Cousin Cecilia (15 page)

Neither one said a word as they raced along the road at a gallop. Cecilia’s clenched jaw might have been set in Portland cement, and Wickham hardly looked in a better humor. For a mile they continued in this manner. At that point, an empty hay wain loomed in front of them, taking up the whole road, and they were forced to slow down.

Wickham used the opportunity to try to calm her, for he did not want her running home with some infamous tale. “I’m sorry if you disliked my offer,” he said. “It was made in good faith. We are not youngsters playing at romance. You are the one who urged me to marry and pointed out the necessity of providing an heir.”

She allowed him one quick, hard glare. “The next time you lumber some lady with an offer, I suggest you at least couch it in less selfish terms. You might at least mention that you admire her.”

“I would not offer for a lady I did not like and admire! I had every reason to expect you would welcome my proposal.”

“May I know what you mean by that, sir? I have shown you no more than casual politeness.”

“I think casual politeness would not have welcomed my embraces.” He saw her soaring temper and knew it had been ill-judged to mention that, though it was true. From one folly he hastened into another. “It is the talk of the village that you have set your cap for me. It seems common knowledge that you came to town for no other reason than to make a match. Elgin himself spoke of it quite openly at the abbey.”

“Yes, for my
cousins,
not myself. I would hardly leave London, where there are so many parties, if that had been my aim.” Cecilia reined in and stopped. Wickham drew alongside her, considering her words, and finding to his chagrin, much reason in them. “What have you heard?” she demanded. “Elgin cannot have led you so far astray as this. He knows my matchmaking proclivities.”

“I heard it in the village,” he said, flushing at having listened to common gossip.

“I need not ask where!”

“Your behavior seemed to bear out what I heard. You were not opposed to my attentions.”

“If you listen to common gossip, you must not expect to be properly informed. Let me tell you, Lord Wickham, my only interest in you was to prevent you from leading my cousins’ friends to ruin. For that, I
endured
your company. I begin to think the price paid was too high. Your mount will be returned to the abbey this very day. I do not require your company the rest of the way home.”

She turned her mount toward the ditch, took a run and cleared it, and galloped off across a field of rye, heedless of any damage the ride might do. She was beyond rational thought. Her shame was complete, to think the whole village was gossiping about her. It was the last straw when she found Sally Gardener ensconced in the saloon, with her green eyes staring in curiosity. The only redeeming feature was that the girls were not seated at the window and did not know she had returned alone.

“Why did you not ask Lord Wickham in for a glass of wine, Cecilia?” Mrs. Meacham inquired. She sat with the girls.

Sally could not do without a glance at least of Wickham’s back and fled shamelessly to the window. “I do not see him! Did he not accompany you home, Miss Cummings?”

Without thinking, and wanting only to give the girl a setdown, Cecilia replied haughtily, “No, he did not. He was very upset when I refused his offer of marriage and went directly home.”

“An offer of marriage!” Sally exclaimed. The others added their wonder to the news.

“Before you broadcast it, Miss Gardener, I ought to inform you I did not accept the offer and would appreciate it if you kept it quiet,” Cecilia added. “I cannot imagine where he got the notion I would accept him. No doubt some busybody who knows nothing of me has been whispering misinformation in his ears.” With a cold stare at Sally, she turned and swept from the room, to consider her plight in private.

Belowstairs, the wonder and gossip continued. “Why would she refuse him?” Sally demanded.

“I had thought she liked him pretty well,” Mrs. Meacham averred. “Such an excellent parti.”

Martha had some suspicion that her cousin had fallen under Henley’s spell and was foolish enough to mention it.

Alice laughed her to scorn. “If she has a tendre for anyone, it is the man we visited in London, Sir Nigel Pincombe. They seemed very close, and she invited him here for the assembly. Very likely she is planning a match with him, or why else would she refuse such an excellent parti as Lord Wickham?”

Sally demanded an accounting of Sir Nigel and went home with a full budget of news for her mama.

