Trinidad West

by Cecily’s Secret

  “Invite them where?” Cecily asked with a growing sense of dread.

  “Oh! Didn’t I mention that she’s planning a house party?” Claudia unfolded the letter from her sister-in-law and glanced over it. “Beatrice assures me there will be at least six single gentlemen in attendance. Possibly more. Amelia only needs one of them, so that leaves at least five for you to choose from, Cecily.”

  Cecily didn’t have a chance. She had learned from experience when it was possible to change her mother’s mind and when resistance was pointless, and she recognized this as one of those times her mother would be as immovable as the Tower of London. But maybe a house party didn’t have to be so bad, as long as her mother didn’t trick her into promising she’d pick a husband. All those men… All those dark corners and unused rooms… They had been perfect for playing hide-and-seek years ago. Now they might be perfect for something else.

  The masked ball was in full swing, but Cecily longed for solitude. She carried a single candle to light her way but she hardly needed it. The corridors of the sprawling manor house were familiar to her from all the childhood summers she spent there. She knew exactly where she wanted to go. The Queen Elizabeth room, with its gloomy antique furnishings and huge curtained bed, had been a favorite place to play.

  Tonight the furniture was shrouded with white cloths but it still felt like a refuge. She put her candle down on a table and pulled the cloth off her favorite chair, the one that had played the part of the throne in their adventures. She sat down and discovered that it wasn’t as comfortable as she remembered.

  “You look like a queen.”

  The voice came from the doorway—one of her cousin’s suitors, Cecily guessed, though she wasn’t sure which.

  “Do you mind if I join you?”

  Cecily shook her head. Suddenly solitude didn’t sound so appealing.

  The man stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, conveying his intentions with the quiet click of the latch.

  When he stepped into the small circle of light cast by the candle, Cecily saw that he had not removed his mask. She had no idea which of the guests he was.

  He went down on one knee in front of her and kissed her hand.

  “Tell me what you desire of your loyal servant, my queen,” the man said, still holding her hand lightly in his.

  “What I desire?”

  He gazed up at her expectantly, his own desire clear in his expression despite the mask.

  “A kiss,” she said after a moment of consideration.

  He rose to his feet, bringing Cecily along with him. She closed her eyes and felt his lips on hers. She let her lips part, just the way she remembered from the one time she had been kissed during her London season so many years before. It had been an unimpressive experience—hardly worth the risk of being caught on that balcony. This would be better. He tasted faintly of brandy and when he put his hands on her waist and pulled her in close against his body, Cecily felt lightheaded, like she had been the one drinking.

  She didn’t object as he swept her into his arms and carried her across the room to the bed. Somehow the curtains had been opened and tied back, so he was able to lower her onto the bed without them becoming tangled. Her skirt was tangled, though. It was twisted and hiked up and when he put his hand on her leg, he touched bare skin.

  Cecily sighed as he moved his hand up to her knee and bent to kiss her again. He pushed her skirt higher up her legs while he distracted her with his mouth. Then, to her great surprise and delight, he moved down her body and kissed her leg just above the knee. He kissed the other leg a little higher, moving from one to the other, working his way higher until he had pushed her skirt all the way up to her waist. Nothing stood between her skin and his lips. How had she forgotten to put on all the layers that she usually wore?

  He pushed her legs apart and nuzzled her thighs. The mask that covered his eyes felt scratchy against her skin but Cecily hardly noticed. It was his lips and his tongue and his hands that held her attention.

  Yes, a house party would be just the thing.

  Chapter Two

  Perry stepped into the smoky gloom of the coffeehouse and peered about for his friend, trying to focus on the dimmest corners, which was where George was most likely to be. A small pocket of calm in the midst of the urgent conversations of bankers and businessmen caught his attention. That would be George, giving every appearance of being a dedicated ne’er-do-well trying to escape notice in this bastion of commerce.

  “Well? What did you tell him?” George wanted to know before Perry had taken his first sip of coffee.

