A Matter of Honor

by Nina Coombs Pykare

  The three of them turned to Cecilie, who responded with another too-sweet smile. “Is that what girls are accustomed to wear?”

  The dressmaker nodded. “Oui. Most jeunes filles, they wear such gowns.”

  Cecilie nodded. “Then I suppose it will do. Now I’d like to see some stuff for other gowns.”

  Aggie found herself holding her breath, but the Earl merely nodded. “We’ll see some stuff for some day gowns and several for evening.”

  The choosing of these materials and patterns went so well that Aggie could scarcely believe it. Cecilie seemed entirely amenable to whatever his lordship suggested.

  Aggie herself wished she already had the promised inheritance. Her own gowns were getting quite shabby and she did not have any idea what she could wear if they were to go to the theater, which seemed quite likely. In the country she had had no need for new gowns except as the old ones wore out. And even then she had not often replaced them. Consequently her wardrobe was not in very good condition.

  She suppressed a sigh as she absently rubbed a pale peach silk between thumb and forefinger. If her purse had not been so empty, she would have a gown of this stuff and perhaps one of that pale, pale green lame that the dressmaker now held. But such things were patently impossible.

  She gave her attention to the materials that Cecilie and his lordship were discussing. Amazingly enough, it appeared that the two were on the most cordial of terms. And then Cecilie looked sweetly at the modiste and said, “Let me see your new French muslin, the very fine ones.”

  There was a moment of absolute silence while the dressmaker’s eyes sought his lordship’s. Evidently she read assent there for she clapped her hands and summoned a shop girl. “Bring the new French muslin.”

  “In blue-green,” said Cecilie softly.

  Again the dressmaker sought his lordship’s eyes and so did the shop girl. His brief nod sent her scurrying away.

  Silence lay heavy upon them as they waited. Aggie wondered if the Earl expected her to make some comment, but she had no idea what to say. Obviously there was something about this very fine muslin that she did not understand. There was nothing for it but to sit quietly and wait.

  The girl returned with the bolt of material. Cecilie’s eyes lit up. “Yes, that’s it. That’s the color!”

  The Earl reached out and took the end of the swath between his fingers. As he held it up, Aggie bit back a cry. Fine? This muslin was so thin she could see through it clearly. “Ah yes,” said his lordship dryly. “Very fine, indeed. And I collect you propose to damp your petticoat under it.” His tone was so easily conversational that Cecilie’s nod was automatic.

  “You will not,” said Denby in the same even tones. “Take that stuff away. It may be fit for cyprians or their like, but not for a ward of mine.”

  His eyes fastened on Aggie as he said this and immediately she felt the blood racing to her cheeks. Why must he always blame her?

  “Mi-lo-rd!” Cecilie’s wail ended in a shriek that stopped the shop girl in alarm. “I want a gown in that stuff. Pl-e-ase. I won’t damp my petticoat. I promise.” Tears stood out in Cecilie’s wide eyes and her pink lips trembled as she begged again. “Please.”

  The Earl shook his head. “No, I am surprised that you should consider such a thing.” His eyes raked over Aggie as though the whole episode had been her fault.

  “You are a horrible, horrible man!” cried Cecilie. “I have done everything you wanted. Given in on every single thing. Now I want this gown.”

  The Earl looked at her sternly. “Miss Winthrop, kindly remember where you are.”

  Cecilie jumped to her feet and stood glaring down at him. “I don’t care where I am,” she yelled. “I - I want - that - gown!”

  “Cecilie,” Aggie began, but the Earl sent her such a look of disgust that she gave up trying to reason with the girl. Let his high and mighty lordship handle this himself. If he could! He would soon discover that Cecilie was not the type to cry off.

  “Miss Winthrop,” he began in tones obviously designed to placate, “you must be reasonable. A young woman such as yourself cannot afford to appear in public in such guise. It would give entirely the wrong impression.”

  “I don’t care!” screamed Cecilie. “I want that gown!”

