A gleam entered Marcus’ eyes. “Going to pay a visit to the countess, eh?”
Stephen could not allow Marcus to speak thusly. “There are business matters only she can put to rest.” Shooting a warning look at his friend, he continued, “The lady is to be commended for showing such loyalty to my cousin.”
Marcus nodded thoughtfully, looking adequately remorseful. “Of course, no slight intended. Speaking of Lady Kensington, did you know her father is back in London? I ran into him over at Brooke’s the other evening. He’s just returned from Surrey himself. Says his daughter is thriving.”
Stephen had heard Findlay was in town and had been tempted to arrange a visit with him; he’d abstained. It was possible he’d be meeting with the man later, and such a visit would most likely not be a pleasant one. He needed to know what Cecily’s wishes were before doing anything.
Stephen was only thankful the man was not considered a gentleman. That way, Flave would not be obliged to meet the man for yet another duel. He wasn’t sure his cousin could survive one.
It jolted him to hear that Cecily was thriving. Were she and Flavion reconciled then? Had she forgotten Stephen so easily?
Pushing this unbidden thought aside, he reached forward and affectionately patted his horse on the neck. Phoenix was a fine mare. He’d purchased her from a breeder he’d met with on his recent travels, and they were still getting used to one another. They’d ridden hard that morning, and she deserved to be taken back to the stables for a thorough rubdown.
“Good to hear. I will verify this information myself when I am down there.” Eager to change the subject, he brought up something that would avert Marcus’ attention. “Have you run into your own father? I understand he still resides in town as well.”
EVEN THOUGH CECILY and Flavion were both making efforts toward friendship, Cecily was coming to realize that the two of them had very little in common. Away from the excitement and Society of London, this quickly became all too apparent. They… tolerated one another. Conversations were brief and stilted, and her favorite thing about spending time with Flave was… taking her leave of him.
Even two weeks after her father’s departure, she had still not told Flavion that of her condition. She had several very rational excuses for not doing so. She told herself it was early yet, and something could still go wrong. She told herself that the right time hadn’t yet come along. But the truth was, once she told him, she would be committed to the deception. And it was a grand deception indeed!
Once she told Flavion, she could never allow Stephen to acknowledge the child as his own. The child would essentially be in Flavion’s control.
But time was running out. It had only been a couple of months, but already her abdomen was no longer flat and soft. Any other husband, Cecily rather thought, would have noticed her frequent bouts of biliousness and her uncommon tendency to become emotional, and guessed, or perhaps been suspicious.
But not Flavion.
In spite of Flavion’s declaration that he wished to make the best of their marriage, he treated Cecily not like a wife, but rather more like a visiting cousin. He did not consult her regarding household decisions, and he visited neighboring families on his own, never bothering to invite her along.
If Cecily was going to make this country estate into her home, then it seemed she would have to find her own introductions.
That was how she came to be taking tea with Mrs. Clark, the vicar’s wife.
The woman was scarcely a decade older than herself, but starchy and more than a little self-important. She sat in her chair as rigid as a brick wall, her black hair pulled into such a tight bun that the woman’s eyes stretched toward the back of her head. She appeared to be continuously squinting.
Cecily had hoped the woman might take her about and make some introductions, but it had been over an hour already, and the woman persisted only in discussing the importance of charity. It seemed she wanted Cecily and Flavion to supply baskets of food as well as financial assistance to the local ladies’ guild. She was not much interested in Cecily actually participating in any of their efforts.
“It is gratifying, indeed,” the woman droned on, “to have a fine lady such as yourself take interest in the local gentry and farming families. We have held many fundraisers over the summer… bake sales, a pledge drive and even a small carnival… but with support from the Earl and Countess of Kensington, hopefully we can amass enough funds to reroof the church and even change out a few of the pews. Not that comfort is anything that ought to be considered, but I discovered some very fine polished pews while visiting my cousin’s church near Bristol last year, and it would do our village quite nicely to have a bit of shine, don’t you think?” Without awaiting Cecily’s response, the woman continued in this vein for quite some time.
Cecily’s tea had grown tepid, and the sandwiches the woman had provided for this meeting were dry. Worst of all, Cecily was becoming increasingly queasy from the unusual tastes and smells within the rectory. The vicar and his wife most likely owned a cat, or several, for an underlying odor permeated the room. Cecily’s stomach lurched. She needed to take her leave before embarrassing herself.
Reticule in hand, Cecily stood abruptly, cutting off the woman’s monologue. “I will speak with my husband. I believe we can put together some charity baskets, but I cannot promise anything of a financial nature, as I am not privy to my husband’s spending decisions. I thank you much for your kind hospitality, but I really must be going.”
Before the woman could detain her any longer, Cecily crossed to the door and opened it herself. When she stepped outside, she took deep gulping breaths of fresh air. Oh, drat, this wasn’t helping either.
Cecily had made the short walk alone and now hoped that she could get to an isolated length of the road quickly. She needed privacy. She had no wish to empty the contents of her stomach in public.
