Her mother was much harder to deny when pitiful than when she acted like this mean person Cecelia hardly recognized. Anger stirred in her breast, and she squeezed Liam’s hand.
“No, Mama. I love Liam,” she blurted, hearing his sharp intake of breath at her words.
“Oh, Cecelia! You stupid, foolish girl,” her mother cried. “Love hardly matters! I have, just an hour ago, accepted a marriage offer from Blackmore on your behalf. You are betrothed, except for the technicality of formally accepting him yourself.”
Cecelia shook her head. “I cannot do that, Mama. I’m sorry.”
“You would willfully ruin me and yourself?” her mother moaned to Cecelia.
“Ye won’t be ruined, Lady Thornberry,” Liam assured her, wishing he’d had the chance to tell Cecelia the truth of his affairs in private first. But her profession of love still rang in his ears, and his chest squeezed mercilessly. He loved her, as well, and he feared suddenly that by holding the truth from her, he had risked losing her. Yet, surely, she would understand why he had done it, he told himself.
“Of course we will be ruined if the two of you were to marry! Laughingstocks and all poor as church mice!”
“Nay.” He shook his head. “I’m quite well-off. I’m laird of my clan, and it is very stable. My father sold a large tract of land before he died, and it enabled our clan to prosper once more with smart decisions and hard work.”
Cecelia pulled her hand from his as her mother gasped and exclaimed her pleasure. “Oh, Lord MacLeod! I simply knew it! I can explain my behavior.”
He ignored her and turned to Cecelia, who had stepped away from him. Tears sprang to her eyes.
“You lied to me,” she whispered.
“I wanted to ensure ye wanted me for simply myself.” He cringed at how idiotic his reasoning now sounded.
“You lied to me,” she repeated, her tortured voice searing his soul with pain. “Could you not see that I was not the sort of lady who would marry just for convenience?”
“I—” The words froze on his tongue. “I can now,” he said lamely.
She pressed her cheeks to her hands. “I’m a fool,” she said, her voice cracking. “I thought we had fallen in love. You made me believe it was possible to have fallen so fast, so completely. I thought I knew you!” She whirled away from him, but he caught her by the arm and turned her back.
He could not let her go. He could not imagine life without her. “Cecelia.” He pressed his lips close to her ear and felt her grow tense under his touch. “Ye do know me. The money does not change who I am.”
“If you truly believed that,” she said in flat tone, “you would have told me. Please, let me go.”
“Cecelia, I love ye. I wish to marry ye,” he admitted, not giving a damn that her mother stood on the steps, open-mouthed and staring at them.
“Marry me? You do not even know me, and despite what you say, it is now clear to me that I don’t know you! I thought you honest. You told me it was customary where you lived to speak the truth, and I believed you, yet you lied to me! I was truthful with you, told you I was not free to marry as I pleased. You must have seen my torment, seen how I was struggling to accept what I thought I must do to help my mother after meeting you, yet you stayed silent.”
The words sounded torn from her throat, and it nearly killed him to hear it. As she fled up the steps without looking back, he felt as if he was losing a part of himself he had only just found.
Cecelia flung the front door open and slammed it shut behind her, leaving him standing in the snow and staring up at her mother, who stood still gawking.
A long silent moment passed before Lady Thornberry spoke. “She will come around. You’ll see.”
He did not even care that Lady Thornberry only now desired him for Cecelia because of his money. He only cared about getting Cecelia back, but he feared he had been the biggest sort of fool and that she would never trust him again.
Chapter Eight
Several days later, on Christmas Eve, as Cecelia sat listless on the settee and watched her mother enter and exit the drawing room, her face first looking enraged and then stupefied, Cecelia wondered just how much worse she could feel.
“Two marriage proposals,” her mother wailed. “One from a duke and one from a laird of a Highland clan, and you have rejected them both! I don’t imagine we will have anything to eat tomorrow for a Christmastide feast,” her mother said shrilly. “We have no funds left to buy any food! We are nearly beggars!”
