by Joan Smith
Within two minutes she rejoined him in the hallway. The crowd was just beginning to return to the music room, and they hastened to the front door to escape unnoticed. The butler was already at the door, drawing it open. As Cecilia stepped out, Lord Wickham was just entering.
"Cecilia!" he exclaimed. Shock at seeing her made him forget the new formality between them, and he addressed her in person as he did in his thoughts. For a brief moment their eyes met, before darting away. The look, though brief, was extremely conscious. He looked as if he had been caught out in some petty crime, and she feared she looked the same way, for it was exactly how she felt.
"Not leaving so soon!" he said. He glanced at Mr. Larraby, holding on to her elbow, and noticed the change of escort. That was a good omen at least. It seemed she was not completely in Pincombe's pocket.
Cecilia had to swallow all her chagrin. Frustration lent an angry tinge to her voice. "As you see, but if you hurry, you can catch the last half of the concert."
Caught off guard, Wickham stuttered and stammered, trying to discover where she was going and to extricate himself from the boring concert. He had only come in desperation as he could not find her anywhere else. "I am not really that fond of Italian singers. I came from a sense of obligation to Elgin."
"We are all in the same boat," Mr. Larraby laughed. "I am here to twist Elgin's arm to do me a favor, and Miss Cummings—why to tell the truth, I cannot imagine why you are here, ma'am." He looked a question at her.
Cecilia found both gentlemen waiting for her answer. She cared very little what Mr. Larraby might think; her concern was all for Wickham, and it was at him that she looked. In a flash it occurred to her that Mr. Larraby had just revealed that he was not really her partner, or he would know why she was here. It was as good as telling Wickham that she was chasing him. In a bustle of confusion she said, "I was obliged to accompany Mama, but my duty is done now, and I am off to meet Sir Nigel at Millars." She looked to see if Wickham had any thought of accompanying them. His penetrating stare told her nothing.
"I highly recommend it," he said. "I have just come from there. A very lively party."
"I wonder that you chose to leave it so early," she said. It struck an echo from the past. She had said something similar to him in Laycombe.
"It is more a matter of duty than choice. I promised Lady Elgin I would drop in."
"Then you'd best hurry, Lord Wickham. The audience is rushing for the seats now. Nice meeting you again."
Wickham could find no excuse to linger. He bowed and passed on into the house as Cecilia and her escort left. Mr. Larraby found her a very indifferent companion that evening. She hardly said a word as the carriage took them to Millars. Once she said, "I believe I shall just go home, after all, Mr. Larraby, if you don't—" Then she stopped. But Wickham might return to Millars. The rout would last longer than the concert. "No, Hanover Square is out of your way."
"I don't mind the detour, if you would like to go home," he said promptly.
"No, no. We shall go to Millars." Very likely Nigel would be there.
Lady Elgin saw Wickham entering and had a word with him. He slipped into the back row as the audience was already seated. His mood was not so obvious as Cecilia's. His look of concentration as he sat in the music room, ears deaf to the racket, might be mistaken for appreciation of the performers. He sat through two numbers, during which he discreetly drew out his watch three times.
At the end of the second selection it was eleven-thirty, and he felt as if he had been locked up for an eternity. She was at Millars. It almost seemed she had made a point of telling him where she was going, though he disliked that mention of Pincombe. He had told her this was only a duty call. She would not be surprised if he returned to the rout. He rose and slipped quietly out of the room.
Within twenty minutes he was back at Millars's rout, searching the hall for Cecilia. She was performing a country dance with Pincombe. She had arranged to meet him here then. His heart was heavy as he watched her from an inconspicuous corner, admiring her trim figure, deeply resenting the black arm around her slender waist. He did not notice that she wore the same gown she had worn at Laycombe. His attention was more closely riveted on her face. How lively and vivacious it was. Five minutes before it had been a perfect mask, but she had seen him and was now not only vivacious, but in a panic of pleasurable alarm.
As the dance ended. Lady Gloria spotted Wickham and came forward to welcome him. "I thought you had left, Wickham!"
