Nell embraced her briefly. ‘Thank you, my dear friend. I truly appreciate this.’
Cecily, already feeling rather guilty about her own part in the situation, could only refuse to be thanked and repeat her willingness to be of assistance.
She pressed a hand to her temple, where a pounding headache had indeed made itself known.
This headache is not unexpected, she thought, for the situation is much, much worse than Nell understands.
Chapter Six
The unforgiving sunshine of an early spring day pierced through Cecily’s aching eyes and made her head hurt in rhythm with her pulse. The headache that had begun last night remained with her. She had not slept well, her dreams troubled by notions of wolves and a menacing half-moon. Three times she had awoken, her heart pounding, and had struggled to find sleep again. And now it was almost midday, and the maid was doing her hair, and everything hurt.
Emotions warred within her yet—rage and an unlooked-for attraction fighting for supremacy. At present, rage was in the ascendancy. It was unfair that only men were allowed to duel, for she would love nothing more than to put a sword through the Earl of Hawkenden. Each time she recalled his arrogant disdain, his hurtful tone, her blood felt as though it were boiling within her.
How I should love to hit him!
Her own vehemence was surprising. She could not recall ever feeling such an impulse before—she, who was usually so practical and known for her good sense.
It seems I am my mother’s daughter in some respects, after all.
In the mirror she saw raw emotion on her own face and smoothed it out for fear of terrifying the poor maid.
‘All done, my lady, if you please.’
‘Thank you.’ She swallowed, managing to maintain a reasonably normal expression.
The maid departed, and Cecily, exhaling loudly, took a swift turn about her airy, light-filled bedroom. Each time she thought of the sneering tone in his voice, the curled lip that she had been unable to see properly in the half-light but had known for certain had been there, she became angry all over again. What contempt! What disdain! What presumption, to speak in such a way to any young lady, never mind one he knew to now be close to his family!
And why did it hurt so? She barely knew the man. Had she, following that earth-shattering look between them, been foolishly tempted to hope there had been some meaning in it?
Oh, Lord! Sinking onto a delicate-looking chair, Cecily hid her head in her hands. Whatever foolishness had led Cecily to briefly wonder if she, like Nell, might melt the cold heart of a Beresford, the illusion had been totally shattered. Not only did Lord Hawkenden, head of the Beresford family, disapprove of Nell and Tom’s marriage, he disliked Cecily so much that he wished her to perdition! Injustice and hurt battled each other inside her head, making her temples pound and her eyes sting.
And Cecily, Nell’s best friend, had been too angry to manage the situation in a sensible way. There had been an opportunity to let Lord Hawkenden speak of his concerns, perhaps even to influence him, to give him a sense of darling Nell’s true character. But she had been so overcome with rage—and shock, she allowed—that she had simply walked away. In doing so, she had failed Nell.
Lord, what madness came over me last night?
A lifetime with Mama had given Cecily the skill of self-control. Or so she had believed. Last night had been a serious lapse, a loss of self-restraint on a scale that she probably had not experienced since childhood. It had been a very long time since she had felt anything as deeply as she had last night. Briefly, she closed her eyes, remembering that first moment when she and the Earl had locked glances. His anger towards her on the terrace. How her heart had pounded and her stomach had twisted at the realisation that he was opposed to her future involvement in Nell’s life. But why?
Her inner cry was much more intense than it should have been. In all the years by her mother’s side, she had seen both good and bad in people. She had encountered anger, had been on the receiving end of frustration and ire from Mama’s spurned lovers, from tradespeople demanding settlement of bills, once from a wife angry at Mama’s pursuit of her husband. Yet never had words cut as deeply as they had last night.
She allowed her mind to go further back, to the dark days after Papa had died. Ash, the new Earl, arriving for the reading of the will. Mama’s distress. The announcement that this stranger was to be her guardian, rather than her own mama. Meeting Marianne, her new governess. At twelve, it had all been frightening, and distressing, and she had felt a duty to protect Mama as well as herself.