Cecelia rose on shaky legs with a heart that had been shattered and went to her room, where she had hidden money she had made some months ago by selling her few pieces of jewelry. She gathered the money, marched downstairs with it, and plunked it on the table before her mother. “This will give us some time. I will secure a job as a seamstress, a cook, or perhaps a maid within a sennight. I vow it.”
Her mother’s answer was the loudest wail Cecelia had ever heard from her. It was so loud that Cecelia nearly missed the knock at the door. As they had been forced to let the butler go the day before, Cecelia made her way to the entrance, and when she opened it, she blinked at the sight of Cooper. Her first thought was that something had happened to Elizabeth.
“What’s the matter?” she cried, no longer caring that her mother would learn of her friendship with Elizabeth. Cecelia would be friends with whomever she chose from this moment forward.
Cooper held out what appeared to be an invitation. Frowning, Cecelia took it, opened it, and read it.
Dearest Cecelia,
I would so love if you and your mother might join me for a Christmastide feast tomorrow, if you think you can convince your mother to darken my door.
All the best,
Elizabeth
Cecelia folded the paper and glanced over her shoulder at her mother, who had come up behind her and clearly had read the note over Cecelia’s shoulder.
“Certainly not,” her mother snapped.
Cecelia ignored her, and it felt heavenly. “Tell Elizabeth that I shall be there,” she told Cooper.
The butler grinned. “I’ll convey the good news,” he said, then turned to go.
Cecelia closed the door and faced her mother. “I am going.”
“I’ll not go with you,” her mother said, giving Cecelia a wounded look that made her lose her last bit of control.
“Mama, I am the heartbroken one! The wounded one. I am sorry I failed you! I’m sorry for my fault in Papa’s death! But I cannot marry Blackmore. I don’t love him! And I cannot marry Lord MacLeod, as he clearly does not truly love me!”
“Oh, Cecelia!” her mother cried, a horrified look coming over her face. “You are not at all to blame for your father’s death, and I—” She had to pause because, to Cecelia’s amazement, she choked up. “I simply wanted to spare you the hardships I endured by being poor. I’ve failed you!” her mother lamented and burst into tears.
A trace of amusement filled Cecelia as she moved to soothe her mother. Leave it to Mother to need mollifying when Cecelia was the injured party. Yet, somehow, hovering over her mother, quieting her tears, and whispering words of reassurance made Cecelia feel stronger, as if they would, indeed, survive whatever came to them.
After a bit, her mother suddenly stopped crying, and she wiped her face and squared her shoulders as a look of fierce determination spread across her face. Cecelia didn’t know what to make of the transformation, nor what to think when her mother gripped her by the shoulder and stared into her eyes. “Cecelia, I may have failed you before now, but I will not fail you any longer.”
“Mother—”
“No,” her mother interrupted, “you must allow me to speak. What I say might make you cross with me all over again, but I must say it. Come sit with me,” she commanded, yet her voice was gentle. Once they were settled on the settee, her mother shocked her by sliding an arm around Cecelia’s shoulder and stroking her hair. “Darling, I believe you have been too harsh with Lord MacLeod.”
&nb
sp; Cecelia stiffened. She was sure her mother was now Liam’s biggest advocate because she knew he was well-off.
Her mother looked suddenly sad as she squeezed Cecelia’s shoulder. “I see the look on your face,” she whispered in a shamed tone, “and I can understand it. If I were you, I would also believe I was only saying this because I now know he can take care of you. I’m not going to lie—it greatly pleases me to know that he has the means to ensure you will never have to know a day of hunger or fear you may not have a roof over your head, but what pleases me more than this is that I truly believe he loves you.”
“But he lied to me,” Cecelia replied. “He didn’t know me well enough to be certain that I would not marry him simply for his money.”
Her mother frowned at her. “Of course he didn’t know of your wonderful character, Cecelia. He had to learn it first. And, after all,” Mother said in a chiding tone, “you said yourself that you made it clear to him from the beginning that you needed to make a marriage of convenience. Put yourself in his place. What if you were the heiress and he was a man without funds who told you from the start that he needed to wed a lady of means? What would you do? Would you immediately have put your faith in a man you had only just met but had an instant liking for, or would you decide to see if a true affection grew and then tell him the truth of it?”
