This continued throughout the day, with Archie talking about everything from the new Vicar, to the marriage of the Brewer’s son to the daughter of a wool merchant from another village, and even to the French revolution.
Cecilia could not bring herself to engage in any of these conversations, but neither could she be frustrated with him for long. Archie is sweet for trying to cheer us up, although that is a battle he surely cannot win.
* * *
The following day, Cecilia paced anxiously in the kitchen, waiting to be picked up by the Duchess’ carriage. She might have continued working, but after completing a few small tasks that morning, she found that she was unable to focus on anything of any complexity.
She had taken great care with her dress and appearance today. She knew that it would make no difference to the Duchess if she was clad in the finest silks and satins—nothing would make the Duchess believe she was an acceptable match for Nicholas.
However, she was determined to give the Duchess no more reason to think worse of her. She wore a simple gown of moss green wool, and had made sure that it was clean and impeccably tailored to fit her perfectly. Her hair was arranged neatly in a bun at the nape of her neck, with clusters of curls framing her face elegantly.
As she paced the kitchen, she considered what she might say to the Duchess. Of course, it would probably be wise to say as little as possible and allow the Duchess to do most of the talking. Each time she passed the window, she paused to look down the lane for the approaching carriage. It was early yet, but she would not put it past the Duchess to send the carriage early and then be angry with her for not being ready when it arrived.
In fact, it was just after one o’clock when she saw the carriage approaching. Right on time. Cecilia took a deep breath, clenched and unclenched her fists, and then opened the door to the workshop where her father and Archie were working.
As always, Cecilia waited to make sure that no one was in the middle of something particularly dangerous before speaking. Archie and her father were discussing financial concerns while they worked, so she knew that it would be safe to interrupt them.
“The Duchess’ carriage is approaching,” she said, “so I will be leaving in just a moment.”
“All right, my dear,” her father replied, “do you have any idea when we might expect you back?”
“I’m sorry, Papa,” she said, “the Duchess said nothing of why she wanted to meet, and I have no guesses of my own, so I can hardly speculate as to how long our meeting might be.”
“Well, if you are not home by nightfall, we shall send a search party!” Archie said, jovially.
Cecilia laughed at this, feeling some of the tension ease from her body. Whatever this meeting is about, it cannot last forever. I shall be safe at home by the end of the day. With this calming thought, Cecilia walked back to the kitchen, put her warm woolen cloak around her shoulders and stepped outside.
There was a chilly mist in the air, and the sky was a cold gray color—winter would be upon them soon. Cecilia shivered slightly as the carriage pulled up in front of her. The driver reined up, and a pretty young maid stepped out of the carriage to hold the door open for Cecilia, who climbed inside and sat down on the dark green velvet seat.
The maid sat across from her and smiled kindly.
“We shall be at Huxley Manor in under an hour, m’Lady,” the maid said.
“Thank you,” Cecilia replied, “but please call me Miss Baxter, I am not a lady.”
“Yes, my… Miss Baxter,” the maid replied, sounding uncertain, but kind.
“And what shall I call you?” Cecilia asked.
The maid’s cheeks reddened at this, and her eyes cast downward. “My name is Ethel Billingsley, Miss. You can just call me Billingsley, the family all do.”
“All right, then Billingsley,” Cecilia said brightly, “it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“A pleasure, Miss,” Billingsley replied, quietly, her eyes still downcast.
Oh dear, I’ve embarrassed her—I have no idea how to behave with a servant at a great house, but surely it is better to be too friendly than not friendly enough?
“Billingsley,” Cecilia said kindly, “you need not be shy with me, I am only a carpenter’s daughter after all.”
“Yes, Miss Baxter,” Billingsley looked up for a moment, and then smiled sheepishly when she saw Cecilia’s warm and open facial expression.
“I assure you,” Cecilia continued, “I am quite terrified of the Duchess, who has made it clear in no uncertain terms that she considers me an inferior sort of person.”
Billingsley held her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle at this, and Cecilia could not help but laugh as well. Soon the carriage was filled with both of their laughter.
In truth, the situation was not all that funny, but Cecilia had been so tense for so long that she found she could not hold back once she started to let her guard down. Billingsley must have been quite tense as well, because she seemed similarly incapable of controlling her laughter once it escaped her lips.
They passed a large portion of their journey in this way, which was quite pleasant. Eventually, when they had both calmed down a bit, Cecilia felt that it would be safe to ask the question she had been wondering about since the previous day.
“Billingsley,” she asked, “do you know why the Duchess has summoned me to Huxley Manor?”
“I’m sorry, Miss Baxter,” she said, “I am only a chambermaid. Her Grace does not tell me anything.”
