Lady Cecily and the Mysterious Mr. Gray

by Janice Preston

  ‘Aunt?’ Olivia was by her side, holding her hand. ‘What is it? You’ve gone white.’

  Cecily bit down hard on the inside of her cheek and the sharp pain steadied her spinning head. ‘Show him into the salon, please, Grantham. I shall be there directly.’

  The butler’s mouth thinned in clear disapproval, but he bowed and left the room.

  Thank goodness Leo is not at home. And Rosalind and Nell were out shopping. Olivia had declined to go with them and Cecily had opted to stay with Olivia, to try again to get to the bottom of what ailed her.

  ‘Who is Mr Graystoke, Aunt? I do not recall ever having met him.’

  ‘He is Lord Thetford’s half-brother and a friend of Aunt Thea’s brother.’

  ‘And you met him at Uncle Vernon’s wedding? And now he is calling on you. Oh, how romantic! I bet he’s much more suited to you than that Lord Kilburn.’

  Not for the first time, Cecily marvelled at Olivia’s quickness of understanding: she saw things and made connections that passed other people by entirely. She directed a quelling look at her niece.

  ‘Is that not just like you, Livvy? You hear one snippet of fact and you weave an entire story around it.’

  But at least this had ignited a spark of interest in her formerly lethargic niece. Olivia jumped to her feet.

  ‘But I am right. I can see it by the look on your face. Are you in love with him? Is that why you did not come home after the wedding? Is that why Papa was in such a foul temper when he went to Great-Aunt Drusilla’s to fetch you home?’

  ‘Olivia! Please. It is most unbecoming to bombard a person with so many personal questions. Now sit down and wait for me here.’

  But as Cecily reached the door, Olivia was on her heels.

  ‘Livvy...’

  She put as much menace as she could into that one word, but Olivia merely cocked her head and smiled.

  ‘You cannot meet with a gentleman caller unchaperoned, Aunt. That is what you always tell me.’

  ‘It is different for me. Please, do not be so exasperating and wait for me here.’

  ‘I shall come with you and I shall sit at the far end of the room so you may speak privately, and then I won’t feel duty bound to tell Papa of your scandalous behaviour.’

  She couldn’t help it. Cecily laughed. Olivia, irrepressible as ever. It was good to see her niece exhibit some semblance of normal behaviour.

  ‘Very well,’ she said, with a shake of her head. ‘You may come with me.’

  It may ease the awkwardness when we meet. Her heart rose to crowd her throat. Zach. He was here. She had thought she might never see him again. Her legs trembled; her stomach churned; her pulse skittered and jumped all over the place. Her very nerviness confirmed his hold over her was as powerful as it ever was, but it changed nothing. How could she bear to no longer be part of her family’s lives? She buried her pain and turned to Olivia outside the salon door.

  ‘I shall expect you to be quiet and discreet, Livvy. And you must stay out of earshot. Is that clear?’

  ‘Of course, Aunt Cecily.’

  Cecily walked into the salon and stopped short. He stood by the fireplace, but he was not the same. This...this...

  Her legs moved again of their own accord, carrying her closer as her eyes devoured the perfect gentleman standing before her. Spotless cream breeches moulded to his muscled thighs before disappearing into shining Hessian boots sporting gold-coloured tassels. She remembered picturing him wearing tight breeches, but the reality was so much more. Her pulse quickened as she took in the rest of him. His broad shoulders filled a form-fitting, exquisitely tailored black tailcoat and his snowy neckcloth was tied in a perfect knot. His dark curls had been trimmed and his face was freshly shaved. His cologne, subtle and spicy but somehow earthy, like him, weaved through her senses.

  A slow smile—loving, tender—curved his lips and he held his hands towards her.

  ‘Cecily.’ His dark eyes swept her features as she placed her hands in his. His strong fingers curled around hers and her heart appeared to perform a slow somersault within her chest. ‘I trust you have no objection to my calling upon you so early in the day?’

  Even his voice was that of a cultured gentleman, but its deep rich tones still curled around her, warming her as tingles raced across her skin.

  ‘No. I am pleased you did.’