  Perry added a pinch of sugar to his cup and stirred it in precise circles, one long pinky sticking out at a ridiculous angle.

  “Must you do that?” George asked.

  Perry nodded. “And you know why. It’s my bread and butter.”

  Perry took a minute sip of coffee and sighed. “Perfection.”

  George leaned across the table and repeated, “What did you tell him?”

  “I said I’d do it, of course.”

  “Fool!”

  A few respectable heads turned just long enough to identify the source of this outburst. They were used to seeing this odd pair in their territory.

  “You can’t have thought this through,” George said. “You don’t know what these people are like.”

  Perry toyed with the ruffle of lace peeping out from under the sleeve of his brocade coat.

  “I know that men who betray their country can be dangerous. I also know that if I play my part well I won’t be in any danger. And I’ve been playing this part for years. There’ll be no reason for the man to suspect me. And when it’s all over I’ll be able to buy my farm back.”

  George leaned back and appraised his friend. “Very well. What’s your plan, then?”

  “There’s to be a house party. My father’s friend will get me an invitation. All I have to do is watch this fellow and report what I see.” Perry slapped his hand down on the table. “That’s it! I’ll ask him to get you invited too. He says these people are angling for a husband for their eldest daughter. If they’re willing to invite a penniless nothing like me, I’d think they’d be overjoyed to get you.”

  George gazed blankly across the room full of dark-suited men. “A few days in the country would be pleasant, it’s true.” He turned a dagger-sharp look at Perry. “But I have no desire to be netted for some country squire’s daughter.”

  “The spy is a country squire, but the host is something more than that. The party’s to be at some enormous old manor house built back in Queen Elizabeth’s day. Besides, once they see you brooding around the fringes of the party, they’re not likely to want you.”

  “How kind of you to say so.”

  “What other of your impoverished friends dares to be so honest with you?”

  “You’re my only impoverished friend and you know it, Perry,” George said with a smile.

  “Er, speaking of impoverishment,” Perry said, examining his fingernails.

  “Care to join me for supper tonight, Perry?”

  “What a capital idea! I’ll meet you at the regular time, then, shall I?”

  “I’ll be expecting you.”

  Perry pushed his chair back from the table. “Now I’m off to call on Lily.”

  “You really should cut her off, you know.”

  “I can’t do that, George.” There was no trace now of the fop in his voice or expression. “Where would she be if I did?”

  “The point is, it doesn’t matter where she’d be. She’s not your responsibility.”

  “It may not matter to the people who call themselves your friends, Georgie, but it matters a great deal to me.”

  “Only a fool would continue to support his dead father’s mistress and her brood.”

  Perry smiled. “And only a fool would dress the way I do. So, thrice a fool today. I guess there’s some truth in it after all.”

  “Give her my regards, then, if you must
persist in this folly.”

  “I will and I must. You should know she has quite a soft spot in her heart for you.”

  “She’s a fool for fools then,” George said, signaling a waiter to bring him more coffee.

  Perry stood up. “Until tonight, Georgie.” He turned away, leaving George no opportunity to object to the use of his boyhood nickname.

  Perry wove his way through the busy coffeehouse and out to the street. He let a vaguely self-satisfied expression settle on his face to hide the fact that he was busy thinking, calculating whether the last of his money would see him through the week. He spun his walking stick at his side, narrowly missing his fellow pedestrians, as he tucked numbers into mental columns. He raised the stick to the brim of his hat in a casual salute to an acquaintance and shifted some of the numbers around but no matter how he rearranged them, the totals never changed as his long legs carried him into and out of the fashionable part of the city.

  On a street crowded with shops, a street most of his acquaintances lived in complete ignorance of, Perry stopped at his tailor’s, where he inspected a bolt of mauve velvet that an up-and-coming jeweler had deemed too drab to cover his bed. Perry declared it the perfect shade to go with his plum-striped morning jacket. The pumpkin wool was also deemed beyond acceptable and, most important to Perry, inexpensive.