Lord Wickham also pelted home in a temper. He shouldn’t have mentioned what Sally Gardener said to him. He already half suspected it wasn’t true. What did she know, the simpleton? He shouldn’t have made his proposal so abrupt. Miss Cummings was still young enough to want her offer coated in sugar. He should have been satisfied with a simple kiss on the cheek, or at least a light touch of the lips. He had let himself get carried away by those ripe cherry lips. Not the lips of a prude, whatever she said.

By evening he convinced himself he was well out of it. No need to rush into marriage only because Lord Elgin thought it a good idea. Of course he must marry eventually, but not for a decade yet. And never to someone like Cecilia. No, he wanted a plain, older woman, who would be content to tend to her duties and not expect endless love and romance.

Chapter Twelve

Sir Nigel Pincombe and two friends arrived in Laycombe early Saturday afternoon. Cecilia was satisfied that they provided ample competition for Mr. Dallan, who was really the only gentleman still to be brought into line. Mr. Wideman had called the evening before, and while he had not formally asked for Alice's hand, there were enough hints that no fears remained on that score. Sir Nigel was the best of the bucks. She really ought to let Martha have him, but Lord Wickham also required a lesson, and she determined to keep cousin Nigel for her own particular flirt that evening.

Martha could find nothing to admire in any of them. They were tall and handsome to be sure, with each a good fortune, fine jackets on their backs, and more manners and good humor in a finger than Henley had in his whole body, but still they were not Henley. She could not care for the way Mr. Woodhouse laughed, or for Mr. Teale's eyes. They looked sly, as if he were laughing at her. She submitted to going to the assembly in Mr. Teale's carriage, but only if Mama came with her.

This meant Alice and Mr. Woodhouse would go with Cecilia and Sir Nigel. As Cecilia wished a private word with Sir Nigel before the assembly, she suggested they go for a drive that afternoon. They were not long out the door before he said, "What has got you in the hips, Cousin? Are the men proving obstinate? No proposals forthcoming?"

"On the contrary, I have already arranged a match for Kate Daugherty. Alice's beau is nearly there, and I have received a proposal myself. That is what I wish to discuss with you—my own offer."

"Don't have him. He ain't good enough for you" was Sir Nigel's satisfying reply.

"Well, he is, in worldly terms," she said, and outlined Lord Wickham's position.

"I get a sense from your flashing eyes and angry words that something in the offer displeases you."

"It was the manner of it," she confessed, cheeks flaming at the memory. "He as good as called me an old cat. He spoke of the suitability of my fortune, and—oh he was horrid!" Even to Nigel, her bosom beau, she did not go into details as to just how horrid. No mention was made of the infamous embrace.

"But surely you have always said equality of fortune is one of the chief elements. It removes the possibility that one or the other is seeking cream pot love. The man must be a yahoo," Sir Nigel decided.

"Not at all," she defended swiftly. "He is very conversable and intelligent. He is a sort of amateur antiquarian. He had Lord Elgin and some friends at the abbey this week. No, it is not his mind I object to."

"An ugly old wart, is he?"

"Certainly not! He is the most handsome—that is, he is a little something out of the ordinary in that line."

"Clutch-fisted?"

"Oh no, I have no reason to believe that."

"Then it must be his inference that you are no longer seven years old that did the damage. If he is handsome, rich, and intelligent, I see no reason for your refusing him—if you have finally decided to marry, that is."

"I am not one of those ladies who is eager to marry," she said firmly. "I might have had him—in fact, I had pretty well made up my mind to accept him, but the way he phrased his offer!
He
required a mistress for his abbey,
he
required a son and heir, and nothing about what
I
would get from the union."

"Well, you would have got a handle to your name. Countess Wickham. You would get the dignity of being a married lady and the lifetime rights to living in an abbey. What more do ladies ever get?"

"Oh you are so unromantic, Nigel," she said crossly.

"Indeed, I am not! You are the one who condemns romance."

"I don't condemn it! I say it is not the
only
thing that matters."

"Youngsters ought not to marry only because they like a man's smile, or his hair or nose or teeth. I have heard you say so times without number."

"I still say it."

"For myself, I plan to fall head over ears in love and make a perfectly shocking match with some beautiful, penniless orphan."

"Now you are teasing," she smiled.