He bowed politely and tried to look happy to see her. "I had a duty call to make at Elgins." She looked as if some further explanation was necessary and he added, "I could not like to drag you away from the ball for such a dull do."
"I have the next dance free," she said hopefully.
"That is fortune rewarding me for having done my duty. May I have the pleasure, Lady Gloria?"
Indeed he may. It was a set of waltzes, and while he waltzed with Lady Gloria, his eyes sought out Cecilia. She was standing up with Pincombe again. Two sets in a row looked as if they were serious, perhaps even betrothed. Miss Cummings was too polished not to realize the significance of honoring one partner so strongly. He felt his suit was hopeless. He wouldn't accost her. Yet when the music ended, they stood close together, either by chance or by planned arrangement on someone's part.
Pincombe made the first move. "I see you returned, Lord Wickham."
"Yes," he said, and felt embarrassed, lest Cecilia suspected his reason. Pride disdained admitting he was in love with her unless the emotion was returned. "I had to leave briefly, but hurried back." A smile in Lady Gloria's direction hinted she was the reason for it.
Cecilia felt a lava rush of jealousy and spoke without thinking. "Ah we understand how it is, do we not, Nigel?" Her stormy gray eyes turned lovingly to her cousin.
Wickham's reaction was more violent than she expected. He gave a jolt and exclaimed, "Are you engaged then?"
Nigel looked to her for a reply, and in the gêne of the moment, they both emitted a nervous laugh.
"Oh you are!" Lady Gloria exclaimed. "How wonderful. I always felt you two suited so very well. Congratulations, Sir Nigel. And Miss Cummings, you sly boots. Not a word of this did you mention this morning."
"We were not engaged this morning! That is—we are not exactly—"
Nigel saw her floundering and leapt to her rescue. "We haven't announced it yet. Mum's the word. Till our parents know what we are about..."
"Of course," Lady Gloria smiled forgivingly. "I shan't say a word, but I want to wish you both happy."
"Thank you," Cecilia said, and grabbed Nigel's arm to escape at top speed. "Why did you say that?" she demanded, the moment they reached the door.
"I had to say something. You were gasping like a fish out of water. Good God, what are we to do now? There is no counting on Lady Gloria's discretion."
"She said she wouldn't tell."
"I'm pretty sure Lady Jersey overheard, and if Lady Gloria doesn't tell the world, you may be sure Silence Jersey will."
"Oh dear, what can we do?"
Sir Nigel pulled at his earlobe and said, "I expect we'll just have to get married."
Chapter Sixteen
Lady Gloria Kirkwell came within ame's ace of receiving an offer of marriage from Lord Wickham. If she had accepted his stilted offer of a drive home with him, delivered before the next set of dances began, she would have had it that very evening while his temper was at its peak. His expression looked so far from romantical that she decided he had a megrim and saw no reason why she should cut short the ball, only to oblige him. She had half a dozen other beaux in her eye as well as Wickham. So Wickham went to Brooke's Club instead, to vent his ill humor on a game of faro. In a pitch black mood, he almost wanted to lose his fortune.
Cecilia's evening ended a little less foolishly. She had Nigel drive her home directly and made him go into the house with her to discuss their situation. "Do you think he loves her, Nigel?" she asked, when they were ensconced on the
sofa with a glass of wine.
Sir Nigel considered it a moment. "I shouldn't think so. He leapt like a shot rabbit when he asked if you were engaged. Why would he do that if he was in love with Lady Gloria?"
"That is my own feeling," she confessed. "I think he loves me and doesn't know it. I cannot like to see him—and Gloria—marry under such inauspicious circumstances." She gave her cousin an uncertain look. "I daresay he would not like to see me make a bad match either."
"Yes, it's a pity I'm such an unexceptionable gentleman," Nigel grinned. "If I was a rake or fortune hunter or serious toper, I daresay he would dislike our match as much as you dislike his."
"I expect he might even do something to hamper it," she said, glinting a meaningful look at him.
Nigel suspected that look. He had seen it before when Cecilia made him lend her a set of trousers and man's jacket to sneak into the cockfighting barn in disguise. He had seen it when she made him give her an alibi while she went to the Pantheon masquerade. He had seen it dozens of times, and it always spelled trouble for him. "No!" he exclaimed, on general principle.
