by Gloria Gay
“I’ve got it!” she exclaimed in the silent room. Then she got down from bed, donned her dressing gown and went to the next room to wake her husband.
“Get up, Arthur, I need to talk to you about my plan.”
Lord Dalmont glanced at the clock on the mantle and shaking his head in resignation, ran a hand over his balding head. He knew it would be useless to protest, for his wife would wear him down with argument and he would give in in the end. Rather than go through a routine he knew well, he donned his dressing gown and yawning followed his wife as she directed him to a chair by her fireside.
“We shall make an extended house party at Rolling Hills.”
“An extended one?” asked Lord Dalmont. “How extended?”
“Four or five days.”
“But my dear,” said Lord Dalmont, “is that wise? It would cut right in the middle of the season. Do you not think people would remain in London, not wanting to be left out of any of the balls and dances? Aside from the fact that Rolling Hills is quite a distance from London and people would have to make a stopover at an inn.”
“Don’t be absurd, Arthur,” countered the countess. “Who exactly would refuse an invitation from us?” Lady Dalmont was right in her assumption, for she was one of the pillars of English society. Invitations to her gatherings were considered coups, and were much sought after.
Lord Dalmont waited for his wife to go on, foregoing asking questions in order to let her expand on her “plan” and that way allowing him to return to bed quicker.
“And anyway, our house party would start the next day from the Wednesday Almack ball and be finished in time for people to attend Sunday’s ball at Countess Lieven’s.” Even she did not want to incur Lady Lieven’s wrath.
I have not seen Arandale interest himself in any girlother than his lightskirtsthese past twelve years, my dear,” added Lady Dalmont frowning as she gazed at the fire, “and I will not stand by and do nothing as he allies himself to someone completely inadequate.”
Lord Dalmont ventured a comment. “Surely the girl is from a good family. Sentenell is a peer of the realm, albeit a minor one.”
“You are missing the point entirely, Arthur,” said his wife with exasperation, “It is Lady Rolande I object to. Have you not seen how close she is to that family? Practically takes the place of the girl’s mother. I would not doubt it one bit if plans in that direction were in the making. Sentenell, from what you have told me, does very much what Lady Rolande advises. I cannot even begin to imagine how I would feel having to come into close contact with that impossible woman if a union between Arandale and the girl took place.”
“She is the girl’s sponsor during the season,” said Lord Dalmont practically, I do not think you can exclude Lady Rolande from the party, nor her daughter, Hedra. You might run the risk of Miss Sentenell not accepting.”
“They shall all be invited,” Lady Dalmont assured her husband, “I want them all where I can keep an eye on them. I want to observe Miss. Sentenell up close, Arthur, and see what exactly her connection to Lady Rolande is. I also want to assess what Arandale's interest is in the girl.”
* * *
Lady Dalmont looked up in surprise from the Times gossip column and her morning chocolate in the breakfast room as she saw her brother enter the room.
“Arandale!” she tossed her newspaper aside. “For a moment I thought I was seeing a ghost!”
“Good morning, Barbara.”
“Do join me at breakfast, my dear,” said his sister, “Arthur left already to parts unknown in an uncharacteristic show of early morning energy.” She looked keenly at Arandale. “I don’t believe I have seen you up before noon these past six years and in my breakfast room at least ten! Is anything the matter? I thought you were in Brighton.” When he said nothing she went on,
“I was intrigued by your choice of dancing partner last night. Have you known Miss Sentenell for long?”
“A few weeks.”
“Such an unfortunate name—Cecilia.”
“You think so?” asked Arandale, uncomfortably remembering he had thought the name ugly himself.
“Yes, quite an ugly name, and not common in England, fortunately.”
“She might think the same about your name,” said Arandale.
“My name! Pray, in what way is ‘Barbara’ an ugly name?”
“It might convey to her the image of a ‘Barbarian,’ answered Arandale, “you certainly were one when we were children.”
