Read What About Cecelia? Online
Authors: Amelia Grace Treader
Tags: #romance, #wales, #regency, #bath, #historical 1800s
What About Cecelia?
What
About Cecelia?
Amelia
Grace Treader
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, and incidents are either products of the author’s deranged
imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2014 by Amelia G. Treader
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,
without written permission from the author, except for the use of
brief quotations in a review.
Smashwords Version
For my loving helpmate, and my adorable
children. It is also dedicated to Walter Savage Landor and his wife
Julia. I could not have invented better characters for this story.
He really was an excellent poet.
Proofed in American English
1.
The Captain and Miss Arnold
Arrive
10.
Captain Wood gets a Reprieve.
- 1. The Captain and Miss Arnold Arrive.
Cecelia Wood was riding part way up Bal Mawr,
with an eye to climbing to the top, when she saw a procession of
carriages arrive at Penyclawdd house. Nestled at the foot of the
Black Mountains, Penyclawdd was the ancient gray stone house where
she lived her first 18 years. It was entailed on a distant cousin,
Captain George Wood, who could now ask her leave at any moment.
Tell her to leave the high, flat moorland, steep valleys, woods and
streams that she had known and loved as long as she could
remember.
She turned her horse around and galloped back to
greet the newcomers. Her groom took her horse and she ran to greet
the new owner. To her surprise, it was just a pair carriages full
of baggage, a valet, and a couple of lady's maids. The valet
informed her, “Ma'am, the captain and Miss Arnold will be here
shortly. They are driving his curricle, and may have stopped for
refreshment on the way.”
“Miss Arnold?”
“His fiancée. May I ask, are you Miss Wood?”
“Yes.” The man glanced at her, then turned away
muttering something that sounded like it started with “Pity,” and
ended with “first.”
“What was that and who are you?”
“Nothing, I'm Captain Wood's valet. You may
address me as Meadows.”
“Mr. Meadows, have you been shown where the
captain is to sleep?”
“I believe it is your father's bedroom, and Miss
Arnold will be down the hall.”
“Good.”
“Miss Wood?”
“Yes, Mr. Meadows.”
“It's just Meadows, not Mr. Meadows. The
carriage also contains a number of barrels of Madeira wine. Is
there an easier way to cellar them than this front entrance?” She
showed him to the kitchen entrance which was behind the building,
then went inside to await Captain Wood and his bride to be.
She grabbed a book of poetry penned by the
passionate romantic poet Mr. Landor, her neighbor from up Cwm Bwlch
at Llanthony. She'd promised him that she would read it and tell
him what she thought. He was sure to ask her about it the next time
they met. The tome was hard going, but it would help her pass the
time while she was waiting for Captain Wood. It took longer than
she expected for him to arrive, and the book was harder going than
she thought. She drifted off to sleep. The noise of an argument in
the hallway in the front hall pierced the air and woke her. It was
loud enough to penetrate the quiet of the front parlor.
“Did you have to stop at all those pubs? You're
half-drunk!”
“I always drive better when I'm a bit
bosky.”
“You were more than a bit bosky, and I detest an
open carriage. If I'd known it would be for all day we'd have
ridden in one of the closed carriages. I mean look at my dress,
it's ruined with the wind and the dirt.”
“I think you look beautiful like that Jane.”
“Call me Miss Arnold, Captain Wood. I am
seriously displeased with you. I'm sure that the sun and wind have
ruined my complexion beyond repair. Simply ruined it.”
Cecelia quickly and carefully smoothed out the
creases in her muslins. Then she walked to the hall and quietly
announced herself. The arguing stopped almost immediately and a
smiling Miss Arnold asked her, “And who are you, my dear?”
“I'm Miss Wood, Miss Cecelia Wood. Welcome to
Penyclawdd house. I hope your trip wasn't too difficult.”
Captain Wood started to say that it had been a
pleasant trip. Miss Arnold stopped him, “That's another thing,
Captain Wood, how do you expect me to live in a place where I can't
even pronounce the names?”
Cecelia pipped the argument at the post by
pointing out, “It isn't that difficult, once you get the hang of
it.'P','E','N' is just 'pen', 'Y' is 'a', 'CL' is 'cl', and 'AW' is
'ou' as in couth, which just leaves 'DD' which is 'th'. So it's
just pronounced 'pen' 'a' 'clouth'.”
“It's still an uncouth language, this
Welsh.”
“The name means start of the dike. We're at one
end of Offa's dike, the border between England and Wales. The farm
started as a Norman castle built to defend England from the
Welsh.”
“I still think it's a primitive barbaric
place.”
Captain Wood made southing noises, “Jane dear,
you're tired, it has been a long day. Maybe you will feel better
with some refreshment.” He waited, with bated breath to see how the
light of his life would take to his idea.
Miss Arnold sighed, “You are so right, Georgie.
It has been a hard day traveling here from Gloucester and I can
tell my temper is getting the better of me. Miss Wood, could you
see if there is any refreshment available?”
“I'll ask, but why don't you sit in the parlor?
There's a book of poetry written by one of our neighbors, Mr.
Walter Landor.”
“People write poetry in these wilds?”
“He does at least. Apparently he's a famous
poet. He and his wife Julia have been restoring Llanthony prior. We
could visit them, when you've settled in.”
