Jack nodded. “I don’t know how my father would take to being described as such, but I perfectly agree with you,” he said.
Cecily gave a gurgle of laughter. “Is he a very proud man then, your father?”
“No more than he ought to be,” Jack said. “He is the first baronet, you see, and he does not intend to be the last.”
A flicker of empathy crossed her face. “He sounds as if he might be very like my other grandfather, General Wolverton. Mama always said it was the creation of his peerage that had meant the most to him. He was disappointed not to have sons, and then again when there were no grandsons.”
“Sir Waldo does not seem to mind,” Jack said with a twinkle.
“No,” agreed Cecily, laughing and shaking her head. “As soon as Sir Waldo found I could handle a carriage-and-four, he became quite reconciled to having a granddaughter.”
Jack’s eyes gleamed. “I should think he would. When I am better, perhaps you would ride out with me in the carriage and show me how well you handle the reins.”
“Certainly, sir,” she said, meeting his challenge. “How soon do you think you will be ready?”
Jack shrugged. “My leg feels much better,” he said. “Perhaps the doctor would give me permission to put my weight on it now. I do not think I should drive until I have had a chance to walk.”
“I shall send for him in the morning,” Cecily said. “If he agrees, you could take a turn or two about the garden in the afternoons.”
“Will you accompany me?” Jack asked. She coloured, but nodded.
“I do not think you ought to go by yourself. You might tire and need someone to go back to fetch a servant.”
Jack agreed, with his gravest demeanour. “Oh, no. I must not be allowed to go alone. Think of all the horrible things that could happen to me. I should be much too fearful. But knowing you are there to protect me should make the effort reasonably tolerable.”
Cecily looked at him teasingly. “But I shall have no more of your tricks. I will not be such a slowtop as to fall for them again.”
“You are quite correct,” Jack said, “and I do make my apologies for all my subterfuge.” He smiled engagingly and added, “I trust you did not mind too terribly much?”
Cecily blushed at his obvious meaning. “I cannot deny that your antics were amusing, but had you told me the truth from the outset, there would have been no need for them.”
Jack sensed her slight censure and his tone became suddenly earnest. “You do see though, don’t you, why I could not tell you who I was?” he asked.
Cecily frowned slightly. “I think so,” she said slowly. And then, “Perhaps you have a measure of your father’s pride.”
Jack was taken aback. “Pride? It was nothing of the sort. But how could I claim to be Sir Geoffrey’s son if he would not claim me himself? For that matter, why should you have believed me?”
Cecily could not find an answer, and something occurred to Jack which provoked him to say, “If you had not lost your fortune, I doubt very much you would be sharing the same pot of tea right now with a disinherited son of a baronet.”
“That is true,” Cecily agreed. Then she noticed how serious he had become and added quickly, “But only if you mean I might not have been here at the time. Otherwise, it could make no difference.”
But Jack shook his head and gave her a slight smile. “Perhaps not to you. But I doubt I would be imposing myself on an heiress. Besides, you would be fully occupied with social engagements, and would have little time to entertain a coachman.”
Cecily denied it stubbornly, declaring, “There is no use in imagining it any other way, whatever you say. Our separate quirks of fate have landed us both here, and I am very grateful, if for no other reason than I find you quite useful in helping me to avoid Alfred.”
The playfulness in her manner cheered him, and he dismissed his unwelcome thoughts. Then, inclining his head at the dubious compliment she had paid him, he responded in kind, “I will engage to be useful in that respect, Mistress Cecily—or any other—whenever I am wanted.”
Chapter Ten
But, the next morning, Jack was not as useful in keeping Alfred at bay as Cecily would have liked. The doctor had been called in to see him right after breakfast, and Cecily had stayed downstairs to write letters. She had not worried that Alfred would disturb her, for he was known to stay abed mornings. She was not happy, therefore, to hear his voice from the doorway wishing her a soft “good morning.”
She looked up quickly from her work and greeted him coolly. “Good morning, Alfred. I trust you slept well. You have only to ring and breakfast will be brought to you in the breakfast parlour.” She had hoped by this suggestion to discourage him from pestering her, but was quickly disappointed.
