sara and Lord John, with Clarissa by his side. He had a confident smile on his face, but inside he was filled with dismay as he contemplated his future. No changing that, he thought, his smile growing wider.

He knew Clarissa was nervous about the imminent arrival of his family. He couldn’t say he blamed her. The Inghams were something to behold. Many people were intimidated by them, because of their amazing looks, their standing in society, and their wealth, although they themselves played everything down.

Turning to Clarissa, he murmured, “You know my sisters, Clarissa, and they’re easy to get along with, so no worries. All right?” He raised a brow.

She nodded and replied, with a hint of humor, “I do know your sisters, and DeLacy used to call me the Honorable Miss Mildew behind my back.”

Miles knew this was true, but he simply flashed her a bright smile, which was the only thing to do. There was nothing too terrible about Clarissa. She was a nice-looking, pleasant girl with an aristocratic background and wealthy parents. By nature she was shy, but once she relaxed she was easy to talk to, and get along with.

Most men would have been happy to marry her, would have leap-frogged over each other to get her to the altar. For him it was a duty. He loved someone else.

Just as he was wondering where his family was, they arrived all at once and all together, all of them blond and smiling and full of bonhomie.

His father strode across the hall, looking impossibly handsome and impeccably dressed, his natural charm engaging the Meldrews at once. He was accompanied by DeLacy and Dulcie, who was now twelve and a beauty. As DeLacy floated toward him, shod in pale blue silk shoes and wearing an extraordinary frock of mingled blues, Miles caught his breath. She looked absolutely stunning, and that frock was no doubt Cecily’s creation. His heart clenched. Don’t think of her, he warned himself sternly.

Once his father, DeLacy, and Dulcie had spoken to the Meldrews and Clarissa, they moved on, and entered the drawing room.

Hugo and Daphne were the next to walk in. His sister was as glorious as always, and extremely happy. She was four months pregnant with her third child, and Hugo looked as proud as Punch.

Following immediately behind came Great-Aunt Gwendolyn, wearing a flowing satin gown of her favorite royal purple, and enough diamonds to sink a battleship. But she carried them off with total aplomb, as only she could, the matriarch of the Ingham family.

Lady Gwendolyn was leaning on the arm of Diedre, to whom she was close. Diedre was also stunning this evening, and smiling for once. Miles was rather proud of his oldest sister, who was still working at the War Office and committed to her position, even though the war had been over for two years.

Aunt Lavinia and Uncle Jack arrived with Aunt Vanessa in their wake, and now everyone he had invited was here. Except for his mother. This thought had just entered his mind when she too finally appeared. She was alone because Miles had not thought it proper to invite her lover, Lawrence Pierce, the now-famous neurological surgeon. He had only met the man once and had disliked him on sight. Pierce might be brilliant but he was arrogant. Diedre had told him all surgeons were arrogant because they thought they were God.

Miles took a step forward, not wishing his mother to walk in alone, but his father beat him to it. Charles, ever the true gentleman, hurried over to greet Felicity, and it was he who escorted her to the receiving line.

She knew the Meldrews, so there was no discomfort, and they all chatted pleasantly together. Miles thought his mother looked chic, but thin, and her makeup was too vivid, but at least she appeared to be relaxed.

After a few moments, Clarissa touched his arm, and said, “The Meldrews and the Fosters will be here any minute, Miles, and my friend Annabelle.”

Miles replied, “My father told me he knows your uncle, Sir Malcolm Foster, and his wife, Phyllis.”

“That’s my mother’s sister, and their two sons are coming with them, also my other cousin, Johanna Meldrew, will be here.” She gave him an odd look. “There are not as many of us as there are of you. And I must admit, I envy you your siblings.”

Miles began to laugh. “I know. We’re quite a clan, aren’t we?” He scanned the room, realized it truly was full of Inghams, and this pleased him. He liked having that backup they gave him.

*   *   *

The dinner was well done. The food and the wine were incomparable, and Miles was relieved when the conversation turned to important things, away from gossip and the social whirl of London. He loathed trivial conversation; it didn’t seem appropriate these days.

The world had been irrevocably changed by the Great War. Things were very different now. The aristocracy was being heavily taxed. This was an entirely new innovation.