“That’s all right,” Cecilia said, failing to hide a note of disappointment from her voice.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, Cecilia looking out of the carriage window and contemplating what might be in store for her. After a time, she heard Billingsley clear her throat, and looked up at her.
“Miss, I probably shouldn’t be telling you this,” Billingsley began, and then paused and bit her lip.
“Oh Billingsley, if there is anything that you can tell me, I would be ever so grateful!” Cecilia said quickly. “I understand if you don’t want to, but I promise I would never repeat it to anyone.”
Billingsley took a deep breath, seeming to steel herself, “Well, Miss, I have heard some of the servants talking. Apparently, the Duchess is beside herself about some foolish decision the Marquess has made.”
Cecilia did not answer this, unsure of what she ought to say. She simply looked encouragingly at Billingsley, hoping that she would continue her story.
“Her maid says that Her Grace has hired an accountant to help with the problem,” she said, “I’m sorry, Miss, that is all that I know.”
“Thank you, Billingsley, that is very helpful,” Cecilia replied.
Cecilia considered what Billingsley had said as they drove on. How would hiring an accountant solve the ‘problem’ of Nicholas wanting to marry me?
Chapter 23
The sun was low in the afternoon sky when Nicholas arrived at the Duke of Westfield’s Townhouse in London. At least, it would have been low in the sky if it had been visible behind the dense gray clouds. The carriage driver opened the door for him, and he stepped out into the chilly afternoon air while his valet collected his luggage.
At the front door, Nicholas was greeted by a butler who informed him that the Duke would be with him shortly and invited him to wait in the drawing room.
Nicholas looked around the drawing room while he waited. The walls were covered in panels of deep-burgundy fabric, but the room was filled with natural light, even on such a gray day as this, because of several large windows on all sides. He sat on a seat covered in the same burgundy fabric and saw two more arm chairs covered in supple-looking, tobacco-colored leather.
The room was handsomely furnished, and in impeccable order, but Nicholas felt that there was something missing. This was obviously the drawing room of a bachelor, and it wanted a woman’s touch. There were no decorations beyond the furniture other than a large painting of a naval ship above the mantelpiece.
As Nicholas considered this, he heard his friend walk into the room and turned to look at him.
“Nicholas!” said the Duke of Westfield. “It has been too long, my friend!”
“Michael!” Nicholas replied. “It is good to see you! Though I suppose I must call you Westfield now, Your Grace”
The Duke of Westfield laughed at his formality and said, “Don’t be absurd, Nicholas, call me Michael, or if you must call me Westfield, at least drop the ‘Your Grace’, you shall come into your own peerage soon enough.”
“Not too soon, I hope,” Nicholas said, thinking of his father’s mysterious headaches. And then, seeing the shadow that crossed his friend’s face he added, “I’m sorry Michael, that was boorish of me to say. I was sorry to learn of your father’s passing; he was a good man.”
“He wasn’t,” Michael said, with a sad smile, “he was a rogue, but he was my father and I loved him all the same.”
“My condolences, Michael,” Nicholas said, solemnly, “whether or not he was a rogue, I am very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” Michael replied, “now shall we move on to happier subject matter? You are, of course, welcome to stay with me in London for as long as you desire, but I am curious to know what brings you here?”
“Besides the pleasure of your company, and the excellent hospitality of your servants?” Nicholas asked.
“Obviously,” Michael replied with a smile, “besides all of that. Is there something in particular that you wish to see or do during your time here?”
“In truth, it is more about what I wish to avoid seeing and doing at Huxley,” Nicholas replied.
Michael looked intrigued by this response and gave his friend a sly grin.
“Trying to avoid a particular young lady? Perhaps you’ve left her in a… compromised position?”
“Michael, what sort of blackguard do you think I am? I am avoiding my mother if you must know the truth,” Nicholas said.
“Because she does not approve of your lady friend?” Michael asked, that sly grin spreading across his face once again.
“I suppose that is one way of describing the situation,” Nicholas allowed. “But Cecilia is more than a casual ‘lady friend’, I am in love with her, and I intent to marry her.”
“Cecilia? Not the sister of the Duke of Colehaven? She is pretty enough, I suppose, but I found her to be dreadfully dull when we met last Season,” Michael said thoughtfully.
“No,” Nicholas said firmly, “she is not the sister of a Duke, nor the daughter of an Earl. That is the problem.”
“All right, then who is she?” Michael asked. He sat down on one of the leather arm chairs and leaned forward to listen to his friend’s story.
“Her name is Cecilia Baxter; her father is a carpenter my mother hired to build some furniture for the manor in preparation for Isobel’s debut.”
Nicholas smiled at the thought of Cecilia. For a fleeting moment he saw a smile cross Michael’s face as well. Did that smile appear only at the mention of Isobel? I shall have to pay attention to that.