He entered smirking. “That can wait, my dear Cecily. I am delighted to find you alone. Your other guest quite monopolizes you.” She made no doubt that Alfred referred to the night before, when she had been quite content to share the drawing room with Jack but had made their excuses as soon as Alfred had joined them.
Cecily kept her composure. “Mr. Henley is injured and is in need of my assistance, Alfred.”
“Exactly so,” he said. “But I hope you will not blame me if I had hoped for a little of that attention myself. After all, what can the company of a fellow who dresses like a servant be to you, Cecily? You were born to better things.”
This was more than she could quite tolerate and she retorted, “Who better to know that, than you, Alfred! Do you not occupy the house I was to inherit?”
She regretted her harsh words as soon as they were spoken, for her cousin merely smiled as though she had offered him the perfect chance to speak. “I hope, dear Cousin, that you do not blame me for what transpired. I assure you, I was as astonished by my cousin Stephen’s change of heart as you were. But I can only regard it as that, a change of heart. Perhaps he realized the extreme illogic of passing on a title to me, with no estate to support it.”
“Leaving me with no provision whatsoever? I cannot think that was his intention.”
Alfred shrugged. “As to that, dear Cousin, you would be the best one to judge. Perhaps he thought you would be more distressed to learn of his change of heart in writing.”
Cecily was barely able to control her wrath. “Are you suggesting that my father deliberately destroyed his own will?”
“My dear Cecily. I should not suggest anything so distressing. But let us not go over the past. I have come to discuss your future.”
“My future!” cried Cecily, not a little alarmed. “Whatever can you mean, Alfred?”
He smiled coyly. “Come now, Cecily. Surely your feminine instincts will have told you why I am here! You cannot—certainly not after receiving my last missive to you—be doubtful of my meaning.”
Cecily’s heart beat strangely. She had the most urgent desire to flee the room. “You are mistaken, Cousin. I am completely at a loss.”
Alfred laughed mirthlessly. “What a coquette you are, Cecily! I had not thought it. You must know that it is my intention to lay my heart at your feet. I offer you marriage.”
The proposal was made without the slightest effort to appear impassioned, and for that Cecily could only be grateful. She swallowed her retort and answered him with all the civility she could muster, “I thank you, Alfred, for your kind offer. But we should not suit.”
He was clearly astonished by her refusal. “But, Cousin! Only think! I offer you a return to your parents’ home . . . security! What could you possibly wish that I cannot give you?”
Cecily coloured in anger. “There is the small matter of affection and respect between husband and wife, Alfred. Again, I thank you for the compliment you have paid me, but I cannot accept.”
Alfred smiled confidently. “Is that what is troubling you? Then I must have expressed myself badly. But since we have been intimate so long I thought that declarations of love were not necessary. Let me assure you, Cousin, that I ardently love and respect you. In time, I am sure you will grow to regard me with the same degree of affection.”
This was too much. Cecily could only be offended by his attempt to gammon her, for she knew he felt none of the emotions he was professing.
She rose from her writing desk, which she had not left during this exchange and, straightening her shoulders, prepared to leave. “You have had my answer, Alfred. I should be sorry to say anything which might wound you.”
Suddenly, Alfred’s countenance betrayed an unpleasantness from which Cecily shrank instinctively.
He reached for her arm as she tried to pass him and held her against her will. Standing so close to him, Cecily could see that his eyes were shot through with red veins, as if he had not slept. “I suggest you think over my proposal, dear Cecily,” he said, through clenched teeth. “Your prospects are not so promising without a fortune to go along with that pretty face.”
Cecily’s heart contracted with fear. What Alfred said was true. But his manner was so desperate as to frighten her. “Are you threatening me, Alfred?” she asked with all the composure at her command.
He released her at once and inclined his head with an air of apology, drawing his heavy lids over his eyes. “Forgive me if I have offended you. I meant only to point out that my proposal, upon reflection, might become more attractive to you. It is not every day that one is given an opportunity to right a situation which, despite a lack of any requirement on my part to do so, would give me great pleasure to correct.”