Yet, she reminded herself, all had turned out well. Ash had been an excellent influence on her as she had moved from childhood to adulthood, as had Marianne, his darling wife. The former governess felt as though she were a second mother to Cecily, and she was as unlike Mama as it was possible to be.
Where Mama was flighty, Marianne was safe. Mama lived for thrills and adventure, while Marianne lived quietly, gaining joy from a simple life with her husband, her children and her household. Marianne loved to read: Mama had not the patience.
I am fortunate to have had Ash and Marianne.
Cecily squirmed a little at what felt like disloyalty to her mama.
Yet such thoughts were as nothing to the way in which she had failed Nell last night. She had clearly felt the Earl’s anger and frustration—had sensed how his rage had become white-hot by the time she had taken her leave of him. Instead of calming the situation, she, Cecily, had simply allowed it. She closed her eyes again and shook her head slowly. Because I could not think clearly. Because I expected something different from him. Because this unaccountable attraction prevented me from speaking up for my friend.
There was a scratching at the door, distracting her from her ruminations. ‘Yes?’
‘Pardon, my lady. Mrs Beresford has arrived.’
‘Thank you.’ Squaring her shoulders, she rose, smoothed her gown, and prepared to be sociable.
* * *
Jack dismounted, handing the reins to the waiting groom. Not bothering to wait while the man led his stallion to the stable mews, he stalked up the steps and through the front door of his townhouse. As he did so, the sense of relief he had felt while out riding began to fade. Riding in London parks could not compare with the countryside, but for now it would have to suffice.
Although he had never understood the point of the hunt—for his steward was well able to deal with troublesome foxes—he nevertheless enjoyed the freedom he felt while flying through familiar fields and over hedges on horseback. He and Tom often made progress on matters of business during hunting breaks, and for Jack they represented the perfect blend of business and pleasure.
Tom. A stab of something remarkably like anxiety pierced him. Never before had he and Tom been estranged like this. They had weathered together the storms of separation, boarding school cruelties, Papa’s coldness and their near-ruin after Papa’s death. Over the years, they had had plenty of disagreements, too. Fallings-out, even. They were too alike in many ways, both tending to dig their heels in stubbornly over matters that later proved to be trivial.
But something about this felt different. At this moment it was difficult to see how they would manage to overcome the harm done by this nonsensical marriage. Having now met his brother’s determined wife, Jack continued to be horrified by Tom’s hasty decision, yet he had to admit to a certain level of understanding. It was now patently clear that the Godwin girl was no innocent victim in this. Her demeanour last night had been serene, displaying supreme confidence in her unassailable position. She had refused to even engage in conversation with him. She had clearly ensnared Tom using her wiles, and his brother was hopelessly entangled, like an exhausted fox at the end of a hunt.
‘Is my bath ready?’ He was not normally so brusque with servants, since it cost him nothing to be polite. Today, however, he felt drained, and there was si
mply nothing inside from whence to pull the niceties of everyday life.
‘Yes, my lord.’ At least that. Much as he had needed to ride in the park, he could not carry on with his day—a planned mix of meetings and social engagements—while smelling of the stable. Once divested of his hat, coat and boots, he mounted the stairs with determination, only the frown he knew currently marked his forehead betraying anything of the tumult within.
* * *
‘Let us take a turn in the Green Park, perhaps?’
Nell made the suggestion with a smile. She and Cecily had spent hours visiting dressmakers and milliners’ shops, and Nell’s footmen had been given a number of small packages to carry. Nell had been measured and pulled at, and, as a newly married lady buying multiple items, heavily complimented. She had ordered the beginnings of her bride-clothes—dresses more suited to a married lady than to a debutante, along with hats, shoes, gloves and spencers. Enough was enough, however, and both she and Cecily had had their fill of the delights of shopping.
‘The very thing!’ agreed Cecily. Gradually, as the time had passed and Nell continued to behave normally, Cecily realised that her friend still knew nothing of what had occurred last night.