  The Earl got to his feet, too, and Aggie, sitting between them, felt in imminent danger. Cecilie moved away, coming to a stop by a table that held patterns and sewing paraphernalia.

  The Earl’s face darkened almost imperceptibly. “That will be enough,” he said sharply, so sharply that the shop girl cringed and Madame Dimond winced.

  “It’s not enough at all!” screamed Cecilie, by now thoroughly out of control. “I - want –that - gown!”

  Aggie got to her feet and moved off to one side. The Earl could not know that the best thing would be to walk out and leave Cecilie without any audience for this performance. And she could hardly suggest it to him at the moment. She stood quietly, waiting to see what he would do.

  For a long moment there was silence in the room, then Madame Dimond sent the shop girl a look and the two of them quietly departed, shutting the door behind them. Aggie considered following suit, but two things held her back. The first was recognition of the fact that her departure might be misconstrued by the Earl as an admission of defeat or a dereliction of duty. Strong as this motive for remaining was, however, even stronger was her desire to see what would happen in the ensuing battle. She was quite sure that Cecilie had never met such an opponent before and it seemed equally unlikely that his lordship had ever previously faced a screeching young woman.

  “Cecilie,” said the Earl, in tones of great authority. “You are disgracing yourself. You must stop this very instant.” He paused as though waiting for a reply, but Cecilie’s only response was to glare at him. “Such a gown would be unsuitable. Any decent person would tell you that.” Again Aggie felt that the words were directed at her. “Now, we will just walk calmly out to the carriage and go home.”

  Cecilie’s hand closed over a pincushion. “I am not going anywhere until I get my gown!”

  The Earl’s back stiffened. “This is doing it up too brown!” he thundered. “You will come home and right now.”

  “No!” Cecilie emphasized this by throwing the pincushion with all her might. It bounced off his lordship’s waistcoat and fell to the floor, scattering pins in every direction.

  Aggie felt her knees begin to go weak. Cecilie had no idea what kind of opponent she had engaged with.

  “That does it!” roared the Earl. “I am going to discuss some matters with Madame Dimond. I shall give you exactly ten minutes to compose yourself and get into the carriage. If you are not there by that time, I shall drive immediately home and dispose of that monkey!” He turned on his heel and stormed out, his brows drawn together in a terrible frown, his eyes blazing.

  Aggie took one look at the girl, who stood mouth open in amazement. Then she did what should have been done long before. She, too, left the room, depriving Cecilie of her last spectator.

  As she took her seat in the carriage, Aggie wondered if the Earl’s ploy would work. Cecilie loved that monkey; it was her dearest friend. For the Earl to threaten it like that -Would he really follow through on such a threat? Aggie wondered.

  She settled herself on the squabs and tried to stay calm. She would need all her wits about her for the moment when his lordship saw fit to discuss this matter. She was sure he would read her a real scold; more than likely he believed that she had been in collusion with Cecilie. Wherever had the girl learned about that French muslin? Aggie wondered. Probably from one of the young maidservants. They were usually quite conversant on the latest fashions.

  As the moments passed slowly by, Aggie grew more anxious. She really did not doubt that his lordship would get rid of the monkey if Cecilie failed to obey. But it was not what she thought that mattered, the important thing was what Cecilie thought.

  It seemed to the waiting Aggie that ten minutes had l
ong passed, but actually it was only eight minutes later that Cecilie climbed into the carriage and threw herself sullenly on the seat. Aggie said nothing, prudently keeping her eyes averted until some moments later his lordship entered the carriage also. His brows had returned to their normal position and his eyes were cloudy rather than blazing with anger. His mouth, however, seemed grimly set and he said nothing as the carriage moved off.

  The ride home was made in absolute silence, no one speaking a word. When the carriage stopped, the Earl addressed them both. “You will go directly to your rooms and stay there. I must have time to get my temper under control before I speak to you.”

  Cecilie did not even nod. She merely marched on up the stairs as though the Earl of Denby did not exist. He turned to Aggie and he was frowning again. “I have changed my mind. I want a word with you.”

