Tonight, Cecily was wearing an evening gown of pale blue crape, trimmed with rich lace and embroidery, and finished with an overdress of celestial blue gauze. Her fair hair was piled upon her head, with ringleted side curls framing her face, and her evening gloves, satin slippers, silk stockings and delicate fan were all unexceptional. What was not apparent to the other guests was that the stockings had been procured for just five shillings at a stall in the bazaar, and the slippers had been re-dyed and re-soled since last season. The dress was new, as Mama had insisted Cecily should have at least three new evening gowns. Despite her worries about funds, Cecily could not but acknowledge a thrill of pleasure at her new finery.
Nell, too, looked delightful in a gown of palest green, which perfectly complemented her auburn hair, pale skin and green-flecked hazel eyes. Together, the two ladies had attracted a fair share of interest and attention, despite, Cecily thought wryly, having reached such an advanced age. They had been feted and complimented tonight by no fewer than four gentlemen already—two of whom known lechers and the other two married.
Cecily was no longer surprised by this. Her own mama enjoyed all the freedoms of her widowhood, which had included numerous affaires over the years—mainly with gentlemen who were themselves married. At first, young Cecily had been shocked by the casual disregard for wedding vows of many gentlemen of the ton, though she had soon learned to endure. Society wilfully turned a blind eye, it seemed, as long as couples were reasonably discreet.
Apart from Ash and Marianne, Cecily knew no married couple among the ton who shared the felicity of a long-lasting loving marriage. Most society couples, once an heir had been secured, lived separate lives. They maintained a veneer of respectability in public, but affaires were common. Nell and Tom’s marriage was also a love match, but Cecily understood how rare such arrangements were. It was one of the reasons why she had so far not accepted any offers of marriage herself.
Scanning around the room, Cecily reflected on her own cynicism. There were different groups among society men, she knew, and they were all represented here tonight, in Lady Jersey’s elegant mansion. Some men seemed not to be interested in women at all, preferring to spend their time in the company of other men. Many of these were addicted to sport—to fencing and boxing, as well as gambling and drinking until they fell down. Others were rumoured, shockingly, to prefer affaires with other men.
The men who were interested in women generally had numerous flaws. There were the married ones, eternally seeking a new widow or married lady with whom to dally, and some of these were fond of leering at or touching young women in ways that left one feeling decidedly uncomfortable. Cecily was by now adept at avoiding situations where she might be vulnerable to such unwanted advances.
Her eyes moved on, picking out examples of another group. Unmarried gentlemen.
These, Cecily thought wryly, fall into two categories.
The first, men on the hunt for a wife. These specimens were generally recognisable by their advanced years, portly figures and predatory smiles. There were one or two exceptions, she supposed—Mr Harting, Mr Gillespie—but, generally, marriageable gentlemen were distinguishable by the feelings of aversion they generated in Cecily’s stomach.
And then there was the second category of bachelors—the men who wished to avoid marriage at all costs. This latter group, who were generally youngish, often handsome and frequently drunk, refused to engage with debutantes except in the most light-hearted way. They flirted, and complimented, yet Cecily knew instinctively that there was nothing of meaning in it.
At only twenty years old, Cecily understood very well how it all worked. She grimaced, aware that her thoughts reflected experience that had made her older than her years. Sometimes she felt positively ancient.
Perhaps I am too gloomy, she thought now. No, she corrected herself. I am simply rational and unsentimental.
She saw the world for what it was, and knew that her own chance of a felicitous marriage, while possible, was small.
There was a sudden murmur of female interest, drawing Cecily out of her thoughts. At the same time she heard Nell gasp beside her. All eyes were drawn to the door, where a new arrival had just been announced.
He stood just inside the room, a head taller than almost everyone there. His figure was strong, lean and imposing, his face starkly handsome. Or at least it would be, Cecily thought, if there had been any kindness in it. He wore the full evening dress required for events such as these, but had chosen a black jacket, giving him a faintly sinister air. It was moulded to his form, drawing the eye to the breadth of his shoulders, the narrowing of his back, the smoothness of his hips.