Rushing along quickly, she had to cross several hundred yards of open countryside in order to locate a private place to rest, a bush, a tree — anywhere. And at the sounds of a horse and rider traveling down the road, she forced her legs to walk even faster.
She did not look to the side as the rider passed but felt his inconvenient scrutiny. And then he stopped, and the voice she heard echoed her dreams.
“Madam?” The rider looked down. He seemed uncertain that it was her, and rightly so, for she wore a bonnet and an older country dress. She had intentionally dressed in plain clothing for her visit, hoping it would make her seem less lofty, but it had all been for naught. “Cecily?”
She glanced over hesitantly, allowing him to see her face.
She’d craved the sound of his voice and hungered for his touch, but of all the times for him to find her, it would be now? Standing before him, she knew she looked far less than her best. She’d done nothing with her hair, her dress was drab and colorless, and she was fairly certain her complexion was tinged with green. Because, in addition to all of that, she was struggling heartily to keep from losing the contents of her stomach.
“It is you!” Suddenly he was smiling as he dismounted and stepped toward her. But upon closer inspection of her, his brows furrowed in concern. “You are not well.” He reached out and touched her forehead, which she knew would be clammy but cool, and then he took one of her gloved hands in his.
“I am fine. I was visiting with the vicar’s wife and ate something that did not sit well with me,” she prevaricated. “I will be fine.” She stated more firmly a second time, “I am fine.”
Unlike Flavion, she suspected Stephen would be able to guess at her circumstances if he were exposed to her habits for more than a couple of days.
What was he doing here?
She wanted to savor his presence but was forced to concentrate all her efforts on quelling the queasiness that had been all too frequent as of late. She ought to have made this visit later in the afternoon, when she normally did not suffer these spells. But she’d awakened feeling well today and thought the sick
ness had subsided.
Apparently, that was not the case.
She could not even bring herself to look up into Stephen’s eyes.
But she knew he was watching her.
Leading both Cecily and his horse off the road, Stephen tossed his jacket on the ground and directed her to sit. “Put your head between your knees, Cecily. And take slow, deep breaths.”
Cecily did as he said and gradually the upset receded. Stephen was a few feet away from her, unspeaking, as the minutes passed.
“What are you doing here?” Cecily finally asked. She could contain her curiosity no longer. A part of her rejoiced at his presence, but another wept at the injustice of seeing him again, knowing he could never be hers.
Was this what she had to look forward to in this life? This desire to be close to a man she could see but never have? For surely, their paths would cross many times in the future. And each time it would be as though the universe taunted her.
And although she had every faith that Flavion would not consider the dates of their relations and the timing of the child’s birth, Stephen most definitely would. What would she say to him? Would he be hurt? Relieved? Would he feel she had betrayed him?
Feeling better physically, but overwhelmed emotionally, Cecily lay back upon the grass. There were several puffy clouds today. She wished they were on a picnic. She wished he were her husband. “That cloud looks like a kitten,” she said and then felt rather silly immediately.
STEPHEN CROUCHED ON the ground. At first, he thought she’d gone pale at the mere sight of him. But then he realized that when he’d glanced into her face as he’d been passing, she had looked pale and tight-lipped already.
As she lay back onto the grass, he was pleased to note that some color had returned to her complexion. He would avoid the reason he’d come — for now. She quite obviously was not in any condition to learn the truth that he’d discovered.
But then she said something about a kitten. Looking over his shoulder, up at the sky, he saw myriad puffy clouds, none of which appeared to resemble any animal whatsoever. “If you say so…” he said skeptically.
“Oh, no,” she said. “Lie down here beside me and look. I mean, really look.”
With a glance at his horse and another glance up and down the road to ascertain nobody was passing by, Stephen removed his hat and tentatively lay down beside her. He put his head next to hers and had an urge to take one of her hands in his. But she had reached toward the sky before he could give in to it.
“See that one, right there? It is the kitten.” She pointed to the right.
And well, yes, he supposed he saw some resemblance.
“And the one next to it,” she added sweetly, “is a tree. See the long part is the trunk, there, and the other end is the top part, with branches and leaves.”
“I will concede the kitten, Cecily,” he said. “But I will not abide you degrading the shape of any self-respecting tree by comparing it to that puffy haphazard grouping of vapor and air.”
Cecily chuckled, and then he felt her turn her head to look over at him. He did likewise. She sighed loudly. “Why have you come?” she said, suddenly looking quite serious. She did not sound very happy to see him.
“Business,” he said vaguely. He did not wish to go into any details with her on the side of a public road. He pulled himself back to a sitting position and then replaced his hat upon his head and stood up. Offering his hand to Cecily, he assisted her to stand as well. “You are feeling better now?”
“I am fine,” she said, nodding solemnly.
How many times had she said these words to him? There was something different about her.
Stephen climbed onto Phoenix and reached down a hand to her. “Put your foot upon my boot, and you can ride up in front of me.” She seemed to hesitate a moment before doing as he said. Even though she’d been unwell only moments before, she had no difficulty climbing up in front of him in one fluid motion.