  “Yes, milord.” Aggie sighed. Perhaps it was just as well. If she bore the brunt of his anger, there would not be so much left to enrage Cecilie.

  The Earl glared down at her. “How long has this kind of thing been going on?” he demanded.

  “Since before I came into Cecilie’s life,” Aggie replied. “She has always gotten her way. She’s used to it.”

  Denby scowled. “And if she does not, she throws these fits?”

  Aggie nodded.

  “I don’t suppose you could have given me some warning,” he said accusingly.

  “I thought of it,” admitted Aggie, wondering at the candor and honesty he could wear and discard at will. Right now his eyes seemed to be pleading for her understanding and help. “But I couldn’t tell you in front of Cecilie. As you have discovered, the best way to deal with her in this mood is simply to walk away.” She risked a look into the eyes so close to her own. “I have never had any power over her. She could always go over my head to her papa. And she did.”

  Denby scowled. “The girl is spoiled rotten.”

  “I quite agree, milord,” replied Aggie, wishing that he would not stand so close to her. It had been just like this so long ago, only then they had spoken of inconsequential things. Spoken, until they kissed. Her eyes widened and her lips softened at the memory. How very much she had loved him, she thought bitterly. And how very foolish that had been.

  “Where did she learn about French muslin?” he demanded gruffly.

  Aggie frowned. “I wonder myself, milord. I had no idea what it was until I saw it.”

  A strange look passed over his face and Aggie felt herself bristling up. Now he was going to read her a lecture. “If that is quite all,” she said coldly, “I shall only give you one more piece of advice.”

  “And what might that be?” he asked softly, looking down at her with eyes that seemed warm and tender. She wanted to step back, to move further away from him, but she seemed rooted to the spot. For a long moment there was silence between them, then she managed to gather her wits. “Do not thwart Cecilie in public,” she said, in what she hoped were even tones. “She has absolutely no sense of embarrassment. What you experienced today was actually quite

  minor.”

  The Earl nodded, but it did not appear that he really heard her. He gazed intently down at her, then asked, in a tone that was almost a caress, “Why have you never married?”

  Aggie had been losing herself in the depths of those gray eyes, drawn backward in time to the days when tenderness had existed between them. His question caused a flood of scarlet to her cheeks and she drew back from him. “You go beyond the bounds, milord,” she said stiffly. “That is no concern of yours.” Holding her head high, she spun on her heel and quickly raced up the stairs. In her haste to escape his presence before the telltale tears fell, she did not see the look of pain that crossed his handsome features as he watched her retreating figure.

  Chapter Five

  Cecilie came out of her sulks, arrangements for the come out proceeded as planned, and Aggie tried her best to avoid his lordship. How dare he ask her such a personal question! She felt the heat of embarrassment spreading over her body whenever she thought of it. And what other answer could she have given him? Surely her pride would not allow her to tell him the truth - that she had delayed so long in waiting for his return that no other match had been possible.

  Cecilie gave very little trouble. She watched Dillydums very carefully, she did not attempt to walk out alone, and she seemed reconciled to his lordship’s control. Aggie was not sure how long this stage of affairs would last; but she welcomed the peace, regardless of its duration. She was having a difficult time with herself. She could not seem to think of the Earl merely as Cecilie’s guardian. No matter how she tried she could not wipe out the memories of those long-ago days. Nor could she keep from seeing his lordship as he had been then - with tenderness and warmth shining from his eyes.

  All of this came to a focus several days before the come out when the new gowns arrived. Cecilie, in a gay, laughing mood, began to unpack them. “First, I shall lay them all out on the bed,” she decided. “So we may admire them.”

  Aggie nodded. Certainly that was a harmless enough diversion. She turned back to her needlework, attending with only half an ear to Cecilie’s squeals and comments. But suddenly Cecilie cried out, “Aggie, look here. We didn’t order this.” From the box she pulled a gown of pale peach silk, the very silk that Aggie had so admired that day at the shop. Obviously this gown was not Cecilie’s. It was cut for a more womanly figure and the neckline was rather low for a young woman just come out.