  She recalled Olivia as his gaze slid sideways to her niece, now by her side. As his head moved, she caught the glint in his ear and pure happiness washed through her. He hadn’t fully conformed to society’s rules and she was glad.

  ‘Mr Graystoke, may I introduce my niece, Lady Olivia Beauchamp.’

  Olivia’s silver eyes—so like her father’s—gleamed as she dipped a curtsy.

  ‘I am delighted to meet you, sir. My aunt has told me so much about you.’

  Zach glanced at Cecily, clearly startled. ‘She has?’

  ‘No, she has not,’ Cecily said. ‘Olivia, you are a minx.’

  Silver-grey eyes wide with innocence, Olivia said, ‘You did not have to speak for me to understand, Aunt Cecily.’

  Cecily felt her brows rise. For such an impetuous young woman Olivia could still surprise her with her sensitivity. She could only hope she might discover the cause of Olivia’s troubles before too long.

  ‘Please recall your promise and go and sit quietly by the window, Livvy.’

  ‘Oh, very well.’

  To Cecily’s relief, Olivia did as she was bid. She realised her hands were still cocooned within Zach’s and she withdrew them.

  ‘When did you arrive in London?’

  ‘Last night. I have taken rooms in Jermyn Street. Are you formally betrothed to Kilburn?’

  She looked away. ‘No. As you are aware, however, we have an understanding.’

  ‘Why the delay?’

  She sat on the sofa and gestured for him to sit by her side.

  ‘His lordship agreed to wait until I could tell Vernon and Thea of my decision in person and Leo...’

  She hesitated. Leo, since their return, had encouraged her to delay. From telling her Kilburn would be a decent choice of husband, he now seemed less keen. He had even put forward two more names for her consideration—other widowers he knew to be interested in remarrying.

  ‘Leo wishes me to consider other possible husbands.’

  ‘Then I am not too late.’

  ‘Too late? Zach—’

  ‘No. Do not object before you hear what I have to say.’

  She bit her lip, but nodded. She folded her hands in her lap and waited for him to speak and made sure to keep breathing evenly. She’d had much practice—too much practice—in concealing her inner turmoil since her return from Leyton Grange.

  ‘I have come to fight for you, Cecily.’

  Tears sprang to her eyes. ‘I cannot.’ Her voice choked, her throat clogged with tears. ‘Zach...I cannot.’

  He placed his hand over hers. Large. Warm. Comforting. Peacefulness spread from deep within her core, stealing through every nerve and fibre of her being. She knocked his hand aside as she snatched her hands from beneath his. She must not let her guard drop.

  ‘Cecily—I will prove myself to you. Promise me—’

  ‘Zach! Please say no more. Town clothes do not change the man you are inside.’

  ‘Nor my breeding?’

  The bitter undertone was barely detectable, but it was there and Cecily railed silently at the unfairness of it all. His half-blood made no difference to her, personally, but it was a consideration.

  ‘That was not uppermost in my mind. I referred to the way of life you have chosen. The Romany way. But your mother’s heritage does have consequences—like those ripples in that pond—and they are consequences I cannot ignore.’

  ‘And if I tell you...’

  He paused and a frown knit his brow. His chest swelled as he inhaled, then he shook his head and one ebony curl tumbled across his forehead. She tightened the grip of her hands, lest she succumb to the ur
ge to brush that stray lock back.

  ‘I am unused to long speeches.’ A rueful smile quirked his lips. Cecily tore her gaze from them, forced the memory of his kisses to the back of her mind. ‘But I have come to speak and speak I shall. I am not here to beg, but to tell you the facts, as you are determined to decide your future with your head instead of your heart.’

  His smile melted through her, softening and relaxing every tightly strung nerve and every rigid muscle and every bone in her body. Her insides swirled and swooped. She gritted her teeth. She could think of nothing he could say to change her mind. Her choice was still stark—between the man she loved and the family she loved.

  ‘The life I have led till now means nothing without you. And I now understand that my decision to remain with my mother’s family after she died was no decision at all but, rather, a lack of decision. I chose the easy and the familiar. Now I have an incentive to return to society—to confront my half-brother and force him to acknowledge my existence.’