Lady Dalmont shook her head. She was four years older than her brother. “Did you receive my invitation to Rolling Hills?” she asked.
“Your invitation to Rolling Hills is exactly what has brought me here this morning.”
“What about my party?” asked the countess.
“What reason do you have to interrupt the season in this way?”
“Reason? Really, Arandale, must I have a reason for everything I do as though I were a solicitor? I should think you would welcome the opportunity to advance your suit of Miss Sentenell in a pastoral setting where all manner of opportunities may arise for quiet discourse.”
Arandale gazed quietly at his sister. Knowing her, he could be certain she was already nursing a loathing of the unfortunate Miss Sentenell, believing him to be smitten with her. His sister, he well knew, could be a very interfering lady. He realized with amusement that she was convinced that a cure for such an unfortunate attraction was to let him be in Miss Sentenell’s company at all hours of the day.
“I did not have you figured for a matchmaker, my dear,” said Lord Arandale.
“No? And why not, pray?” You are thirty, Arandale, and time you started your nursery. I approve of Miss Sentenell, most wholeheartedly, I assure you.”
“No doubt,” said Arandale.
“Then you accept the invitation?” asked Lady Dalmont. “The party cannot be held without your presence.”
“I am honored,” he said.
“Then it is settled,” said Lady Dalmont, with a sigh of relief.
CHAPTER 12
Arandale’s morning visit to Sir Geoffrey's leased London townhouse was short, even by the standards of the established mode, yet to Cecilia it seemed interminable. He and Viscount Barling arrived togethertheir traditional bouquets having arrived a few minutes before they did. It was the custom for men to make a gift of flowers to the girls they had danced with the night before. It was an expensive custom and some men, in particular those who crashed the larger part of their budget on the gaming tables, chose to forego it. But to men of fashion and taste, it was de rigueur.
Arandale’s white roses and Lord Barling’s violets and pink buds to Cecilia stood on the mantle, together with other bouquets Cecilia had received from other young men. Hedra's three bouquets from her own suitors were on the other side of the large mantle.
Cecilia, moments before, had been surprised at herself as she buried her face in the white roses and took in their sweet scent with great appreciation. The man had good taste, if nothing else, she thought.
That afternoon, Cecilia, pleading a headache, had demurred on joining Lady Rolande and Hedra in a shopping expedition and had fled to the quiet of her bedroom.
Rising from her bed two hours later, her headache gone, Cecilia went downstairs to get the book she had left in the library. She thought of submerging herself in Gothic intrigue that would keep her from troubling thoughts. As, lost in her thoughts she descended the stairs, she realized that Bently, their London butler, was allowing someone inside.
She leaned curiously into the hall and realized too late that it was Lord Arandale that had just come in.
“Miss Sentenell.” he uttered.
“Lord Arandale!” Cecilia was startled into silence. The last person she had expected to see in the hall as she descended the stairs was the Earl of Arandale.
“I had thought to see if you might join me in a ride through Hyde Park.”
A ride in Hyde Park, taking the place of the lightskirt he u
sually rode with! Such a thought made Cecilia's voice freeze in her throat so that she seemed to hesitate. But her rejection of him was ever present in her. She was reluctant to reject him again, even for so small a thing as a ride. The dreaded “no” word would stick in her throat.
“It's a beautiful afternoon, with the sun out,” prodded Arandale. Even as he did so he realized that it was the first time in his life he was feeling a mixture of suspense and hope as he tried to convince Cecilia into riding with him. He knew Hedra was not in, for he has seen her and Lady Rolande on Bond Street, from a distance. He was also doing something he had never done in his life: trying to convince someone into joining him for a ride in the park!
“It is a beautiful afternoon,” said Cecilia. The golden rays of the sun coming in through the hall windows made her long to be outdoors. “Thank you, Lord Arandale, let me just inform Mable, our housekeeper, as my father is out.”
Arandale hoped Cecilia had not heard his sigh of relief as she turned away from him.