"Well, my dear, I am teasing, but I think I see your problem. You have fallen in love with your Lord Wickham—and he has not fallen in love with you. He only realizes that you would make him a suitable wife."

"I don't know if I love him or hate him," she admitted.

"Aye, but if he came out and said he was mad for you, I fancy we know which it would be, eh?" He observed the flush that bloomed on her cheeks and took her hand. "Poor Cecilia. You can bearlead any gentleman except your own. With all your experience at pulling the wool over gentlemen's eyes, surely you can hoodwink your suitor into thinking he loves you."

"Thinking
he loves me!
That
is not what I want!"

"You are not using your head, my dear. If you could get him to the altar, he would soon come to appreciate you. Isn't that your theory, that love grows slowly, like a tree?"

"Not that slowly!"

"Well, in my opinion he would do well to get you."

"It is not a question of getting him to the altar, you know. He has already offered," she reminded him.

"Well then, where is the problem? Say yes, and time will do the rest."

"Oh you don't understand," she sighed. "I want—" She came to a wistful stop, hardly knowing what she wanted, or at least ashamed to say it aloud. She wanted Wickham to feel as she felt. She wanted him to speak of love, to kiss her with fiery passion, and tell her he was insanely mad for her.

"You want romance," Sir Nigel said. "I am not a magician. All I can do is help you to make him jealous. I am at your disposal, but pray do not involve me in duels, or anything of that sort. I am a wretched shot and a coward."

"Jealousy has often worked in the past," she said pensively.

"Then we shall be as close as inkleweavers tonight at the dance and see if that don't turn Wickham's eyes green."

"I doubt he will even come to the dance," she said on another long sigh.

In the end, it all depended on Wickham's attending the assembly. On the hope that he would, Cecilia meant to make the best appearance possible and look like a lady worth loving. She wore an ice blue gown she had had made especially for the London Season and had Miser try two new hairdos before she settled on her usual one. The three maidens met in Cecilia's room Saturday evening before going downstairs.

"You must have the first dance with Mr. Teale, Martha. Even if Henley asks you, you shall refuse," Cecilia decreed.

"I doubt Henley will be there for the first dance."

"He will," Alice assured her. "He always comes with George, and George has asked me for the first dance. I may give it to him I hope, Cecilia?"

"Yes, do, but have the second with Mr. Woodhouse and make sure to stand up with him again once during the evening. That will likely be enough to prod George into a proper offer. You might drop a few innocent remarks about Mr. Woodhouse's estate and mention a fondness for his dancing prowess."

"What if Henley doesn't ask me for the first dance?" Martha inquired listlessly.

"Whichever dance he asks you for first, you must tell him that dance is taken. I shall see that one of our friends stands up with you."

"He may not ask me again," Martha pointed out. "Henley is very proud."

"Yes, unreasonably so, but we shall cut him down to size. Between Alice and myself, we shall let him know Mr. Teale is monstrously fond of you. He will be dangling at your heels all evening."

"What a wretched evening I shall have. I cannot like Mr. Teale's sly eyes, or Woodhouse's laugh."

"There is no accounting for taste. I always prefer a laugh to a sneer," Cecilia said, picking up her pelisse and heading for the door.

They didn't have to pick up Kate that evening. She was being taken by her fiancé. Cecilia wanted to arrive a little late and make a grand entrance with the smart London gentlemen, but the other ladies considered missing a single moment of the evening too high a price to pay, and they arrived on time at the familiar hall, which looked as inelegant as ever. A glance was enough to tell them Dallan and Wideman were already there. They stood with Kate and Andy Sproule, and as soon as the Meacham party arrived, Kate's group headed toward them.

Cecilia made the introductions. She observed with satisfaction the jealous light in Dallan's eyes and felt her little trick was working already. To her dismay, Mr. Dallan hardly glanced at Martha. He bowed to herself and said, "May I have the honor of the first dance, Cecilia?"

"My first dance is taken," Cecilia replied.

Martha looked utterly dazed. She was too capsized to even stick her finger in her mouth, but just stared. She looked ready to bawl. Mr. Dallan then turned to her and said in a perfectly insolent manner, "Then I might as well stand up with you, Martha."