For herself, she felt a giddy mixture of elation and exhaustion. It was exhausting remembering things, to see the story of her life amended once more. Not that it had changed so very much, not now that she finally remembered who she was. But her life had changed, and her eyes this past year had been opened as she had learned more about the depths of love. Her infatuation had deepened, grown roots, and sweetened into something noble, something nurtured by God.
For this friendship had been cultivated by God. She could see the times of growing individually, times when it would have been too easy to rely on each other instead of Him. Ned, floundering in his regrets, had needed time for renewed focus, time to grow, time to see God’s plans established—like those for the legal society she looked forward to helping in.
She realized she had idolized him, and had needed to sacrifice her will and trust God instead. And God, in His great mercy, had finally answered with a yes. She drew in a breath. Released it. Smiled assurance to the man beside her. How good God was to them.
Ned still had not spoken the words—she doubted he would get a chance tonight, their hearts were still so full. But he would soon, she could tell that by the way he smiled, the way his eyes told her he could not wait until they were alone. She would be patient.
The dining room at Rovingham House had rarely seen such laughter. The meal, postponed from the previous evening, had followed the Advent service at church. It would be six more days until Christmas. The meal had been delicious, the company a joy—he even suspected that one day Lady Aynsley might be prepared to overlook his past as she focused on her daughter’s return of memories and happiness. But throughout the meal he had been conscious that it was leading to this moment. That his life, in fact, had been leading to this time.
He drew Cecy into the library. Mother had ensured a fire would be lit, and it was blazing. Father had assured they would not be disturbed, and he was hopeful. It certainly was not the done thing for a gentleman and young lady to be alone, but from the way Lord Aynsley had gently reproved his wife, and the various siblings had offered immediate distraction, he was hopeful he might finally have the chance to speak with Cecy and say all that needed to be said.
Cecy looked as nervous as he. He swallowed, moved closer, but not too close. He sensed that, fawn-like, she would jump and flee should he move suddenly, or speak too loudly. But he knew this could not be prolonged any longer; he had to speak, even if it put an end to the hope that yet dared hardly breathe.
“Miss Hatherleigh,” he began, but stopped at her nervous chuckle.
“I believe you can call me Cecy.” She looked shyly at him. “That’s what you used to call me, isn’t it?”
“I would not wish to make any presumptions.”
“You do not. It is my name.”
“Still, I would not want you to …” he paused, conscious of that same connection, that old sense of belonging that he always found in her presence. How could he deny this warm tenderness between them?
“You would not want me … ?” Her brows arched.
The words echoed around the room. He did want her. He wanted only her. Only Cecy. Truth bubbled up and released. “I do want you. That’s the thing. I realize now that I have always wanted you. But I have long felt myself to be a poor bargain. I have no great title or estate, like Abbotsbury. I have no unstained past. All I have is my heart, and hopes, and faith that despite my mistakes God might still deign to use me.”
Her expressive eyes lit, though her countenance remained serene. “You say you want me …” she began.
“More than anything.”
“To do what?”
He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“What do you want me to do?”
“This.” And he drew close, closer, heard her squeak of breath as he lifted his hands to gently caress her face. And then his lips lowered to join hers and he kissed her. And kissed her. And kissed her, savoring the softness of her lips touching his, savoring the sweet scent of roses on her skin, savoring the heat of her form against his. Oh, he kissed her.
She drew back, eyes half shuttered as if dazed. “Dearest Edward.”
“Darling Cecy.”
She laughed. “I am sure I heard you say so when I was in my strange sleep.”
“I think it is what first alerted Abbotsbury to my cause.”
Her eyes crinkled with amusement. “Was I your cause?”
“You cause me to do many things, my love. Like this.” He kissed her again. “And this.” He kissed her once more. “Nothing was more important than letting you know that I adore you.”
Her laughter rippled again. “You do, do you?”
“I always have.”
“No, I always have.”
“Always?” he pressed, needing very much to know. “Your mother showed me what you’d written in your journal. Something about forgetting me, and wanting Abbotsbury?” He raised a brow.
“Oh, that.”
“Yes, that.”
“Well, I had to write that. It seemed I’d loved you forever with no hope of you ever noticing. But I assure you, no one has ever touched my heart like you.”
Such a response demanded another kiss, then another, as he tugged her closer in his arms. “I cannot believe the time I wasted, wondering if you would ever deign to think on me.”
“I never stopped.” Her expression grew thoughtful. “Even when I was asleep you were in my dreams.”
“Not nightmares?”
“Not nightmares,” she confirmed.
“But I did not want to approach you, sure you could do so much better than me.”
She laid a finger on his lips. “Can we please agree on something?”
“Anything,” he murmured, kissing her finger.
“Let us agree to leave the past behind, and choose not to dwell there, choose not to think on such things. It is done, it has passed, it is over. I do not want to think on missed chances or wasted time. I think we have both spent too long living with regrets. I would much rather think on the future, and live with hope and not let the hurt of the past steal the happiness before us.”