They were quiet on the way to the park, an uncomfortable embarrassing silence that made Arandale feel as though he was swimming against the current, unable to say a single word.
Cecilia wanted to speak, to ease the tension, but was embarrassingly conscious of Arandale’s muscular leg pressing against her, for the seat of his high phaeton was very narrow. Once, on rounding a curb, her arm brushed against his and she straightened quickly away from him but not before feeling a disturbingly pleasurable shiver run the length of her arm and down to the very tips of her fingers.
Their arms might just as well have been bare, for the touch was electric and the feeling lingered. She was surprised that she had to force herself from not getting close to Arandale so that the experience would be repeated.
Arandale, also, had felt a pleasurable sensation through his arm at the contact with Cecilia's arm that still lingered and wondered why this slight touch seemed so charged, when he had never felt anything of the sort with anyone before.
They finally reached Hyde Park and the fashionable horde that was trying to see and be seen. The need for speech was for the moment suspended as Arandale returned greetings and answered questions, all the time maneuvering his phaeton amidst the dangerous confusion of carriages.
Cecilia remembered that other time when she had seen him for the first time and a shiver of apprehension went through her. She was sitting in the same place her mistress usually sat. She felt her face suddenly hot. It was a good thing Arandale was greeting some people and couldn't see it.
They were stopped once by Countess Lieven and Lady Esterbrook for small talk and then by Arandale's friend Beau Brummell.
Arandale introduced Cecilia, who looked in wonder at the famous personage. She could hardly believe her eyes when he leaned over from his curricle and nodded to her.
“I don’t know about you, Miss Sentenell,” said Arandale, when he finally extricated his phaeton from a tangle of carriages, “but that was not exactly an enjoyable ride. A ride through the Bastille crowd would have been less hectic.”
“Yes,” answered Cecilia. She, too, was relieved to be out of the unusually heavy crowd and to breathe air that was not fouled by crowded horses and humanity.
“We should have gone to Green Park, instead,” Arandale commented as he maneuvered his bays. “Except for a few scattered riders, it’s usually empty at this hour. Perhaps you would like to go there now, to erase the memory of this beehive?”
“Yes, very much,” said Cecilia, surprising herself.
They had a leisurely ride around Green Park. Arandale, answering Cecilia’s questions about his spirited horses, settled into comfortable talk about the characteristics of each of his matched bays and quirks and differences between them. The left one, Fargo, was the leader, often arrogant and distant, while Zenith was more pliant and friendlier.
“They have characteristics as humans do,” he said, turning to smile at Cecilia, and you can distinguish their characters easily, even though they are like twins in appearance.”
“I like Zenith better,” said Cecilia, “but though they are matched in looks, Fargo is by far handsomer, in a way I cannot explain. I suppose the stronger character enhances his looks in some way you cannot pin down.”
“That devil would appreciate your comment, Miss Sentenell,” laughed Arandale, “if he could understand you.”
Cecilia was surprised to hear him laugh. She had not heard him laugh in all the time she had known him. It was a very pleasing sound, but it was obvious he was unused to laughing for it was short, and he turned away from her.
Cecilia told him about her mare, Daisy, that she had gotten for her birthday. Daisy was stabled at her London house, to be used for rides in Green Park. “Daisy would like Fargo much better than Zenith, though,” she said.
“How do you know?” asked Arandale.
“I think the ladies like the one who is not readily available—who has an air of mystery about him. Fargo is that way.”
“Then we should introduce them,” said Arandale.
“Oh, I was just playing with my fancy,” said Cecilia quickly, realizing that she had just given Arandale another excuse to call on her. The last thing she wanted was another ride in the park with him and having his thigh press disturbingly against her. But she was suddenly surprised at her thoughts. Was it the last or the first she wanted? She realized that she was increasingly uncertain about Arandale. Certainly not as adamant in her dislike as she had been at first. She should keep in mind how she had seen him with his mistress some weeks before in the same park. An unpleasant image of her pressing against Arandale made Cecilia wince. And she smiled to herself, for on this occasion unlike the other time, the memory of Arandale with his mistress brought with it a stirring of jealousy, incredibly enough.
