How could he comfort her when he might well be the source of her distress?
This was a complication he had not anticipated. At the time, he had been thinking only of his need to be alone with her, to kiss her, to press her close. It had seemed then as if tomorrow might not come.
Unfortunately for all of them tomorrow had indeed come, and it wore a vengeful visage.
Chapter Twenty
When Nell had still not returned after a half-hour, Cecily decided to go and look for her. Her own conversation with Mr Harting had eventually lapsed into silence, aided by her gradual polite disengagement. Tom was sleeping, Mr Carmichael was writing, and the Earl had not lifted his gaze from the fire for an age. It was unusual for Nell to be away from her husband’s side for so long.
Murmuring a polite farewell, Cecily made for the door, wondering if the Earl had even looked up. Straightening her shoulders, she refused to glance back. At this moment, she could not bear to meet his gaze. Between uncertainty over the aftermath of their kiss, and feeling irrationally excluded from matters of business, looking at him brought too many complications.
An obliging footman informed her that he believed Mrs Beresford to be in her chamber. Hurrying upstairs, Cecily scratched on Nell’s door. ‘Nell, it is I.’
‘Come in, Cecily.’
On hearing the muffled response, Cecily wasted no time. Closing the door behind her, she made her way towards her friend, who was lying on her side on top of the bed facing the door. Her knees were drawn up and she was wearing a familiar pained expression.
‘Ah, Nell, what is it?’ She asked the question, although she had already guessed the answer.
‘Just my monthly flow, but I think it will be a bad one this time.’ She reached out a hand and Cecily took it, sympathy rushing through her.
Not wishing to call a housemaid straight away, Cecily helped her friend unlace and undress. Once Nell was in her nightgown, without the restrictions of corset and gown, she sighed with relief. Cecily tucked the blankets in around her, but Nell immediately loosened them, needing to thrash about a little.
Cecily’s brow creased at her friend’s discomfort. ‘I shall ask for a tisane, with your permission?’
‘Please, do.’ Nell gave a short laugh as Cecily walked across to the fireplace to ring the bell. ‘The gentlemen need tisanes for their drinking, and we for our womanly concerns!’
‘Indeed, but at least they had a choice in the matter!’
Luckily, it was Molly, the amiable older housemaid, who answered the call-bell. She immediately bustled into action, securing a well-mixed tisane and a hot brick for Nell. ‘Now, you just hold that brick close to where it hurts, my love,’ she said kindly. ‘I shall light the fire, and all will be well.’
Molly left them to it, with a strong recommendation to Nell not to be worrying that she was not yet in the family way. ‘There is plenty of time for that, ma’am, and it often happens that the first baby may take a year or two to appear!’
Nell did indeed seem to take reassurance from this, and thanked Molly for her kindness.
When the maid was gone, Cecily shook off her slippers and climbed onto the bed beside her friend. They chatted for a while—mainly recalling each moment of last night’s soirée, which they had both enjoyed. Cecily was tempted to tell Nell about the kiss from the Earl but held back. She did not know whether Nell would react with delight or horror and, frankly, she did not wish to know.
Her own feelings flailed wildly between the two. Delight that she had experienced such a wonderful, amazing, peace-shattering embrace. Delight that he, Jack, had kissed her. Delight that he had, seemingly, been moved by it, too.
Then there was the horror. Horror at her own display—hardly the actions of a demure young lady, daughter to an earl. Horror at the notion that they might have been seen at any moment. Horror that she had become so lost in her tendre for him that she had forgotten his arrogance, his aloofness, the cold-hearted emptiness that she had long seen in him. He had treated Nell terribly badly—although, to be fair, he was now making an effort to deepen his acquaintance with his brother’s wife, though it was largely limited to trivialities.
She squirmed. Here at Hazledene she believed she was beginning to understand him a little. And dimly she was aware that there were reasons behind some of his actions. Reasons for his steely armour. She could not forget their conversation in Crow Wood, or the wooden knight, which still nestled safely in her reticule.