Holding her, nestling her body in to his, felt like the most natural thing in the world. The scent of her, the softness of her was oh so familiar. He placed one hand around her waist and used his other to hold the rein and guide the animal. She removed her bonnet and leaned sideways against him. Her hair tickled his chin and neck.
“What sort of business?” She surprised him in her persistence. “With Flavion?”
He did not wish to lie to her. Perhaps having her sitting pressed against him, where he could hold her, comfort her, was not the worst place to relay this news after all.
“What I must tell you, Cecily, will change everything. You will have choices to make, and whatever you decide is going to affect your future drastically.” He gave her a moment to brace herself for the words he was going to speak.
“What is it?” She stretched her neck so that she could look up into his face. He tried to keep his eyes upon the road in front of him but could not help watching her closely when he next spoke.
“Before your wedding to Flavion, another marriage ceremony was performed. Flavion and Daphne Cunnington married approximately six months prior to your own wedding. Flavion is a bigamist. Your marriage is invalid. It is not legal, nor can it be recognized by the Church.”
Cecily went very, very still upon hearing these words.
When she eventually spoke, a sense of awe came into her voice. “It is as though it never happened, then?”
Stephen nodded. “Except that there are all sorts of repercussions for both you and Flavion to confront. I shall not shield him from any of them this time. It is time he faces the consequences of his actions.”
“What sort of repercussions?”
“Firstly, your dowry must be repaid to your father,” he said carefully. This was the only area where he would assist Flavion. Not for Flave, but for his Uncle Leo. He would not let the earldom become insolvent again. “And secondly, he has a wife out there who has not been acknowledged as such… You shall have to concede your title to Miss Cunnington. In addition to that, I imagine, he is going to encounter some legal difficulties. Bigamy, you might guess, is illegal.”
“I will no longer be a countess?” She seemed to be considering the concept from all angles. “That is one thing I shall happily shed. It has brought me nothing but trouble.”
“As an unmarried woman, Cecily, you will be ruined.” Taking a deep breath, he expressed the desire of his heart. “But I shall marry you. You will not be forced to live in disgrace.”
She examined him closely. Stephen forced himself to look forward and watch the road. Just over one month ago, she had been willing to take drastic measures in order to escape the institute of marriage. If she knew how lonely he’d been without her, how much he’d longed for her, she might choose to sacrifice her newfound freedom out of pity. If she married him, he wanted it to be her choice. A decision she would make without any pressure from him. “You won’t have to worry about a title, as my wife, but I can offer you a comfortable home. And travel, if you wish. You would be more than welcome to come with me to India, and China — if you desire, that is. You’ll never lack for anything. And, after a few years have passed, I believe you may even be allowed to re-enter Society. You’ve told me this is not important to you, but in the future, you might change your mind. I will do everything in my power to help you get past this scandal.” Although it had not been her fault, Society would ostracize her for the acts of a faithless man.
“And so, for all of these reasons, you would have me marry you?” She looked put out. No, she looked fit to be tied. They had arrived onto his cousin’s property and were not very far from the grand house.
“They are not inconsequential, I believe.” He swallowed hard. If the stiffening of her spine and the tightening of her jaw was anything to go by, she was none too pleased by his proposal. Or perhaps — the thought struck him belatedly — it was the manner in which he presented it. He should have waited until she’d had time to process Flavion’s betrayal. He ought to have given her time to consider her fut
ure, given light of these new circumstances.
He ought to have gotten down on one knee and poured out his heart.
Cecily pulled away from him abruptly. “Stop this horse. I wish to get off.” Surprised, Stephen merely looked down at her but allowed the mare to continue trekking toward their destination. “I mean it, Stephen. Stop so that I can get down, or I shall jump off while we are moving.”
At these rather alarming words, Stephen brought Phoenix to a halt but also grasped Cecily more tightly around the waist. “I did not mean to offend you, Cecily. I haven’t made this offer rashly. I have considered your options and honestly believe marrying me is a tolerable solution to all this.”
At these words, she pushed herself farther away from him and leaned forward as though to jump.
Phoenix was not a small animal. In fact, she was one of the larger horses Stephen had ever owned. Stephen did not loosen his grip upon Cecily.
But Cecily was determined — determined, confused, and spitting mad. “Let me down, Stephen! So help me…” Whereupon she threw all of her weight toward the right side of the horse in a very effective effort to free herself of his grasp.
“Damn it! Cecily!” Unwilling for her to injure herself, both of them, or the animal, Stephen loosened his grasp just enough for her to slide off the mount safely. Once on the ground, she turned and, without looking backward, marched across the meadow on foot. As she stormed away, her arms flailed angrily in the air.
“A house!” Even several yards away, he could hear her cursing and grousing to herself. “Scandal! A tolerable solution, he says! Who does he think I am? And he says he doesn’t want to offend me! Well, he can just go to the devil…” Her words drifted away as she increased the distance between them.
Hell and damnation. That was not at all how he’d planned this.
SHE WAS NOT going to allow herself to cry. She’d done far too much of that recently and was thoroughly disgusted with herself as it was.
Hell Hath No Fury (Devilish Debutantes Book 1) Page 25