  ‘But—Zach—I—’

  ‘Hush.’ He brushed her cheek with one long finger, raising shivers in its wake. ‘Do not say anything. Not yet.’

  He nudged her chin, encouraging her to meet his gaze and her heart broke at the sincerity and the love that shone from his eyes. If only...

  ‘But, Zach—you are still—’

  ‘I am still half-Rom, yes, but I feel no shame and I will not apologise for it. It is who I am. I shall no longer hide myself away. I will not be welcomed everywhere. I may very well be shunned by some. But those people are unimportant to me. Those who acknowledge me and who stick by me will be the important ones.’

  ‘Well, I can promise you that I shall acknowledge you. As for anything further...’ She could not finish, her whisper choking off.

  ‘That is all I ask, dove. For now. But I hope you will soon see that there is a middle way and that you will feel able to stand by my side and face society with your head high.

  ‘Promise me you will not sanction any announcement until you have thought about what I’ve said. I must go. I have much to do and many people to meet.’

  ‘I promise,’ she said, but her throat ached with the sadness she fought to conceal. How could this change anything?

  Zach glanced over at Olivia. ‘How I wish your niece to Jericho,’ he whispered. ‘I long to kiss you.’

  His words, and the look of intent in his dark, stormy eyes, set her blood pumping and a flush rose to heat her skin. She could not tear her gaze from his.

  ‘You must not say so.’

  He dipped his head and she thought, for one frantic moment, that he would kiss her regardless. But he put his lips close to her ear. ‘I am the only man who should have the right to say those words.’

  He rose to his feet, bowed, and then again to Olivia, and he left.

  * * *

  He’d done as much as he could do, for now. Seeing her again had just strengthened Zach’s conviction that they were meant to be together. Cecily knew it, too, in her heart, but she was afraid and he understood her fears. It was up to him to show her that middle way. Edgecombe was now his home, but he would not hide away there—he would take his place in society and he would renew his acquaintance with old friends from his schooldays. Some of them, he was certain, would stand by him. And, in time, he was certain he would be accepted by Cecily’s family.

  His biggest fear—did he have enough time?

  It didn’t take Zach long to decide on his next course of action. He’d be damned if he was going to wait until he met Thetford by chance. His half-brother was in Town—that he knew—and so, once he left Beauchamp House, he strolled across Mayfair to Curzon Street. The red-brick house, with its front door flanked by Ionic columns, looked unchanged. Zach rapped on the door. It was opened by a stranger who, after a swift scan of Zach—whose new gentlemanly guise clearly passed muster—bowed.

  ‘Good morning, sir.’

  ‘Good morning. I wish to speak to Lord Thetford.’

  ‘Might I ask your name, sir?’

  In answer, Zach handed his card to the butler, whose brows rose when he read Zach’s name. But his expression remained open. He appeared unaware that Zach was his master’s despised Romany half-brother. He showed Zach into the downstairs reception room.

  ‘I shall inform his lordship of your arrival, Mr Graystoke.’

  ‘Thank you—?’

  The man bowed. ‘Catchpole, sir.’

  ‘Catchpole. Thank you.’

  He didn’t have long to wait. The ring of boots on the tiled floor of the hall announced his brother’s approach. The door flew open and Zach faced the brother he had not seen for ten years. He was shorter, and slighter, than in Zach’s memory, but that was probably because Zach had grown. He now topped Thetford by a good four inches and, were he assessing his chances against this man in a fist fight, he would experience no qualms.

  It is fortunate I am a peaceful man.

  He bit back his grin as that thought surfaced. He would attempt to keep this encounter amicable, but he would no longer take any abuse from his brother. He would stand up for himself, as he wished he could have stood up for his mother all those years ago. That shame—that he had failed her—still burned in him.

  ‘I have come to inform you that I have taken up permanent residence at Edgecombe and that I shall now take my proper place in society. I have every intention of visiting London whenever I wish.’

  Do not let me see you around decent people again if you know what is good for you.

  The snarled words from ten years ago echoed through him.

  Thetford is closed to you. London is closed to you. Stay away and don’t make me repeat this lesson.