  Fabrics and patterns settled, Perry continued on his way. He skirted a somewhat objectionable neighborhood, adding several minutes to his journey, and came at length to a quiet and respectable-looking street. He knocked at the door of a tidy house from which the sound of a harp was wafting on the breeze and gazed down at the gaudy buckles on his shoes, trying to recall what had induced him to purchase them. A low price, most likely, he decided.

  As he shook his head over his ill-considered purchase, the door was opened by a young maid whose eyes widened at the sight of Perry before she remembered to lower them and bob down and up in an unpracticed curtsy. Another of Lily’s projects, Perry recalled. Not quite pulled out of the gutter, but from someplace bordering on the gutter.

  “They’re all in the parlor listening to Miss Bianca play the harp,” she said, her smile poorly hidden behind her hand.

  The music ended with a fumbled flourish and the double doors of the parlor flew open. Perry just had time to brace himself as a little girl came hurtling down the narrow hall. She flung herself at him in a froth of ribbons and ruffles and he caught her and spun her around.

  “Perry’s here! Perry’s here!” she squealed when he put her down.

  She took Perry’s hand and pulled him toward the parlor, but before they reached the door the little girl’s mother emerged and enfolded Perry in a soft, perfumed embrace. Perry squeezed her around the waist with his free arm.

  “You’re a veritable refuge, Lily,” he said with a sigh as she released him.

  “And you’re an absolute stranger,” she scolded. “Did you hear Bianca playing?”

  “Was that Bianca? I thought you must be harboring an angel.”

  Bianca was standing by her harp, the perfect lady, when Perry was pulled the rest of the way into the parlor.

  “Good Lord, Bianca!” Perry exclaimed. “I’ve been away three weeks and you’ve become a grown-up lady.”

  “It’s the dress,” Lily explained, her voice caught between worry and pride. “We bought the fabric with the birthday money you gave her.”

  Bianca turned around demurely, allowing her half brother to admire the pale-blue muslin and her long, elegant arms and neck.

  “She looks more and more like you every day,” Lily said.

  “But she doesn’t have my face, thank heavens. She’s got that angelic look of Father’s.”

  Lily sat down and dabbed at her eyes with a tiny square of lace.

  “I’m going to take Isabella for a walk now,” Bianca announced.

  “But Perry’s here,” her little sister objected.

  “I can’t miss my walk.” Bianca made an unladylike grab for her sister’s hand, but Isabella hoisted her skirt and darted beyond Bianca’s reach.

  “Make it a short walk,” their mother suggested, “and he’ll still be here when you get back. I’m sure he’ll be staying for tea, anyway,” she added, throwing a questioning look toward Perry.

  “I wouldn’t dream of leaving before tea,” Perry honestly professed. He was famished. A stale bun in the morning and coffee with George had been the only nourishment he’d taken that day. George’s invitation to supper had been a relief but had done nothing to fill Perry’s stomach in the short term and he had not wanted to spend his last pennies on food. He always liked to keep at least a few coins on hand for an emergency.

  Lily stopped her daughters before they darted out of the room. “Bianca, find Molly and ask her to bring us some biscuits for the interim. I baked yesterday, so the jar should be full.”

  Bianca nodded and the two girls disappeared in a sudden, unexplained flurry of giggles.

  “What was that all about?” Perry asked, sinking down into his favorite chair and stretching his legs out.

  “That’s all about little girls growing up. Too fast, if you ask me, but I suppose we all did.”

  “I don’t recall being in any particular hurry,” Perry said for the sake of argument.

  “There’s a young man,” Lily explained, ignoring Perry’s remark, “who often makes deliveries in our neighborhood at this time of day.”

  “Who’s his employer?” Perry asked, transforming into the protective brother.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know a thing about him and neither does Bianca. I don’t believe she’s so much as spoken to him.”

  Perry relaxed back into his chair.

  “They smile at each other and he tips his hat.” She chuckled. “Sometimes they don’t even pass on the same side of the street, but they still smile.”