"You haven't even heard my idea yet!"
"The answer is still no."
She sat down, let her head droop wearily on her chest and drew a deep sigh. "Very well, Nigel. I cannot expect you to put yourself out when it is only my life's happiness that is at stake," she said, with suspicious docility. "What is that to you? I daresay I would be equally disobliging were the situation reversed. I did not mind telling your papa it was my idea when you borrowed his hunter to race Teale, but of course that was years ago, when we were young. It is true I have done you a few favors since then," she added, hitting him with an accusing eye, "but I do not blame you for abandoning me now."
He knew he would help her in the end, and said, "Cut line, Cecilia. I know I owe you a few favors. What is it you have in mind?"
She glanced up at him uncertainly. "I only want to give Wickham the notion that you are—unsteady in character."
"Oh lord! I suppose it is to be bruited about town that my pockets are to let."
"No, I shouldn't think that would do it. He knows I have thirty thousand. It must be something serious."
"Good God! My blood runs cold to think what you have in mind if being a wastrel is not serious."
"It is not so very bad after all."
"No, nothing at all. I am only to be a monster of some sort of dissipation. What is it to be—drink, women, cheating at cards?"
All these had occurred to her, only to be discarded. "No indeed, I could not like to blacken your character. I want you to become a monster of rectitude. You must hint to Wickham that once we are shackled, you mean to bounce me off to the country, to raise your children and hold house while you continue racketing about town. I expect it is more or less what he had in mind himself," she added, with an angry twitch of her shawl.
"Then he will not see much amiss in it, will he?"
She gave a sly smile. "Oh I think he will. He realizes now that such a life would not suit me. And I think—I do hope I am not wrong—that he loves me. That must make a difference, Nigel."
Nigel was not perfectly satisfied with this plan, but as it was so much less horrendous than he feared, he was willing to go along with it. None of his friends would believe such a taradiddle, so the story could not do him any irreparable harm if it got loose. "When am I to display myself to Wickham in this draconian character?"
"The sooner, the better."
Sir Nigel rose and said, "Why waste a moment? I expect he is at Brooke's by now, waiting to fleece me of what few shekels I have left. Brooke's is where he goes to drown his sorrows."
"Then you must go at once. Call on me tomorrow morning and let me know. Either way, whether he is there or not, call on me. And Nigel," she added, "you may tell him I have not positively accepted your offer—if he happens to inquire, I mean."
"Hussy!" he said approvingly. Sir Nigel bowed and left. He intended to do more than Cecilia had suggested. Her romance with Wickham was taking up too much of his time. He wanted to have it settled before he wasted the entire season.
When he reached Brooke's, Wickham was there, but not ensconced at a gaming table. He stood on the side, drinking brandy and looking as glum as he felt, while waiting to join a game. He didn't approach Pincombe on this occasion, so Pincombe got a glass of wine and went to him.
"Ah, Wickham," he smiled. "You are like me. Do the pretty with the ladies early in the evening and peel off to enjoy the best part of the night without them."
Wickham's black brow rose. "An odd point of view for a man who has just become engaged, Pincombe."
"Ha-ha, as to that, the lady has not positively accepted me."
"Indeed!"
"She is considering my offer. To tell the truth, I am not sure I have chosen wisely." Wickham looked interested, and he continued. "The thing is, I fear Miss Cummings has some odd notions of a lady's matrimonial duties. She stiffened like a starched cravat when I mentioned how we would go on, after the wedding."
"Do you harbor some unusual views on holding house?"
"Not in the least. I hold that a wife's place is in the home, the country seat, I mean. A fellow cannot like to leave his estate untended while he is in town on business. Someone must keep an eye on the servants and the kiddies. I don't approve of couples having their Season in town after they are married. The wives ought to stay home. They only get into mischief if you let them loose in town. There are too many fellows wanting to take advantage of them."
This was a subject close to Wickham's heart, after his experience with Adrianna. "You are half right," he said, "but there are other ways of avoiding that mischief. Both stay at home or go out together."