Cecily forced her rapid breathing to subside. “In that case, I will certainly think about your proposal. Now, if you will excuse me . . . .”
He stepped aside and allowed her to pass from the room. Feeling suddenly that staying in the same house with Alfred was more than she could bear, Cecily made quickly for the garden to compose herself under the shelter of its trees. She strolled about for some time, thinking over what had just occurred, and chiefly wondering what Alfred intended.
What could have possessed him to offer for her? She was under no illusions as to his affection for her. In fact, she was inclined to suspect that he had as severe a dislike for her as she had for him. Then why had she told him she would think over his offer? Did the truth of his assertions frighten her to the extent that she would consider marriage to Alfred?
Cecily shuddered. The thought was more revolting than any she could imagine. Better to spend her life in lonely spinsterhood than to consider spending it with Alfred.
At that moment, she rounded the corner of a hedge and saw a figure approaching. Her heart bounded with relief when she perceived that it was Jack. His straight, strong figure gave her a strange feeling of reassurance. Smiling, she hastened to meet him, barely resisting the absurd temptation to run.
“Does this mean the doctor will allow you to go for walks?” she asked, after they had greeted each other.
He nodded cheerfully. “It does. He said I might put my weight on the broken limb, so long as I take care not to fall and do not try any tricks. I assured him nothing could be further from my mind.” Then he added in a perplexed tone, “He seemed to have his suspicions of me.”
Cecily smiled impishly, grateful for the change of subject. “I think you’ve forgotten the reason for that,” she reminded him. “Remember Doctor Whiting was here when you were first brought in.”
Jack let out a shout of laughter. “So that was it!” he said. “I wondered why he seemed to think me such a queer fellow. He thinks me a cross between an actor and a coachman.” Then, looking at her as if he sensed something was troubling her, he asked, “I wonder what your cousin would say to my true occupation?”
This mention of Alfred reminded Cecily of her recent experience, and she could not smile. She turned away to hide her look of despair.
Jack laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “What is it, Cecily? What have I said? Has Stourport been annoying you?”
Cecily shook her head, angry at herself for revealing her feelings. “It was nothing,” she said with an attempt at lightness. She was determined not to bother him with this latest development, but her heart was feeling an unaccustomed oppression which the confinement of the past many weeks had only served to make worse.
She was determined not to give in to the dismals, though. Turning back to Jack, she suddenly proposed a change of plans. “Would you care to take a turn in Sir Waldo’s carriage? I can handle the reins. Just yesterday you said you would like to see my skill.”
Jack’s look of concern disappeared and was replaced by admiration. He could not help but admire the lady’s courage in the face of overwhelming discouragements.
“Yes, of course,” he added, “with Sir Waldo’s permission.”
“Fiddle!” said Cecily. “My grandfather’s permission goes without saying.” She walked back towards the house with him, matching his slow pace, until they were met by Mr. Selby who was emerging from a door.
“Selby,” she said, in a polite but firm tone, “have Bob harness Sir Waldo’s team to his phaeton, if you please. Doctor Whiting has given his permission for Mr. Henley to go out, and I shall be taking him on a drive.”
Mr. Selby looked at Jack with a shocked expression and spoke disapprovingly. “Sir Waldo’s horses have not been out for some time, Miss Wolverton. I cannot think he would care to see you risk your safety.”
Cecily raised her chin. “That is nonsense, Selby, and you know it. You know nothing about horses and you only wish to discourage me from going.”
“But Sir Waldo—”
“You may tell Sir Waldo what you please. I am going out. We shall not venture much farther than the gate. Please have the goodness to do as I say.”
Jack was leaning against the doorway, enjoying the spectacle of the six-foot Selby brought to heel by his diminutive mistress. Selby threw him a discreetly irreverent glance and gave in. As his back disappeared from view, Jack said to Cecily admiringly, “Well done! I am certain I would not have the courage to undertake a battle with Mr. Selby.”
Cecily flushed and dimpled. “Of course you would,” she protested. “Will you walk to the stable with me, or shall I collect you up here?”
Jack would not allow himself to be coddled to that extent, and insisted upon going with her.