‘Tell me, Nell...’ the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them ‘...has Tom ever spoken to you of matters of business? What is his view of involving you in his decisions?’
Nell looked up at her. ‘No—I—We have never spoken of it. But I have no doubt that Tom will share his worries with me, and his triumphs.’
Cecily nodded. ‘I am glad to hear it. But would you not wish to be involved in the detail? Numbers, projections, all the facets of a decision that must be considered?’
‘Possibly.’ Nell’s tone was vague. ‘I have not much thought of it. But, yes, why not?’ She eyed Cecily curiously. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Oh, for no particular reason.’ She stood, feeling a surge of restlessness. ‘Now, I shall go and seek an interesting book, so I might read to you.’
* * *
The chiming of the ormolu clock on the mantel awoke Jack with a start. Between the heat of the fire and the effects of last night, he had succumbed to the comfort of an afternoon nap—something he could not recall indulging in for many years. But, then, he had not been quite so drunk for many years. Almost guiltily, he glanced around the room, stretching in his armchair as he did so. All three gentlemen were sound asleep—Tom in his armchair and Harting on the settee, while Carmichael was stretched out on the window seat, snoring gently. Of the ladies there was no sign.
Lord! Did they return and see us all collapsed?
Jack felt his face flush a little at the notion. They were all four bachelors, unused to the presence of ladies. Their habits reflected it.
No, Tom is married now, he recalled.
The notion still surprised him, even now. The usual stab of pain went through him as he remembered, although it was perhaps a little less sharp than usual.
Still, it was impolite of the ladies to have stayed away for so long. Had they returned, an intervention as subtle as a polite cough would likely have brought the gentlemen back to consciousness—perhaps with an additional prod required for Carmichael, who seemed deeply asleep. Jack frowned as he speculated on the reasons for the ladies’ prolonged absence. Were they even now huddled together somewhere, criticising the gentlemen? It was a novel and disturbing thought.
Suddenly he felt the need to escape. Fresh air, perhaps, and a break from all of it. Rising silently, he made his way out of the salon and into the hallway. Lady Cecily was just descending the staircase. She hesitated slightly when she saw him, and an uncertain expression flickered across her face.
‘Oh! There you are, Lord Hawkenden.’ Her smile seemed forced, raising indignation within him instantly. What had she been saying about him? Had she told Nell about their embrace?
‘Might I borrow a book from your library, my lord? I am in need of something to read. In fact,’ she continued, the words tumbling out of her in a rush, ‘I mean to read something to Nell.’
He raised an eyebrow, awkwardness, disappointment and frustration all rising within him. ‘So your friend is brooding in her chamber? Have the lovers, then, finally quarrelled? I knew it would come to this eventually.’ Hearing his own words, he tried to soften them with a smile, but he was, it seemed, too late.
She flushed, vexation in her expression and in the sudden stiffening of her shoulders. ‘Indeed not! As far as I know, there is no quarrel between them. Nell is simply indisposed.’
Perhaps he could tease her into charity with him again. ‘If you think me a fool, only b
orn yesterday, then you may think again, Lady Cecily! I have heard it said that ladies are frequently “indisposed” when they mean to punish gentlemen for some imagined slight. There is no sickness in this house—no fever, or anything like it. The only members of the household who are truly indisposed today are the gentlemen—and that is because we overindulged in wine last night. So tell me honestly, what have we done to offend you?’ His tone was light-hearted, but there was a genuine plea in his words, which he hoped she would hear.
Have I offended you, Cecily? Please, tell me, that I may make all well between us again.
He eyed her closely, observing her reaction, and his heart sank. She was gripping the handrail, knuckles showing white, and there were two spots of colour on her cheeks.
Lord, I have truly angered her!