“So there is at least
some
culture in
this forsaken wilderness.”
Cecelia responded, “There are assemblies at
Abergavenny. They have dances, concerts and readings.”
“The big city of Abergavenny, you don't say.
Does everyone wear the latest mode?”
Cecelia ignored the snipe and continued, “The
moors are so romantic, especially when it storms and the clouds
sweep across them. It always reminds me of Miss Radcliffes' 'The
Romance of the Forest'.”
“I never read novels, they are so common.”
“Then perhaps the works of Shelley or Byron? I
find it the best place to read them. Alone, high up on the moor
with the wind whistling around me, and the call of the skylarks
filling the air.”
A serious argument was beginning to brew between
Miss Wood and Miss Arnold. Fortunately for the peace, Meadows came
out from the servants' wing and announced that dinner was
ready.
Captain Wood, realizing that his escape had been
exceedingly narrow, said, “Thank you Meadows, I know this is
outside of your normal duties as a valet.”
“Sir, it is sometimes, especially in these
barbaric circumstances, necessary to adjust one's expectations to
the exigencies of the situation.”
“Yes, what you said. Miss Wood, could you do the
honor of showing us to the dining room?”
Miss Arnold broke in, “That is my role, and I
have the precedence here.”
“Miss Arnold, do you know the way?”
“No.”
“I'll show you the way, but you are free to
precede me into the room if you wish.” Jane nodded, unaware of the
hidden satire in Cecelia's response, but fully satisfied that her
prerogatives and status were duly preserved. Captain Wood did not
miss it, and looked at his cousin in a new light.
Dinner went very well. At least the parts of
dinner. Miss Arnold complained about the toughness of the lamb, the
lack of variety of vegetables, and the general inelegance and
simplicity of the table settings. Captain Wood drank so much wine
that he fell asleep at table and started snoring midway through the
main course. These activities ensured that a sparkling level of
conversation and society filled the hall. As soon as dinner was
over Cecelia made her apologies and retired for the night with a
headache and a good book.
Early in the morning Cecelia had the groom
saddle her horse. In need of relief from her cousin and his
fiancée, she set out in search of fresh air, long vistas, and
romantic settings. She rode up Hatterrall hill, following Offa's
Dike, the ancient border between Wales and England to the top. This
ride had the great advantage that she couldn't even see Penyclawdd
house and could blot its occupants from her mind. Soon, alone, high
on the hill, with the wind whipping past her, the sheep calling in
the distance, and the skylarks chirping she felt like a true
romantic heroine. A woman out of Byron's poems or Mrs. Radcliffe's
novels.
Her solitude and the reverie that went with it
were not to last. There was a woman up ahead, where the path from
Llanthony priory rose to meet the dike path. She was sitting and
crying. Cecelia rode closer and recognized her neighbor, Julia,
Mrs. Landor. She rode up to her, leaned over and asked, “Mrs.
Landor, what's wrong?”
“Miss Wood, can I call you Cecelia?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Cecelia, it's my husband. He's so difficult at
times. We've just had a fight and I'm upset. I don't know what I'll
do if he won't forgive me.” She broke into tears.
“Forgive you for what?”
“Disagreeing with him. If only that solicitor,
Mr. Gabell hadn't put him in a bad mood this morning.” Cecelia
found herself thinking that there could be fates worse than death
and being married to an unloving husband or wife could be one of
them. She carefully dismounted and, while still holding the reins,
went to sit with her neighbor.
“Julia, I'm sure it will be fine. Didn't you
argue last month and Mr. Landor stormed out of the house?”
“Yes, but this is different. It was all so
magical when we met in Bath. He saw me at the assembly, said I was
the most beautiful woman there and proposed on the spot.”
“That must have been wonderful.”
“It was. But then we came here, the farmers all
try to cheat us, and that solicitor. I think he's just using Walter
as a source of funds.” She sobbed a bit more, “I, I wish we'd
stayed in Bath.” Finally, she broke into untrammeled weeping.
Cecelia looked away from her friend and scanned
the horizon. With one horse, there wasn't any easy way to get her
home. Looking at Julia's feet she realized that her friend fled in
her slippers. “Julia?”
“Yes?”
“Get up on my mare.”
“I can't ride.”
“Awyr is a sweetheart, and I'll lead her for
you. We'll walk back to Penyclawdd. You can send Mr. Landor a note
from there. I'm sure when he's calmed down, he'll be sorry. He is
always sorry afterwards, you know that.”
“I suppose so. I'm not sure. I feel so odd.”
“Are you,” she paused knowing she was asking a
very personal question, “breeding?”
“Might be. Would that make me feel this
way?”
“I wouldn't know myself, but remember Mrs.
Llewellyn?”
Julia laughed at the memory. The young farmer's
wife was notorious for bursting into tears at church every Sunday
until she delivered her child.
“Come on, you can't stay out here in any
case.”
Julia stood and with a bit of difficulty swung
up into the side-saddle. Cecelia started to lead her off, when they
heard the noise of another horse, being ridden hard behind
them.
Julia cried, “It's him, it's Mr. Landor!”
It was. He was looking for Julia, calling at the
top of his lungs, “Julia! Where are you? Please forgive me!”
Cecelia waved, and he rode to them. Julia looked
away as he approached.
“Miss Wood, what a pleasure to see you.”