She bit her lip, thinking, but it only took a moment to know what was in her heart. She would have done exactly as Liam had! She swallowed the despair in her throat. “What have I done?” she moaned. “I’ve ruined everything, I’m certain.”
“Shh. Don’t give up hope so easily,” her mother cooed. “Oh! I know!” she cried. “It is not yet too late to go call on his sister, and when we do, hopefully, he will be there and the two of you can talk!”
Cecelia’s heart leaped with hope even as her stomach knotted with fear of rejection. She scrambled to her feet, refusing to allow the fear to stop her from trying to smooth things over with Liam.
Half an hour later, she stood, clutching her mother, in the shadow of a tree they had scrambled behind. Cecelia fought the desire to cry as she stared across the street at Liam, who was entering the Rochburns’ home with Francis Dentington on his arm. She could not see Liam’s face, but Francis was smiling up at him with a look of devotion that could not be mistaken.
Heaviness pressed on Cecelia’s chest. He had already turned his attention to another.
“Cecelia?” her mother asked with care.
Cecelia shook her head, watching as Liam disappeared through the Rochburns’ front door. “Let us go home,” she said, struggling not to cry. She did not wish to come apart in front of her mother.
“Perhaps it’s not as it appears,” her mother offered.
Cecelia nodded. “Perhaps,” she agreed, but only so her mother would not say more. Cecelia felt raw, and if she tried to discuss Liam, the thread that was holding her together would unravel. So instead of waiting for her mother to say more, Cecelia rushed back toward their house and straight for her room.
On Christmas Day, Cecelia and her mother made their way to Elizabeth’s home for the Christmastide feast. Cecelia was surprised at her mother’s willingness—no, true eagerness—to go. Mother had been to the market early that morning—also to Cecelia’s shock—and she had only come back home to fetch Cecelia just as it was time to leave. Her mother had been in a peculiarly good mood, but Cecelia was horribly gloomy, which struck her as an ironic change of positions.
When they entered Elizabeth’s festive home, Cecelia watched in amazement as her mother’s good mood became festive, as well, and her face actually lit up and glowed with delight. Her mother and Elizabeth huddled on the settee exchanging stories of Christmastides past, while Cecelia sat near the fire alone. She forced a smile every now and then when they glanced her way, but she felt as if a dark shroud permanently covered her heart.
Her thoughts drifted to Liam as she turned and stared into the bright flickering flames. She could not help but wonder what he was doing today. Was he with Francis perhaps?
Moments later, when Cooper announced the arrival of Aila, Aldridge, and Blackmore, Cecelia’s heart ached with sadness that Liam must either be with Francis or simply had not wanted to be wherever Cecelia was.
She scrambled to her feet, frowning when she realized her mother did not look at all surprised to see the trio. But her attention was diverted when Blackmore took off his hat and Cecelia realized both his eyes were blackened.
“Whatever happened to your eyes?” she exclaimed, rushing to him.
Blackmore gingerly touched the purpled skin with a wince. He gave her a rueful look. “MacLeod challenged me to a boxing match at Gentleman Jackson’s over you, and the result was this.” He pointed to his face.
“But that’s wonderful!” she exclaimed, hope coming to her heart once more.
Blackmore looked at her oddly. “You think it wonderful that I have been wounded?”
His offended tone made her chuckle. “No!” she assured him.
He nodded. “Good. The victor won the prize of getting to come here today to see you. We agreed it would be awkward for both of us to try to win your affection at the same time.”
“You don’t mean to tell me you won?” she blurted.
Blackmore scowled at her. “No,” he replied glumly.
“I knew it could not be so!” she exclaimed.
Blackmore’s scowl deepened. “Your lack of confidence in me is rather off-putting, Miss Cartwright,” Blackmore grumbled.
“I am sorry, Blackmore,” she hastened to apologize for wounding his pride. Then thinking upon his sudden formality with her she added, “Miss Cartwright?”