I’ll wager he needed two valets to get into that, thought Cecily dryly. And men accuse us women of vanity!
All around the room ladies were sitting up a little straighter, smiling a little more broadly, and chattering just a little more loudly than they had been. Cecily sighed. Sometimes she quite despaired of her sex.
The man in the doorway remained impassive, as if he had not noticed the reaction to his arrival. Lady Jersey hurried forward to greet him, pressing a kiss to his cheek and drawing him into the room.
Is there something between them? Cecily wondered idly, her mind as ever going to details of the latest chatter.
But, no, it was rumoured that Lady Jersey was currently engaged with Viscount Palmerston, right under her husband’s nose. Still, she was fairly discreet, and was an acknowledged leader of society. There would be no consequences.
The footman’s announcement sank in. ‘Lord Hawkenden!’ echoed Nell. ‘Tom’s brother. My, how alike they look!’
‘Indeed!’ Cecily had seen the Earl at numerous events and had even spoken to him on a couple of occasions over the past couple of years, since she had made her debut. They had been introduced two years ago, but he had no memory of her, she knew. He was spoken of as a man with a passion for wealth, and he reputedly only came alive when discussing matters of business with his friends and acquaintances. A debutante like Lady Cecily would simply be of no use to him. Cecily, who watched, and considered, and really noticed people, knew this without ever having thought much about it.
During both brief conversations with him, Lord Hawkenden’s gaze had gone through her without really seeing her. She shivered. He had seemed to her to be soulless, empty in some way. The Empty Earl, she remembered calling him inwardly. He had always moved on after the briefest of interactions.
Mama, who had long admired his handsome face, dark eyes and strong form, had nevertheless dismissed him as a possible lover on the grounds of his being too young for her, although, Cecily recalled dryly, it was also true that Lord Hawkenden had never shown any interest in flirting with Lady Fanny. For this, Cecily was profoundly grateful. The thought of Mama bedding the Empty Earl left a sick feeling in her stomach. Not that she should care who her mama took as a lover. Normally she had no opinions about such matters. But there was something about Lord Hawkenden...
When Mr Beresford, the Earl’s younger brother, had arrived at Beatrice’s Christmas house party a few months ago, Cecily had been careful not to encourage any connection. Watching from a safe distance, she had noticed that he was rather more engaging than the Earl, yet she had maintained a cool reserve that usually worked well in deterring friendships or attention she did not seek. Despite her notions about him, she had seen a warmer side to Tom emerge as he had come to love Nell. She eyed the Earl speculatively. Might he, too, have a heart beneath that cold exterior?
She shook herself. They were two of a kind, the Beresford brothers. Similar in looks, similar in terms of priorities. They had a reputation for being driven by the acquisition of wealth, and neither of them had ever engaged in a serious way with any lady, until Tom had fallen in love with Nell. His brother, though, had had no such redemption.
Her doubts about Lord Hawkenden were out of step with society, she knew. The Earl was
welcomed everywhere, with men admiring his business acumen and women his broad chest, dark eyes and fine teeth.
Cannot they see? she had often wondered. Or do people simply not care? Probably the latter, she realised. Balls and parties were not commonly seen as opportunities to delve beneath the social surface and uncover people’s true characters.
Nell was now looking decidedly uneasy—as well she might be. ‘Have you met Lord Hawkenden before?’ asked Cecily.
Her friend shook her head. ‘I had never met Tom either, until he came to us for Christmas.’
Cecily frowned. ‘It is a pity you could not have met the Earl before this. It is not right that you will meet your brother-in-law for the first time in public.’
‘He has only just returned from France. Tom went to see him earlier today but...’ Nell looked directly at Cecily ‘...I do not think that the Earl has welcomed our marriage.’
‘Why do you think that?’
‘Something was troubling Tom earlier. And he would not speak to me of what passed between him and his brother. He says only that it will come right in the end, and that we must wait a little time before announcing anything.’