Arandale realized that it was the first time he talked about a horse's character and worth as an animal rather than as a commodity, used for its value in races or for its worth as a show horse in Hyde Park.
CHAPTER 13
An hour later, Hedra startled Cecilia. She appeared highly excited as she shook Cecilia, who had been dosing over a book in a chair by the fire in the library.
“Dearest, I must hear this from you before I make any assumptions. You must tell me it isn’t true you were riding in the park with Lord Arandale. I cannot conceive of you doing such a thing!”
“And why not?” asked Cecilia, annoyed that she was awakened from a nap in such an impertinent manner. What business was it of Hedra if she chose to ride in the park with Arandale?
“It’s true, Hedra,” she answered, “Arandale called while you and your mother were out shopping. He asked if I would like to go out for a ride and I agreed.”
“And why would you do such a thing, when you have repeatedly expressed your disapproval of him? I cannot believe you would do such a thing, when you know my interest in Arandale and the plans I have for my future.”
“Hedra, I refuse to be questioned in this manner by you. Excuse me.” Cecilia took her book, climbed the stairs quickly and went up to her room, closing the door practically on Hedra’s face. She turned the key on the lock so that Hedra would not follow her into the room.
Until now Cecilia had thought that Hedra had only a passing interest in Lord Arandale, but this changed everything. Hedra apparently had set her cap on Arandale and resented Cecilia even for a ride in the park. It was amazing Hedra should act thus toward her and in her home too! Cecilia decided to talk to her father about the incident.
But an apology from Hedra was forthcoming very quickly after. She knocked on Cecilia’s bedroom door, begging to be admitted.
“I have come to plead most humbly for forgiveness,” she said, her round blue eyes penitent. “I should not have spoken thus to you, Cecilia, dearest. I'm appalled at my lack of manners. This is your house and I had no right to question your action. I am sure there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for it.”
The girl was impossible, thought Cecilia, forcing h
erself not to roll her eyes. More than an apology, she still expected Cecilia to set her mind at ease by telling her the ride meant nothing!
“There is no explanation, Hedra,” said Cecilia, trying to keep her temper in check. “Arandale asked me out for a ride in the park and I accepted. I can give no explanation other than that. What exactly do you hope for me to say?”
“That you have no interest in Arandale.”
“I beg you to please stop annoying me, Hedra, because your apology sounds like anything but an apology.” Cecilia made to close her bedroom door but Hedra put her foot in the threshold to prevent her from it.
“I am sorry dearest,” she said, “I again humbly apologize. Mama continually tells me I have no way with words and I am beginning to believe her. I apologize, again, profusely, and this time without any more words. Will you please forgive my boorish behavior?”
“Of which instance?”
“How droll! Dearest, dearest Cecilia,” said Hedra laughing loudly. “Can you not go out for a walk with me to allow me to make up for it?”
“At another time, maybe,” said Cecilia. I'm tired now and must rest. Please allow me to close the door. I do need some privacy now.”
Cecilia was highly annoyed by now and didn’t believe Hedra’s apology. She realized Hedra only wanted to patch things up because she and Lady Rolande were to be temporary guests at the house her father had rented for the season.
Cecilia wondered what had prompted her father, a very modest and countrified gentleman, to be so taken in by Lady Rolande, to the point of inviting her to stay with them until Lady Rolande’s mythical funds were “released” and she could move into her own house.
Cecilia had been happy and excited about the plans when it came up, but many things had happened since then that made her now wonder at the decision. They would have avoided a lot of unnecessary strife had they remained in Nottingham. Perhaps it was not too late to change their plans now.
Hopefully, Lady Rolande and Hedra would soon transfer to their leased house in Berkeley Square. Cecilia couldn’t really picture going through the whole season with Hedra in the house.