“Indeed. MacLeod threatened to repeat our match if I dared to call you Cecelia ever again.”
“This is splendid!” Cecelia exclaimed.
“I’m glad I can bring you cheer,” Blackmore said dryly.
Cecelia frowned with sudden worry. “If Lord MacLeod won the match, then why are you here? Not that I am not glad to see you. You are my dear friend.”
“Yes, yes,” Blackmore said, waving a hand at her. “MacLeod acquired an engagement for a duel right after beating me soundly, so I decided to take advantage of my good fortune and come try to win your affection, which I now see is an utter waste of time.”
“I am sorry,” she said, feeling guilty. Yet she knew Blackmore did not truly love her, so he would be quite all right. Her pulse had ticked up several beats, and she found she was wringing her hands as she thought about what Blackmore had said of Liam. “Whatever do you mean he acquired an engagement for a duel?”
Aldridge answered her question in an oddly cheerful tone. “Lord Tarrymount happened into Gentleman Jackson’s after MacLeod trounced Blackmore.”
“Let’s not say he trounced me,” Blackmore said, sulking.
Aldridge shrugged. “After MacLeod used Highland trickery to connect his fists repeatedly to Blackmore’s face—”
Blackmore nodded. “Much better.”
Aldridge smirked at his friend. “MacLeod challenged Lord Tarrymount to meet him either in the ring or on the field of honor for his part in ruining your good name.”
Cecelia clamped her mouth shut when she felt her jaw fall open. “And Lord Tarrymount chose to duel?”
“I would have done the same,” Aldridge said. “At the time of the challenge, we all thought Blackmore quite dead from the force of MacLeod’s hits.”
“I did not even swoon,” Blackmore growled.
“No, indeed,” Aldridge rushed to agree, though he gave both Aila and Cecelia an amused look. “You were simply resting, unresponsive, with your eyes closed.”
“Quite right!” Blackmore thundered.
“Where is this duel?” Cecelia demanded. She simply had to stop it. She’d never be able to live with herself if Liam died defending her honor.
“I’ll take you,” Aldridge offered. “You’ll never find the glade on your own.”
Cecelia glanced at Aila, who
stood there calmly. “Why are you here?” She knew her voice was near a screech, but she did not care. “Are you not worried for your brother’s life?”
“Certainly not,” Aila responded confidently. “They are using rapiers, and whoever draws first blood is the victor. Liam will win.”
Cecelia wanted to throttle Liam’s sister. “And if Lord Tarrymount manages to strike a blow and your brother gets an infection and dies? This is madness! Who is his second?”
“Our younger brother Alistair. He only just arrived in Town,” Aila said.
Cecelia was so upset, she wanted to scream at Aila for not talking Liam out of the duel. Instead, she turned to her mother. “Mama, I must go!”
“I’ll go with you,” her mother replied. “I have grown quite fond of Lord MacLeod.”
Cecelia was struck speechless for a moment. When the ability to speak finally returned, she demanded, “Exactly when did you have the opportunity to grow fond of him? I know you said you understood why he did what he did, but now you say you have grown fond of him, too? When?”
“This morning,” her mother said primly. “He sent me a note begging me to meet him at the Rochburns’ home. Of course, I did not refuse, as I know how you truly feel about him.”
Cecelia did not feel the slightest embarrassment at her mother’s pronouncement. “What did he want?”
“Why, he wished for me to tell him every single detail I could recall about you. He said he wanted to show you that he knew you and loved you.”
Cecelia was about to ask her mother if Liam had mentioned Francis when Elizabeth spoke. “He came to me yesterday asking questions about you, too,” she offered.
“And me, last night,” Aldridge said.
“And me, after he blackened my eyes,” Blackmore supplied.
Cecelia’s heart nearly burst with happiness. He loved her. It didn’t matter why Francis had been on his arm yesterday. Cecelia believed with all her heart that he loved her. She had been the biggest sort of fool for ever getting so angry with him.
Christmas in the Scot's Arms (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 3) Page 10