He drew her close, resting his cheek against her curly hair. “You are so very wise.”
“I know,” came the soft whisper against his shoulder.
He chuckled. “And so charmingly modest.”
“That is what the daughters of Aynsley are,” she said with a smirk.
“I confess I hadn’t noticed such a trait among your sisters, save in your fair self, of course.”
“Well, my sisters are perhaps not so blessed with such vast degrees of modesty, I grant you.”
He laughed. “Oh, how I love you.”
Her breath caught. “Truly?”
“Truly.”
“Oh, and I love you.”
After another long moment, she lifted her head. “I wonder, is this the only thing you wanted me to do?”
He grinned. She blushed. He released her waist to capture her hands. “Miss Cecilia Hatherleigh, I want, more than anything, for the right to call you my wife. Please, do me the greatest of honors and say you will marry me and make me the happiest of men.”
She exhaled on a note of utter happiness. “Oh, yes!”
And their betrothal was sealed by another passionate embrace.
A cleared throat from behind them turned their heads towards the door.
“Am I correct in assuming there will be a union between our families?” said Lord Aynsley, his stern voice belied by the smile.
“There will be a union between our families, sir,” Ned said, still clasping Cecy’s hand in his, “provided you give us your blessing. I love your daughter, and it appears she loves me.”
The stern face relaxed as he looked between them. “Then who am I to stand in the way of such devotion? Cecilia, Edward, you have my blessing.”
The room soon filled with their parents and his brother, all offering their congratulations, expressing their happiness. He did not know precisely why La
dy Aynsley clasped him to her bosom and called him “my dearest boy,” but he wasn’t going to argue.
Suggestions were made about announcements, about wedding dates, about where they might one day live. They nodded and they listened and they all smiled and they both dreamed.
EPİLOGUE
THE BOXING DAY ball was forever the highlight of the local social calendar, an event to be rendered even more special by the announcement that was to be made at midnight. Mother and Father had not wanted to delay; neither had the earl and countess, as it was felt the news of Cecy and Ned’s betrothal should be announced as quickly as possible, their marriage to occur as soon as everything could be arranged.
Mother’s continued support for a match once deemed impossible seemed yet proof of God’s miraculous power to surprise. She and Father were so supportive it appeared that Cecy was, for once, the apple of their eye. Mother wanted to wait until the commencement of the season so they could be married at St. George’s in Hanover Square, and truth be told, Cecy was glad for the extra time to plan and prepare. The last days had been such a whirl, she still felt dizzy with it all.
Despite their excitement, they had hugged the news to themselves, as tonight’s ball would be one for all the servants to enjoy as well, and it was felt that it would be preferable to announce it all at once rather than have the news trickle down through gossip and speculation.
So, the Heathcotes did not know, and Cecy could only wonder at what effect the news would have upon Lady Heathcote and Cecy’s erstwhile suitor, news to be shared at the pre-ball meal for the more esteemed guests at the Rovingham dinner.
Cecy entered the room, her smile at Ned securing his abrupt end to conversation with John, as he hurried to meet her, and clasped her hands, lifting them to his lips. “Good evening.”
“It is now.”
“You look so lovely, so beautiful.” He pressed another kiss to her hands; more would not be considered seemly in this company, although after a certain announcement, others might understand.
“Cecilia.” John bowed to her curtsy, before copying his brother in securing her hand and pressing it lightly to his lips. “Are you all set to dazzle the neighbors tonight?” He glanced at his brother. “Well, those who have not yet been appropriately dazzled?”
She laughed. “Are you encouraging me to inappropriately dazzle, sir?”
He chuckled, murmured something to his brother out of her earshot, and moved to the next guests.
“Any time you wish to dazzle me inappropriately you are more than welcome,” Ned invited.
She giggled and glanced away. Only to encounter the piercing stare of Lady Heathcote and her son and daughter.
“Oh, dear Cecilia,” Lady Heathcote cooed. “How radiant you look tonight! How wonderful to see you in such good spirits. Do you not agree, Stephen? Our dear sweet Miss Hatherleigh appears to have quite captivated our hosts.”
Ned bowed. “We have been dazzled most appropriately, I assure you,” he said solemnly.
Lady Heathcote glanced between them, a faint frown knitting her forehead. “I see.”
But it was clear she did not, and it wasn’t long before she was exhorting her children to attend her and they were soon escorted to the table.
Cecy sat between Ned and her brother-in-law, Caro and Gideon’s visit for Christmas one where they had shared the news of an addition to their family late next spring. Cecy’s heart was so full of happiness, this news just added more joy; indeed, her sister seemed so much softer, almost translucent with radiant goodwill. To have their approval, and that of Verity and her parents, was everything she could have wished for. The only person not in attendance whom she had wondered over was Lord Abbotsbury; he had sent his good wishes nonetheless.
She and Ned murmured to each other, touching hands every so often under the screen of the tablecloth, the fire his touch igniting in her skin pushing out a smile. But she could not afford to give full expression to her joy, not yet, although she judged from the way the two fathers were eyeing each other that they had decided something should be said soon.