I should tell her...but will that make everything yet worse again?
Wrestling with the dilemma, she desperately tried to decide on the best course of action.
The Earl’s prejudice against Nell had been clear. ‘This foolish marriage,’ he had said. The nerve of the man! The scornful assumption that he knew anything about Nell! Nell, who was the sweetest, kindest girl Cecily knew. The cold, arrogant Earl knew nothing of Nell, but had revealed much of himself in his hasty judgement of Tom’s chosen wife.
Still, Cecily’s refusal to engage in debate with him had, she felt, inflamed the situation further. While she was a little sorry for it, part of her could not regret giving the presumptuous Lord Hawkenden a check. He had clearly expected Cecily to tremble, and grovel, and apologise that her friend had had the temerity to marry a Beresford. Instead, Cecily, drawing upon her own strength, had simply left him to his rage.
Nell might not be of the aristocracy, but she was much more a lady than the Earl had been a gentleman last night! On those grounds alone, Cecily reasoned, he had deserved her defiance, and if there had been no consequences for others, she would have been fiercely glad and almost looking forward to a further bout with him. Almost.
But consequences there were, and potentially serious ones. Resolving to try to put the matter out of her head, she hoped Nell would not be too upset when she finally realised just how angry Lord Hawkenden was, and that they would all somehow work through their differences.
* * *
Jack stepped outside the door of White’s, breathing in the spring air with a sense of relief. Today, nothing was right. He could not settle into his usual conversations, could not engage in business chatter, could not even enjoy the—normally delicious—food in his club. A walk in the fresh air might clear his mind.
His mind, however, had other ideas. His mind had one focus, and one only: the beautiful, calm chit who was now married to Tom. Quite why he had moved on from ruminating over solutions, or focusing on Tom’s motives, he was not sure. Walking down the steep hill towards the palace, all he could think about was how impressive she was. That determination! That fierceness! Her downright refusal to even discuss her marriage with him!
Despite himself, he had already realised she was no ordinary lady. He groaned, causing a gentleman emerging from Lock’s, the hatters, to glance at him in curiosity. Turning the groan into a belated cough, he urged himself to be rational. Something had to be done. Something must be possible. Never in his life had he encountered a challenge that bested him in the end.
Reminding himself of this helped. Gradually, his rational mind strengthened again. Despite his undoubted privilege, all through his life he had faced difficulties. Some problems had seemed initially intractable, some situations untenable, yet he had survived them. Mama’s death. The loss of his old nurse. Papa’s punishments. Briefly, his thoughts went to a dark chamber at school, shadowy figures looming over him, but he pushed the memories away. School cruelties had not broken him. A determined young lady certainly would not.
Later, his father’s near-bankruptcy had seemed impossible to overcome, yet they had done so. They had. He and Tom, together. The Beresford brothers. A team, always. The two of them against a cruel world. Today, the thought made him strangely sad.
* * *
Cecily and Nell meandered down Piccadilly, then into the park, carefully avoiding St James’s. It would not do to walk anywhere near the gentlemen’s clubs there. One of the footmen had been sent back to Nell’s house with her purchases, while the second continued to accompany them, following at an appropriate distance. The two young ladies linked arms, enjoying the mildness of the early March day. The trees were in bud, crocuses in bloom, and there were definite signs of nest-building among the avian population.
‘I have just had a delicious thought.’ Nell looked excited. ‘Now that I am a married lady I can be your chaperone, Cecily!’
They stopped and looked at each other, similar grins growing on both faces. ‘Mama will be delighted,’ declared Cecily. ‘You know she finds chaperoning me tiresome. Such fun we could have, without Mama and Beatrice watching us all the time!’
‘Perhaps,’ Nell offered shyly, ‘you might visit the Beresford hunting-box with us next week? It is in the South Downs, and Tom tells me it is an idyllic place. We plan to stay for a fortnight, or possibly three weeks, then return for the season proper.’