  “Still, you should keep your eye on her. She’s getting far too pretty for peace of mind.”

  Lily’s face grew serious but the appearance of the maid, arriving with a tray heaped with biscuits and trying unsuccessfully to avert her eyes from Perry’s splendor, occupied Perry’s attention. When she had left, head down to hide her amusement, Perry moved to the sofa and sat next to Lily. He was also closer to the biscuits now, but he bravely ignored them, casting only one longing glance in their direction.

  “What’s the matter Lily? You look like you’re expecting trouble.”

  “Not from that one! She’s determined not to be like her mother. That’s why she hasn’t spoken to her young man. She doesn’t dare take the risk for fear that people will start talking about the apple not falling far from the tree.”

  Perry gave way to temptation and reached for the biscuits. Some conversations a man couldn’t face on an empty stomach. He handed one to Lily and kept three for himself.

  Lily stared at the biscuit in her hand. “You can’t begin to imagine, Perry, how difficult it is to raise girls into proper young ladies when they know you weren’t married to their father.”

  “They also know their father loved you and them as much as any father ever has.”

  “That doesn’t make it any easier, Perry.”

  “Well, nobody could do it better than you, Lily. I’ve never known a finer example of English motherhood.”

  Lily smiled and patted his knee.

  “Before I forget,” Perry said, reaching into his coat. He pulled out a plump envelope and handed it to Lily. “I’m sorry about it being a few days late, but there was a hunting party in Dorset that I had to take advantage of.”

  Lily accepted the envelope without glancing at it. “They lay a good table in Dorset, do they?” she asked with an uncomfortable smile as she stood up. She crossed the room and deposited the envelope in the drawer of a cluttered writing desk.

  “Thank you Perry. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be ungracious. You know how grateful I am. It’s no exaggeration to say we’d be lost without you. I just hate to be a burden.”

  “What do you
mean, burden? You may be my responsibility, but you’re no burden. You and your children are my family, Lily. And speaking of your children, where are the rest of them?”

  Lily accepted the change of subject with a smile. “Juliet is upstairs writing in her journal, which she devotes exactly an hour to each day. Antony is at school, which you should know, since you’re paying for it. And Richard is napping. He’ll wake up at tea time.”

  She spoke with the precision of a mother who always knows where her children are and what they are doing. Her eyes glittered with love for them but also, Perry suspected, with sorrow that their father wasn’t there to see them and that he had never seen little Richard, who was born two months after his father’s death. Perry watched Lily turn the ring that wasn’t a wedding ring, but a symbol of love all the same, around on her finger.

  On an impulse, Perry stood up, walked over to Lily and hugged her.

  “I still wish you had been my mother,” he whispered against the top of her head.

  She pushed him away. “I told you years ago not to say such things. I’m sure your mother loved you, even if she didn’t know how to show it. Besides, I wasn’t quite ready to be having children when I was twelve years old.”

  “But wouldn’t you have loved it when people mistook your son for your brother?”

  Whatever Lily replied, or whether she replied at all, Perry didn’t know. His attention was distracted by activity outside the window. Across the street, a group of people was descending from a dust-covered carriage and a diminutive elderly lady was stepping spryly down the steps of a nearby house to meet them. But it wasn’t the lady’s surprising agility that captured Perry’s attention. It was the young lady who had just stepped down from the carriage and was now stretching her limbs in the most unaffected and fetching way who took his breath away.

  Perry could hear Lily speaking to him now. He tried to divert some of his attention from the scene across the street, but her voice remained a pleasant hum, far in the background. The older lady was now kissing the young one on the cheeks while two people of middle age stood to the side, smiling in apparent approval. Then the elderly lady held the object of Perry’s attention at arm’s length and looked her up and down, giving Perry the opportunity to do the same. Sleek brown hair done up in a simple twist, soft round arms and hips that curved to a deliciously unfashionable degree all blurred together in Perry’s mind so that he had to grip the window sill to maintain his equilibrium.