  He felt again the agonising pain as the hot iron seared into his flesh, remembered the lingering, festering wound that became infected and threatened his life, and he controlled his rage. Rage would not help now. He would take his cue from Thetford’s behaviour towards him in the coming days.

  He recognised the caution in his brother’s expression. The careful way he held himself told him that Thetford feared him—physically, at least, and here, where it was just the two of them. But it was how his half-brother behaved in public that would reveal what their relationship might become. Never friends. Zach neither looked for nor wanted that. But if they could remain distantly polite he would count that as a success. And he would do that for Cecily’s sake. Revenge was not part of his plan.

  ‘Kilburn said you’ve been sniffing around Cecily Beauchamp. I presume that is why you are here? To pursue your suit? You waste your time. She’s all but promised to Kilburn.’

  ‘That is not what I’ve heard. And she is not a possession to be promised to anyone. It will be her decision.’

  ‘The Duke—’

  ‘Is having second thoughts.’ The news that Cheriton was actively considering other potential husbands for Cecily had aroused the hope that he had taken Zach’s warning about Kilburn seriously. ‘He has made enquiries about your friend and he is not happy with what he has found.’

  ‘And he told you this himself? The Duke of Cheriton is as high as they come. He will not welcome a gipsy into his family.’

  ‘And yet he has married the daughter of a common soldier and his brother has recently wed the daughter of a glassmaker.’

  ‘And you imagine a gipsy is the equal of them?’ Disdain peppered his words.

  ‘Half-gipsy.’

  ‘He still will not stoop to contaminated blood and you had better—’

  It was simple to silence his brother’s vitriol by closing the gap between them. Thetford stepped back, sweeping his straight brown hair back from his forehead. His hand—to Zach’s quiet satisfaction—trembled.

  ‘I have neither need nor desire to discuss my future with you.’ Zach stared into the cold eyes. ‘I have come here out of common courtesy, to apprise you of my presence here in Town. Having done so, I shall take my leave. I hope when we meet in a social setting we can at least remain civil.’
<
br />   He nodded, pivoted on his heel and left the room.

  * * *

  He returned to his apartment on Jermyn Street to find a note awaiting him. He broke the seal with a puzzled frown at the unfamiliar feminine script on the outside. Cecily was the only lady he knew in Town and he was filled with a sense of foreboding. He could imagine no good reason for her to write to him, other than outright rejection. He skimmed down the page to the signature. Lady Tubthorpe. His racing pulse steadied, although he was no wiser. A quick scan of her words revealed an invitation to a soirée, that evening, at the residence of Sir Henry and Lady Tubthorpe in Seymour Street. His uneasiness dissipated. Not a letter of dismissal, but he sensed Cecily’s hand behind this invitation nevertheless and hope blossomed.

  He rang for Tatler, the man he had engaged upon his arrival in Town. It went against his nature—to hire another man to care for him—but Tatler had been turned off from his previous position when the family returned to the country and he’d had a look of hunger in his eyes. Zach assuaged his conscience with the memory of that look. He could afford a man’s wages and he needed someone to take care of his meals, his room and his clothes if he were to seek acceptance as a gentleman within society. And Tatler—who had declined to live in, as he had a wife and child—had been embarrassingly grateful.

  Tatler soon appeared. ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘That note was an invitation from a Lady Tubthorpe to attend her soirée this evening. So I shall need my evening clothes laid out ready.’

  ‘Shall you require assistance to dress, sir?’

  ‘No, I... Actually, yes. You may help me tie my neckcloth.’ Zach tugged at the neckcloth that had taken him a dozen attempts and much swearing to get right that morning before he called upon Cecily. ‘Any skill I once possessed in the art appears to have deserted me.’

  He grinned and Tatler smiled in return.

  ‘Also, what can you tell me about Sir Henry and Lady Tubthorpe?’

  ‘Sir Henry Tubthorpe? A cit, sir—he’s high up in the Bank of England, I believe—but Lady Tubthorpe, she’s from an old family, sir, and they’re accepted by most in society. They have a son and a daughter, whom they’ve launched into society this year.’