Time away from Mama, and the silliness of London in the early season?
The thought was wonderful, yet Cecily could not forget last night’s events, and the knowledge that the trouble she had sown had yet to bear fruit. ‘But do you and your husband not prefer to travel alone, Nell? I do not wish to be in the way.’
‘Oh, well, the hunting season is nearing its end, but Tom wishes me to see Hazledene before Easter. Once the hunting season is done, the house will be shut until the harvest is in, you see. Tom will be busy riding during the day, so I should welcome the company. And—’ her eyes blazed with excitement ‘—we shall be there without Beatrice or your mama!’
Cecily could only gape at her. Such freedom was unknown to either of them. Since her papa had died eight years ago, Cecily had always had Mama, Ash or Marianne by her side, apart from brief walks out—and even then servants were always near. It did not matter how well-loved she was, the feeling of being watched, and guarded, and controlled, was always with her. To be under Nell’s guidance would be the most liberation she had ever experienced. At twenty, she was more than ready for it. So marry, then. That would give her similar freedoms, and yet...
‘Oh, I should love it!’ She frowned. ‘But Mama may not permit me to be away for weeks on end.’
‘We cannot know unless we ask her,’ Nell replied, practicality in her tone. ‘Besides, we shall be there for three weeks at most, in the middle of the countryside, and only a handful of people present. Your mama cannot object, surely?’
Cecily was only half-listening. There, walking towards them, was an elegant gentleman. His tall beaver hat, well-cut jacket, and smart cane proclaimed him a man of fashion, yet there was nothing of the macaroni in his strong shoulders and long, muscular legs. Her mouth suddenly dry and her heart racing, Cecily could only walk slowly in horror towards her doom.
It was the Earl of Hawkenden.
Chapter Seven
Jack recognised her instantly. Well, how could he not, when she seemed to haunt his every thought? Her friend was with her, he vaguely realised—the same young lady that had been beside her at Lady Jersey’s. The light that night had been fairly dim—candles in the drawing room and flambeaux and moonlight on the terrace. This was his first opportunity to see her in the clear light of day.
She was alt
ogether too beautiful. He noted with both appreciation and resentment her perfectly proportioned figure, elegant walking gown and pelisse and charming bonnet, its ribbon tied saucily under one ear. He marched on helplessly, his feet taking him inexorably towards her. Now he could make out her features, his brain committing them to memory, despite his better judgement. Fair curls peeping out beneath the bonnet. A perfect, innocent complexion. Delicate features. Amber eyes, he noted with some surprise, having expected blue to complement the flaxen hair. As his brain idly tried to decide if her eyes were the exact shade of champagne, or rather leaned more towards brandy, his entire body, all of his senses, were focused on her.
A few steps more, and he would be forced to speak. She was looking at him, he noted, a strange expression on her face.
He was entirely devoid of a plan.
Never, not once, in all of his thirty years on God’s earth, had Jack Beresford felt this way. All of the social niceties were urging him to behave normally. Somewhere inside remained banked rage. Yet, at this instant, he was entirely overwhelmed with what felt strangely like bewilderment.
The moment was here. Jack paused briefly, tipped his hat to both ladies, murmured a cold, ‘Good day,’ then continued on. As though they were casual acquaintances. As though she had not trapped his brother into wedlock.
As though he was not rapidly becoming obsessed with her.
* * *
‘Oh, my goodness, Cecily! That was him!’ Nell was as pale as her white, white gown, and her hands were trembling.
Cecily, who herself felt decidedly overwhelmed and shaken, took Nell’s gloved hands in hers. ‘At least he acknowledged us.’
Nell shook her head. ‘He acknowledged you. He barely glanced in my direction and did not take the opportunity to introduce himself. Oh, Cecily! He has given me the cut direct and will not even try to make my acquaintance. Oh, poor Tom!’
Captivating the Cynical Earl Page 5