  “And here’s another,” announced Cecilie. Burrowing in the box, she pulled out a gown of palest green lame.

  Aggie stared in surprise. How could such a mistake have been made? Two gowns of the very materials she had most admired. “Where is the bill?” she asked. “There has been some error.”

  Cecilie rummaged around through boxes and paper and finally emerged triumphant with the bill in her fist.

  Aggie studied it. “The gowns are listed here,” she said with a frown. “I do not understand. I will have to speak to the Earl.”

  Cecilie nodded absently. “Look, this gown is just the color for you. Why don’t you try it on?”

  Aggie was about to refuse, but the temptation was strong. After all, she had been a long time without pretty things. The gown was there; there would be no harm in just trying it on. She loved the shimmering peach color. “All right, but just for a moment. Then I must find his lordship and advise him of this mistake.”

  Cecilie insisted on helping with the gown, doing up the hooks and patting it into place, then backing off to see how it looked. “Oh, Aggie, it looks like it was made for you!” she squealed in delight, causing the monkey to forsake his perch on the bedpost and scramble into her arms.

  Moving to the cheval glass, Aggie regarded herself almost with awe. The soft shade of the gown contrasted with the rich darkness of her hair. And it did fit perfectly. The décolletage was perhaps a little lower than she had ever worn, but it was not immodest. The long narrow sleeves edged in a delicate lace, and the similar lace edging the neckline, gave the gown a festive air.

  “It’s just the thing for you to wear to my come out,” said Cecilie, clapping her hands.

  Aggie shook her head. “I can’t do that, dear. Besides, the gown is too young for me.” She did not really believe that - she had the testimony of her eyes right before her - but she did not want to tell her charge that there was no money available for new clothes.

  With Cecilie’s help she carefully removed the gown and replaced it in the box. Then she put on her old one, a sprigged muslin faded by many washings. It looked more tired and lifeless than ever after the other. “Where is the bill?” Aggie asked.

  Cecilie handed it to her. “I don’t think you should tell him anything,” she said with a gamine smile. “Just let him pay for them.”

  “Cecilie, I can’t do that.”

  Cecilie shrugged. “I should do it if I were you. He deserves it.” And she made a small face.

  “If we all got what we deser
ved,” replied Aggie with a slight smile, “you and I might not like it either.”

  Cecilie made no reply to this; she just grinned and retreated to the bed with the monkey.

  The bill firmly in hand, Aggie descended the staircase. She did not relish the idea of being alone with Denby, but to take Cecilie along on such an interview was to court disaster. She approached the library door with something like fear. Most often his lordship spent the morning hours there, sequestered with his accounts. And she usually made it her business to avoid this area altogether. But now she would have to face him. She took a deep breath and rapped.

  “Come in,” called the Earl.

  Mustering all her courage, she pushed open the door. As she had supposed, Denby sat at the great desk. For some moments he did not raise his head and as she looked at him sudden tears filled her eyes. Here was the man she had thought to spend her life beside.

  “Yes, Ba -” He looked up, then got hurriedly to his feet, a pleased expression on his face. “Ag - Miss Trimble! Please sit down. How may I help you?” he came toward her and she barely kept herself from retreating.

  “The dressmaker has made a mistake,” she said, refusing the seat he gestured her to. “She has sent two gowns we did not order.”

  Something strange flickered in his eyes and he smiled warmly. “One is of peach satin. The other of pale green lame.”

  Aggie stared at him. “How did you know that?”

  Denby took another step closer. “I know because I ordered them. For you.”

  Color flooded Aggie’s face. “Milord! You

  cannot.”

  His mouth tightened slightly. “You must have clothes for Cecilie’s come out.” He smiled a little. “I thought I handled it very well. I had the maid spirit out one of your old gowns so Madame Dimond could take your measurements from it. I hope they fit well.”

  More color flooded her face at the thought that she had tried the gown on. Aggie shook her head. “I cannot accept -”

  The Earl’s brows began to draw together. “Aggie,” he said in a voice from the past, “you’re not giving me a chance.”