“Miss Hatherleigh,” intoned Lady Heathcote, “you do seem quite excited about the ball.”
“Why, yes,” agreed Cecy. Balls implied dancing, which meant dancing with Ned, and there were to be two waltzes tonight …
“I do hope you will not forget to dance with Stephen here. He most particularly wishes to dance with you.”
“Oh.” Cecy’s smile did not falter. “I’m afraid that might prove impossible.”
“Indeed?” Lady Heathcote’s gaze hardened.
“I’m afraid my dance card has already been filled.” Cecy turned to Ned, the confidence his love gave her sweetening her smile. “Between my dances with Mr. Amherst and those promised to his family and mine, I find I have none spare.”
Ned grinned, and gently squeezed her hand. Then raised it to the table.
A collective gasp rang round the room at the square diamond sitting proudly on her third finger.
“I suppose there is no time like the present to announce my son Edward is now betrothed to our dear Cecilia,” said Lord Rovingham.
Was it her imagination or had the earl placed emphasis on the word our?
“We are both extremely pleased by this union,” her father said, “and anticipate their coming nuptials with great enthusiasm.”
“But when?” gasped Lady Heathcote. “How?”
“I’m sorry,” said Mama, “but you cannot expect dear Edward to want to share all their secrets.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Ned said, his smile as it shifted from her mother to Cecilia growing warmer, more tender, into the softness reserved only for her. “I thank God for you.” He pressed a kiss to her bent fingers.
“And I thank God for you,” she murmured, heart full, joy brimmed. How wonderful to see God’s miraculous favor. How wonderful to see God meet her heart’s desire. Tears of happiness pricked. God was so good. So very, very good.
“A toast,” said John.
Glasses were raised.
“To the happy couple!”
To the thankful couple.
To the most delighted couple of all.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
THE YEAR 2019 marks two hundred years since the Peterloo massacre, a pivotal time in English history that ultimately brought about more equitable representation in Parliament. Prior to this, many seats were owned by aristocrats and wealthy landowners who ensured men persuadable to their interests were elected. This meant some villages that only had one eligible voter could elect one, or even two, parliamentary representatives, while a city the size of Manchester, with over one hundred thousand people, might only be represented by the two county MPs for Lancashire. In one particularly absurd case, a town that was sliding into the sea was still able to vote in two members of Parliament!
The inequalities presented by these “rotten” boroughs were highlighted in Thomas Oldfield’s 1816 The Representative History of Great Britain and Ireland, which claimed that two-thirds of all 515 MPs for England and Wales were elected because of the patronage of just 177 individuals. This inequitable degree of representation led to calls for reform and a gathering of ten thousand people at St. Peter’s Field, on the outskirts of Manchester, on August 16, 1819. The meeting, designed to hear Henry Hunt speak, was interrupted by soldiers who charged into the crowds with sabers, resulting in fifteen deaths, including one two-year-old child, with many hundreds injured. Despite the national outrage, it wasn’t until 1832 that the laws for more equitable representation were finally changed.
For the style of the letters of protest from this period, I used the British Library’s online database, which includes newspaper cuttings relating to the Peterloo massacre.
In Regency times, gypsies had long been considered a scourge on society, with numerous attempts to banish them. They tended to exist on society’s fringes and were treated with suspicion. Susannah Fullerton states in Jane Austen & Crime (2004) that talking with a gypsy was pu
nishable by death, and in 1782 a fourteen-year-old girl was hanged for being in the company of gypsies.
For the style and manners of the country house games, I drew on Winter Evening Pastimes; or, The Merry-Maker’s Companion by Rachel Revel, a fascinating insight into Regency-era games and merriments, perfect for the entertainments of the Aldershot country house party.
For behind-the-book details and the readers discussion guide, and to sign up for my newsletter, please visit www.carolynmillerauthor.com.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THANK YOU, GOD, for giving this gift of creativity, and the amazing opportunity to express it. Thank You for patiently loving us and offering us hope through Jesus Christ.
Thank you, Joshua, for your love and encouragement. I appreciate all the support you give in so many ways. I love you!
Thank you, Caitlin, Jackson, Asher, and Tim—I love you, I’m so proud of you, and I’m so grateful you understand why I spend so much time in imaginary worlds.
To my family, church family, and friends, whose support, encouragement, and prayers I value and have needed—thank you. Big thanks to Roslyn, Jacqueline, and Brooke for being patient in reading through so many of my manuscripts, and for offering suggestions to make my stories sing.
Thank you, Tamela Hancock Murray, my agent, for helping this little Australian negotiate the big wide American market.
Thank you to the authors and bloggers who’ve endorsed, encouraged, and opened doors along the way: you are a blessing! Thanks to my Aussie writer friends, from Australasian Christian Writers, Christian Writers Downunder, and Omega Writers—I appreciate you.
To the Ladies of Influence—your support and encouragement are gold!
To the fabulous team at Kregel: thank you for believing in me, and for making Underestimating Miss Cecilia shine.
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