“All right then, you’ve found yourself infatuated with the daughter of a carpenter. I suppose she must be very beautiful?”
“She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” Nicholas said earnestly.
“And, of course, the Duchess does not approve. What of your father, the Duke?” Michael asked.
“My father is not thrilled at the prospect, but he is not so passionately opposed to it as my mother,” Nicholas said. “I think that he understands that I will never be happy married to any other woman, regardless of her ‘appropriateness’ to be my wife.”
“How forward thinking of him!” Michael replied. “I never would have imagined your father to be a champion of the common man, but I suppose he is a practical sort of man.”
“I suppose he is rather practical,” Nicholas replied, “although I fail to see what practicality has to do with this particular situation.”
“Some carpenters have more income than some Earls these days. The world is changing!” Michael said, wistfully. “My cousin Anne, daughter of an Earl, recently married a wine merchant and improved her family’s financial situation greatly.”
“Interesting,” Nicholas said, considering this possibility for the first time. “As I understand it, my family’s financial situation is not in need of improvement, but perhaps if I could convince my mother that marrying Cecilia would do us no financial harm…”
The Duchess had never exactly said that she objected to Cecilia for financial reasons, rather she had expressed concerns about her social status and ability to fulfill the role of Duchess. But no doubt she thinks that Cecilia only wants to marry me for financial gain, perhaps if I can convince her that this is not the case, she will be more amenable to our engagement.
* * *
Cecilia waited anxiously in the hallway before her meeting with the Duchess of Huxley. The maid who had accompanied her on her journey had taken her cloak, hat, and glove to the cloakroom, and since then, Cecilia had stood on her own outside the door.
A lock of dark hair escaped her neat mass of curls, and she pushed it back into place with a slightly trembling hand. I need to calm down, I must not let the Duchess see any sign that I am intimidated by her. Cecilia took two deep breaths to calm her nerves, clenched and unclenched her fists, and then resolved not to clench them anymore.
Cecilia remained in the hallway for several more minutes, willing herself to remain calm and still so that when the Duchess finally arrived, she would not find Cecilia pacing nervously in the hall.
The grandfather clock in the hallway indicated that it had only been a quarter of an hour, but Cecilia felt as though she had been standing there for the better part of a day when the door finally opened and a voice called, “Enter.”
Cecilia walked into the drawing room, where the Duchess of Huxley sat on a beautifully-upholstered seat near the window. She had placed an embroidery hoop on the small table next to her, but Cecilia could not see what she had been working on.
The Duchess looked at Cecilia expectantly when she entered. She did not stand up, nor did she speak.
Cecilia walked to the middle of the room and sank into a curtsey a few feet in front of the Duchess, her eyes cast down to the floor.
“Your Grace,” she said quietly, “thank you for inviting me to your home.”
“Please have a seat, Miss Baxter,” The Duchess said, pointing to indicate the chair closest to her.
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Cecilia sat stiffly in the chair the Duchess had indicated and looked at her, waiting to see what the Duchess would say.
The Duchess did not speak immediately and merely stared at Cecilia with her lips slightly pursed. Cecilia could think of nothing to say, and looked at her hands, folded in her laps. Inwardly, she cursed herself for being so nervous.
At last, the Duchess broke the silence by asking the maid who had opened the door to fetch tea for them. Once the maid had left the room, the Duchess turned to face Cecilia.
“I trust that by now Mr. Cooper has been to see your father?” the Duchess asked, as though this were an everyday occurrence.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Cecilia replied. It would seem that the servant’s talk overheard by Billingsley had been correct, but Cecilia could still not understand why the Duchess would care about an old debt owed by her father.
“Sir James Wiltshire is a tenant of Huxley,” the Duchess said. “When Mr. Cooper was reviewing our accounts, he discovered that Sir James was owed a substantial sum by your father.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Cecilia said. “I only learned of the debt when Mr. Cooper came to see my father about it recently. I did not realize that Sir James was your tenant.”
“Tenants who fail to collect the debts owed to them soon become tenants who do not pay their own debts, Miss Baxter,” the Duchess said coldly. “That is not acceptable, and I cannot allow our tenants to fall into such traps.”
Cecilia
looked up sharply at these words. Is she saying that it was she, and not Sir James, who told Mr. Cooper to collect the debt?
“I have encouraged Sir James to get his accounts in order, including settling the debts owed to him, to ensure that he does not become delinquent in his rent.”
“I see, Your Grace,” Cecilia said, knowing that she must speak carefully now. “Of course, it is his right to collect the debt, and your right to encourage him to do so.”
“Yes it is, Miss Baxter, though I do not require your approval for that behavior,” she said, her voice quiet, but sinister now.
The Marquess In Her Bed (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 18