The villages across England, and theirs in particular, had been diminished. So many men had been killed in the war, and acres of land were sadly neglected. The men who had gone off with a deferential manner had returned from the war in a different frame of mind. They weren’t quite the same. They had seen their brothers die in blood and mud on the fields of France. They had fought for their country, and they believed they were owed something. A better living, higher wages, more respect. He didn’t blame them for expecting this. Surely it was their due.

He thought then of Guy. Lost to them forever. Killed at the Battle of Verdun. He and Guy had been close, despite the difference in their ages, and Miles had always looked up to his brother, the heir. He would miss Guy for the rest of his life. He would mourn him and love him until
he
died.

Violet Lansing had loved Guy. At the end of the war, she had sought Miles out, and asked for details of Guy’s death, or whatever he knew about his passing. And she had wept in his arms, and confessed her love for his brother. Miles had understood then that Violet had been forbidden to Guy. Because she was not an aristocrat. He sighed under his breath. That had to change too, sooner or later, that class difference. But would it?

He did not know the answer. Nor did he have answers for anything at this moment in time. The world is in a strange kind of limbo, Miles thought. Suddenly he wished the dinner would end so that he could escape. Be on his own. Think of her. His lost love. Also forbidden like Violet.

*   *   *

Out on the pavement, several hours later, Miles refused his father’s offer of a ride home to Grosvenor Square in the Rolls. Miles explained he would prefer to walk, get some fresh air, stretch his legs. His father merely nodded, touched his arm, and departed with Dulcie and DeLacy. Everyone else had their own cars.

Miles headed down to Berkeley Square, strolled slowly toward Mount Street, then he turned around and walked back. He headed to Charles Street, walking in the direction of Park Lane.

It was a lovely September evening, an Indian summer kind of evening, the air soft and balmy. He lifted his head and looked up. The sky was as black as ink, and hundreds of stars were tiny, bright pinpoints of light, surrounding a glorious full moon. And he thought of Cecily, wishing she were with him, that he had her in his arms on such a night as this, a night for love and lovers like them.

He realized that he had stopped at South Audley Street and he was unable to resist turning right, heading for her little hole in the wall. It was just one room with a small space for sewing. But no matter what it was, she loved it. He knew she wouldn’t be there at this hour but he just wanted to feel her shadowy presence, the spirit of her.

When he got there Miles couldn’t believe what he was reading on the white card attached to the door.
SHOP FOR RENT
. He read it again in total disbelief. She had been here on Monday, and today was only Friday. Three days and she had gone.

What had happened? Where was she? Was she all right? Had she left London? Or just found another shop? He was frantic, filled with panic and worry.

He held himself very still. Was it always going to be like this? Was he going to worry about her for the rest of his life? Fret about her? Care about her? Yes, he was. Nothing would ever change when it came to the woman he loved beyond reason, and more than anyone else in the world.

He could not have her. But Cecily would always own his heart and his soul. His life had been mapped out for him, and he could not change it. He would have to walk the path he had inherited because of Guy’s death, but he would walk it alone. And he would marry Clarissa. He had no choice.

The die was cast.

Acknowledgments

T
he most exciting part of writing a book is, obviously, the actual creation of the manuscript. The realization of the characters, who they
really
are, and what they are all about; and then, of course, the dramas start, as they begin to live out their lives and to interact with each other. Emotions, problems, trouble in general. Without trouble there is no plot.

It’s a journey with a group of people I’ve come to love and care about, and it’s very hard to let go of them. I find that happens every time I write a book. But I do have to let go, and that’s when a whole new group of people enter my life.

I must now mention all those people who are involved with my books. I owe special thanks to Jennifer Enderlin, Senior Vice President and Publisher, St. Martin’s Paperbacks and Griffin. She is my editor and sounding board, and her ideas and suggestions are always on target. Her enthusiasm for all of my books is much appreciated. Thanks are also due to Caitlin Dareff, Associate Editor, who handles all the nitty-gritty. I want to thank Sally Richardson, President and Publisher, for her continuing support of my books.

I have to thank Lonnie Ostrow of Bradford Enterprises for his help with preparing the manuscript for publication. A computer whiz, he gets all of my numerous rewrites and edits onto the document with good humor, and helps with my research as well. My thanks to Linda Sullivan of WordSmart, who is fortunately willing to work weekends when required, which is often, I must admit.

As always, many thanks go to my husband, Robert, whose insights are invaluable and whose criticisms are always well founded. Bob is a huge part of my career, which he handles with the skill of a businessman and the creativity of a movie producer. I am lucky that I have his love and support.