Oh, dear.
‘I see. Well, Mrs Beresford, all you can do is to play your part.’
‘You are right.’ Nell, her courage clearly strengthened at this pointed reminder of her new name, lifted her chin.
For the next half-hour they waited for him to approach, yet he did not.
Is he deliberately slighting his sister-in-law, or does he also not know who she is?
Cecily, while conversing easily with Nell and with the people who flitted by, was nevertheless entirely conscious at all times of his location. Despite herself, she felt strangely drawn to him—probably because of her anxiety for Nell.
She enjoyed a comfortable ten minutes with Mr Harting, who spoke sensibly and warmly with both ladies, and showed some signs of a particular interest in Cecily. Yet, throughout, her attention remained on the Earl. Awareness pricked at her, tingling along her skin. Now her right side, now the back of her neck. It was a most unwelcome sensation.
Finally, he was in her direct view. Nell, who was half-facing her, could not get a clear observation, but Cecily could. He was conversing with Mr Hollamby, leaning a little to minimise the difference in height. She saw him ask a question, and Mr Hollamby scanned the room, then pointed towards her and Nell.
Here it is, then. Now he must come and speak to us.
As she watched, he looked their way. His gaze travelled over Nell then rested on her, his dark eyes penetrating right through her, it seemed. For the first time he really saw her.
It seemed to Cecily that the moment between two heartbeats lasted an eternity. There was a whooshing sound in her ears as a wave of shuddering emotion rushed through her. Their eyes locked for a brief, endless moment before she broke her gaze, pretending to scan the room. A wave of heat flushed her cheeks, and she took refuge behind her fan.
My goodness, what a strange sensation!
She, who had rarely felt anything so powerful, was profoundly disturbed by what had just passed between them. It had not felt like anything she had ever experienced before. It was as though a hitherto unknown storm had blasted through her, confounding her with its force.
And for it to centre on the Earl of Hawkenden, of all people! Why, she barely knew him, and she probably would not even like him! Confusion clouded her brain momentarily, but she could find no answer, no meaning to the unexpected feelings.
It must have been nervousness, she told herself. Be calm. Any moment now, he will approach us.
Yet he did not. He remained with Mr Hollamby, the pair then being joined by Lady Jersey again. The gong sounded for supper, and they all filed through to the large dining room to fill their plates. Nell began a conversation with Miss Kelton, whom Cecily knew a little, and she let them chatter, still trying to understand the continuing tumult within her. Was it fear? Or simple nervousness? Possibly, although there were shades of something else there, too. Something novel, unexpected, overwhelming. The whole thing was quite disconcerting.
Abruptly, Cecily made a murmured excuse to Nell and made for the doors to the garden. She needed solitude, and quiet, and cool night air.
Thankfully the terrace was deserted, although flambeaux had been erected at both ends for the convenience of any guests seeking respite from the heat and crush inside. The moon had risen, a half-circle of white light. Cecily turned her back on the house and stared up at it, drinking in its stillness. Here, her pulse would calm. Here she would find peace. Her eyes fluttered closed.
A deep voice broke her reverie.
‘So here you are. I have found you.’ She whirled around, somehow knowing as she did so who was standing there.
Chapter Four
Jack had hoped to find his brother at Lady Jersey’s soirée, but his hostess informed him that she had not seen Tom since before Christmas and was unaware he was back in Town.
‘Like myself, he is only lately returned,’ Jack replied coolly. ‘He may not yet be up to the social whirl.’
Lady Jersey laughed and proceeded to regale him with a long list of engagements already planned for the coming weeks. ‘It is nearly a full month until the season officially begins, but tonight, here in Berkeley Square, we are making a good start,’ she announced with satisfaction. ‘And my little soirée is quite the crush, is it not?’
‘As always,’ murmured Jack, noting her glow of pride. It never did any harm to cultivate good relationships with people such as Lady Jersey. One never knew when they might come in useful.