‘Lady Cecily—’ he began, determined to speak to her in a more straightforward fashion. ‘I—’
‘If you must know, my lord, Nell is unwell because of her monthly courses. She is, even now, in bed in great pain.’ Cecily’s eyes blazed with fury. ‘The housemaid has brought a tisane and poor Nell is pressing a hot brick to her stomach in an attempt to endure the pain.’ Her lip curled. ‘Gentlemen have no idea what ladies suffer!’ She glared at him, then belatedly clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, Lord, I should not have—’ Overcome by her own confusion, she turned around and fled back upstairs.
Jack, stunned, watched her go, his jaw hanging loose and his mind awhirl. Shock was too small a word to describe the turmoil within him. Since childhood, the only women he had encountered, apart from superficial social interactions, had been servants and courtesans. Although he vaguely knew a little of womanly matters, generally women avoided speaking of such things to bachelors. So to discover that women could suffer so during their monthly time was shocking, if fascinating, new information.
Vague memories came to him, as he abruptly made sense of certain episodes in the past. A host’s sister disappearing from a house party for two days as she was ‘indisposed’. Housemaids unaccountably replaced for brief periods, disturbing the rhythm of his routine comforts. Courtesans ‘indisposed’ for some days each month—and losing money from it. Indisposed, indisposed, indisposed.
Well! Who would have thought it?
Intellectual curiosity surged within him. What was the reason for women to suffer so? How could their menfolk best care for them? How on earth did a hot brick assist them? Although chilly, the day was not freezing cold.
He sighed as his gut caught up with his brain. He had bungled his conversation with Cecily, his attempt at light-heartedness falling flat. Their first conversation alone together since that momentous embrace, and he had made a complete mull of it. His misjudgement entirely.
Never before had he missed his footing with a lady. He always knew exactly what to say, in any situation. Yet, with Cecily, he sometimes found himself unsure, hesitant and sorely lacking in judgement. And yet their conversations when they walked out together were among the easiest he had ever known. Just one of the many ways in which her effect on him was unique.
Another notion struck him.
Does Tom know?
He pictured his recumbent, wine-suffering brother, stretched out as he had last seen him in an armchair, and chuckled.
Most certainly not!
There was no way on this earth that Tom could be aware of his darling’s suffering and yet not be by her side. Even if she had sent him away he would be fretting about her.
Briefly Jack allowed himself to imagine how he would feel if Cecily were in agony, pressing a hot brick to her stomach in search of some relief. His gut twisted as he realised he, like Tom, would wish only to ease her pain. Briefly, he closed his eyes and swallowed hard. His growing feelings for Cecily, unlooked-for as they were, at least gave him some insight into Tom’s heart.
So it was with part sympathy, part responsibility that he returned to the salon of sleepers. Touching Tom’s shoulder, he placed a finger on his lips to hush his brother, who had opened his eyes and was now frowning. Beckoning for Tom to follow, Jack left the parlour for the second time in ten minutes. Once they were in the hallway, the door safely closed, Jack wasted no time in explaining himself.
‘It appears your beloved is indisposed,’ he offered bluntly, unable to prevent adding an ironic tone to the endearment. Old habits remained, despite his dawning understanding. ‘Women’s trouble, I understand.’
‘Lord, no! Is she very ill? Must we get the doctor?’ The colour was draining from Tom’s face, and Jack could not prevent a pang of sympathy. Tom clearly cared for his wife.
‘I know not. Lady Cecily has been with her. Tisanes and a hot brick have been secured. Tom—’ for his brother had already spun towards the staircase ‘—do let me know if anything more can be done to ensure her comfort. I know little of these matters, but...’ He paused, his words fading into silence.
Tom nodded, gratitude in his expression. ‘Thank you, Jack.’
‘You are welcome,’ he responded gruffly, his throat tight. Spinning on his heel, he made for the back door, calling for a footman to fetch his boots. He needed that fresh air more than ever.