"What—a man and wife to be harnessed at the neck like a pair of oxen? Not the thing, old chap. I mean to say—why bother coming to town if you are only going to squire your own wife, eh?" A lascivious smile accompanied this remark.
"Miss Cummings was averse to your ideas, you say?" Wickham asked, with an air of indifference.
"She was stiff, Lord Wickham. Stiff. I thought it only fair to give her a hint how we would go on in the future, for everyone knows Miss Cummings enjoys her Seasons. I daresay I can talk her around. She is not quite an ape leader, but she has hung on the family tree a few years, what? She will be happy enough to settle, I think."
Wickham called for a bottle of brandy and joined Pincombe at a table to give him a thorough quizzing on this interesting matter. When Pincombe's head began to reel from the unaccustomed brandy and when he felt he had done as Cecilia wished, he rose to leave.
"Are you seeing Miss Cummings tomorrow?" Wickham asked.
"Aye, I'm taking her for a drive in the afternoon. She can't get into much mischief in a carriage. I mean to get an answer from her, one way or the other. And if she refuses, Wickham—I was just wondering whether you and Lady Gloria—I mean has she accepted you?" Cecilia would be interested to know this.
"I have not offered for Lady Gloria."
"She has only ten thousand pounds, of course. But she seems a biddable sort of lady. Hmmm."
"I doubt you will find any lady in this day and age as biddable as you require, Pincombe." He wanted to see them together, to see how Cecilia reacted to her new suitor. He also wanted that occasion to hold an opportunity for some private conversation with Cecilia. "I expect you'll be attending Kirkwell's rout party tomorrow evening?"
"By jove, yes. That is, I haven't discussed it with Miss Cummings, but I shall certainly be there. Especially if Miss Cummings give me my congé. Only ten thousand dowry—but a very biddable girl, Lady Gloria, and well connected."
They parted, Pincombe to go to another club for supper, Wickham to nurse his drink and consider their conversation. Pincombe seemed to have changed his stripes overnight. He had not worn this hypocritical face before. Wickham suspected a plot, but there was enough possibility of truth in what he had heard that he wanted to warn Cecilia what she was falling into. It di
d not escape his memory that she had very roundly rejected his own offer. It had been bad, but not so bad as this.
Pincombe called on Cecilia the next morning and described the meeting at Brooke's. "I hope you didn't overdo it!" was her main worry.
"I was as smooth as silk. And I went beyond your instructions, too."
"Oh dear!"
"You ain't the only one who can scheme and make matches. I may set up as the new matchmaker when you hang up your—er—title? I only asked him if he had offered for Lady Gloria. He hasn't, but he is attending her mama's rout tonight. I told him we would be there and laid the groundwork to detach her from him, if that is what you require."
"I have not yet decided what I require," she said pensively. "But call for me this evening. I'll know by then."
By evening, Cecilia had decided she would be more docile to Pincombe's specious demands than her true nature would warrant, but not such a doormat as to be incredible. She would allow herself to chafe at the bit, without bolting. With Miss Miser's assistance, she made an impressive toilette, featuring not her diamonds but a small set of emeralds, that set off her Italian peau de soie gown very effectively.
Her heart was in her throat as she and Pincombe stood on the landing at Kirkwell's rout, surveying the crowd below. Wickham was there before them, not dancing, but just standing on the side. She saw him detach himself from the wall and advance to the bottom of the stairs to meet them. He felt a sense of urgency, then…
She curtsied gracefully. Wickham bowed, and they exchanged a few social nothings till the quadrille began. She stood up with Pincombe, and at the dance's end they met Wickham again. He had stood up with Lady Gloria and made a dash to intercept them. "Hot work, dancing. Shall we go for a glass of wine?" he suggested.
"An excellent idea," Pincombe replied. Then he turned aside to Cecilia and said, "Just one glass for you, mind. I have noticed you are drinking a little more than you used to, Cecilia."
Cecilia laughed. "One would take you for a Methodist, Nigel."
"You are mistaken. A Methodist would not allow you even one. In fact, he would not be at a dance at all, unless he came with a constable to bar the door. There is something to be said for Methodism."