He made his way to a group of acquaintances, listening with half an ear to their accounts of prize-fights, duels and horseflesh. Unlike Tom, he had little interest in sport, though he frequented some of the major gatherings if he needed to engage certain individuals in a social setting.
Tonight, he hoped to find out more about the witch who had beguiled Tom to such an extent that he had forgotten the work of years, throwing away his freedom and his wealth on, it seemed, little more than a whim. It did not take long for him to single out his target—Mr Hollamby, a dapper, middle-aged gentleman who was blessed with an unusual interest in people. He was a veritable walking Debrett’s, knowing not only who the people were but every branch of their relations and history. He could be rather prosy but was both useful and eager to please.
‘Hollamby,’ he said baldly. ‘The Godwins of Kent. What do you know about them?’
‘Good evening, my lord. The Chiddingstone Godwins?’
‘The very same.’
Hollamby tilted his head to one side, considering. ‘Let me see. Yes, Mr Godwin died about three years ago, soon after marrying Miss Chester. You will remember Beatrice Chester? She is here tonight, somewhere.’
Jack’s eyes narrowed.
Miss Chester—of course!
Tom had asked him for an introduction late last year. He had forgotten her married name, but now it came back to him. He had vaguely known Miss Chester—now Mrs Godwin—for a number of years. A spinster in her thirties, he recalled. Fair hair. Society had long since given up on her ever marrying when she had met and married a country gentleman within months and had disappeared to a rural existence. To Kent. Her husband had died not long after, and she had returned to society when her mourning period had ended last year.
Tom had expressed an interest in buying the Godwin house as a base for his business parties, Jack recalled—a perfectly rational decision. He frowned. Had Tom, then, married the widow? From what he remembered of Miss Chester, she was vain, silly, bird-witted, and had little to recommend her. If she was now Tom’s wife, this would be disastrous indeed! But, no, he reassured himself. Tom’s letters had referred to a Miss Godwin. And her given name was Nell, not Beatrice.
‘Who, then, is Miss Godwin?’
‘She is Mr Godwin’s onl
y child. The mother was one of the Wyatts—the last of that branch, in fact. Perfectly respectable, I assure you. Miss Godwin is actually here tonight, along with her stepmother and the Thornhill ladies—you know, Lord Kingswood’s relatives.’
She is here? Jack was unsure what to make of this. Tom was not here, yet his new wife was. Perhaps, then, he was not so enamoured of her. A few weeks wed and ‘in love’? Surely Tom, if he were truly devoted to this unknown lady, would have accompanied her to the soirée?
Maybe he does not mean to acknowledge her yet.
The thought gave Jack hope. If all was not well between the newlyweds, perhaps Tom and his bride might be persuaded to annul this unwelcome marriage before society was even aware of its existence. Annulments were rare, he knew, and not easily obtained, but an annulment would be so much more convenient than the scandal of a divorce.
And if they remained married? Jack gritted his teeth. Then she will have to be managed so as to limit her drain on the Beresford funds.
He sighed. Such a foolish, unnecessary act on his brother’s part.
His thoughts returned to Hollamby’s description of Miss Godwin and her family. Perfectly respectable, eh? He shrugged inwardly. It mattered not. Respectability was not enough to make this marriage acceptable to him. This unknown woman might have a fondness for spending, or for gambling. She might be as disastrous for the family as his own papa had been. He literally knew nothing about her.
He turned his attention back to Mr Hollamby. ‘They are intimate with Lord Kingswood?’ Ash, Lord Kingswood, was one of the few sensible men he counted among his acquaintances. Like himself, Ash had had to rebuild the family fortunes on inheriting an earldom. It had happened to many in these uncertain times. Thankfully, since Waterloo, things had settled down—in Europe at least. He counted Ash as a friend, and something of a guide. The Earl of Kingswood was only eight years his senior, and Jack often spoke to him on business matters. They had both taken their seats in the Palace of Westminster, and had a relaxed, easy acquaintance.
Captivating the Cynical Earl Page 3