* * *
Lady Cecily made for her own chamber, entirely mortified. How could she have mentioned such matters to a gentleman? An unmarried gentleman, at that? Having been raised partly by Marianne and Ash and knowing how sympathetic Ash was towards his wife any time she suffered, Cecily, as she often did, had come to judge all men by the standards of her guardian. She knew, of course, that such matters were generally unmentionable, and that bachelors in particular would likely be disgusted or alarmed by unwanted knowledge. She had witnessed shocked aversion on certain faces occasionally if a woman had needed to be brought home early from a picnic or a theatre trip, or if—horror of horrors—a woman needed to quickly don a borrowed cloak.
Jack does not even have a sister!
She put a hand to her head as she recalled again his shock and stillness after her mortifying outburst.
How could I?
Oh, Lord, as if matters were not confused enough already.
Stepping away from the door, for she had been leaning on it as if to ensure that reality could not intrude, she began pacing up and down the chamber, memories of her various encounters with him flooding through her mind. That look between them at Lady Jersey’s. Their argument on the terrace there. His arrogance and disdain towards her and Nell.
Then the other side of him, seen at Hazledene. Their developing friendship. Their walks together. Their conversations. The nursery. His mother’s death. The little carved knight. He had rejected it so firmly, and yet she had kept it, feeling that it was important to do so. Even now, it remained in her reticule.
Trying to be fair, she remembered their shared amusement at Tom and Nell’s endless dalliance, the understanding—never voiced—that the marriage had occurred after a worryingly short period of time. While she could not support the disdain he showed at times towards the loving pair, she at least understood the concern behind it.
Then there was their own embrace last night, the storm of passion that had overwhelmed her as they had kissed. Overwhelmed them both, perhaps. And yet today there had been no sign that he saw her as pleasing in any way. He had been detached, distant, almost rude in his withdrawal. Mr Harting’s kind attentions did little to assuage the hurt inside her, for it came from a need for Jack. Jack, and no other.
Finally, she allowed herself to relive the moment just now, when she had spoken to him of matters that must never be discussed. Sinking into an armchair, she pressed her hands against her hot cheeks, rocking backwards and forwards as if comfort could be achieved from it.
She would never be able to look him in the eyes again.
Chapter Twenty-One
Dinner was a strange affair. Jack took his usual seat at the head of the table, while Tom sat opposite. Harting and Carmicha
el declared their appetites to be fully restored—a fact reinforced by the way they attacked the food, enjoying each course and devouring copious amounts of meat, vegetables and side-dishes with gusto.
In contrast, Tom picked at his food, his attention seemingly elsewhere. Until today, this would have caused Jack severe irritation. Tom had not appeared downstairs again until the dinner gong, and Carmichael had greeted him with attempted raillery about him dallying with his wife in the afternoon. Tom had reported that his wife was indisposed. The moment was then saved by the arrival of Lady Cecily, who had not heard Carmichael’s ribald words. Or at least Jack hoped she had not. She had seemed rather uncomfortable since she had arrived in the dining room, and had said little. He was desperate for an opportunity to make things right between them, but so far she was avoiding his eye.
She is clearly still angry with me.
She had not spoken directly to him since dinner began, he noted. Indeed, she had not even looked in his direction. He knew this because meeting her gaze had, somehow, become important to him. To have her withdraw from him like this today was unexpectedly wounding. Every part of him was eager to mend what he had broken, to restore the amity that had become so essential to his peace of mind.
He caught his own thoughts and frowned into his wine glass.
I am becoming absurd! It will not do.
Why should it matter to him what one young lady thought of him? He had been impervious to the opinions of innumerable young ladies for most of his life. Yet, somehow, this was different. Lady Cecily was different. The way she made him feel was different.
How? Why? He could not understand it. He had encountered any number of young ladies over the years. Almack’s was full of them. Matchmaking mamas would fling their daughters in the paths of gentlemen such as him without any trace of embarrassment or remorse. Until now, he had been entirely impervious to the ladies’ charms and their mamas’ machinations. Until now.
Captivating the Cynical Earl Page 17