Cousin Cecilia (16 page)

Cecilia was afraid Martha would acquiesce, but anger finally accomplished what common sense could not, and Martha lifted her chin high in the air. "I have promised Mr. Teale the first dance," she replied. Mr. Teale had been well coached. He bounced forward and put a proprietary hand on Martha's elbow.

"Poor luck, old chap," he said to Dallan. "Later, perhaps, if Miss Meacham has a dance free."

Mr. Dallan felt all the shame of being rejected twice in a row. It was only his good opinion of himself that prevented him from making a scene. He gave a careless toss of his head and said to Cecilia, for he would not lower himself to look at Martha, "Rejection, it seems, is the order of the day. First Wickham's offer is turned down flat, now you will not even stand up with me."

Cecilia bristled to hear the news was being bruited about the village. She hadn't even the satisfaction of blaming anyone but herself. She knew it was her ill-advised remark to Sally Gardener that had done the mischief. Certainly Wickham would not have boasted of his rejection.

"The next dance then, Cecilia?" Dallan inquired, trying to look nonchalant, which was difficult when his ears were flaming bright red.

Cecilia felt sorry for him and also wanted a private word to ask him not to broadcast the news of Wickham's offer. "The next dance," she agreed.

Dallan smiled at everyone except Martha and strolled on to the refreshment parlor, where it required three quick glasses of wine to appease his wounded pride. Martha cast a darkly accusing eye on her cousin, but said nothing. Cecilia's first aim, once this little contretemps was over, was to look around for Lord Wickham. She soon realized he was not present, and her heart fell. What a perfectly wretched evening it was going to be! If she got home without coming to cuffs with either Dallan or Martha, she determined she would never try to make a match for anyone again.

The dance with Pincombe gave her an opportunity to calm her nerves and consider what she would say to Dallan. He was bowing in front of her promptly for the next set. She wished it had been anything but a waltz, which left them too much privacy, but a waltz it was. Mr. Dallan held her much too tightly for decorum. She asked him to loosen his arms, which only made him hold her more tightly. She realized he had been drinking more than he should and felt terribly uneasy.

"If we may not embrace in public, then walk outside with me," he said, and gave a leering smile. "My carriage is stabled nearby. Let us go for a moonlight drive."

"You must be mad!" she scoffed.

"Mad with love for you. Marry me, Cecilia. I knew when I heard you had rejected Wickham that you must care for me more than I dared to hope. Why else would you turn down such an offer?"

"I wish you would not speak of that offer. I do not want it broadcast," she said urgently.

"Ho, you might as well ask the wind not to blow. Nothing else is spoken of in town. Wickham was pretty surly about it, when Sally Gardener offered her condolences. I gave him what consolation I could. 'Perhaps Miss Cummings has already committed her heart,' I told him, but till you said yes, I did not tell him I was the fortunate man."

"I have no intention of marrying you, Mr. Dallan. I am shocked that you should have the temerity to offer. I have never given you any indication of interest on my part."

"You have played a sly game, but I see through you," he said, with another leer. "Martha told me of your pains to select my snuffbox. Aphrodite, goddess of love. I read your hint. And in the meadow, when you wanted to be alone to think about us."

Her patience broke. "About us! I assure you, Mr. Dallan, I do not consider that you and I have a single thing in common." She wrenched herself free from his clinging arms and left the floor. Dallan followed at her heels as she went to the refreshment parlor to quiet her nerves. The sight of his inebriated face was more than she could endure. She led him to a corner away from the few couples there and gave him a stiff lecture.

"Let me tell you, I am so far from caring for you that I do not at all approve of Martha's taking an interest in you. She could do much better for herself, and so I have told her and shall continue to tell her. As to marrying you myself, I would as lief marry your groom. You are the most vain, foolish, arrogant, stupid man I have ever met. And now to come to a public assembly inebriated, to make a fool of yourself and me! I suggest you go home and sleep it off, Mr. Dallan. When you wish to apologize, I would prefer that you do it in writing, for I do not wish to meet you in person again, ever."

Mr. Dallan stared at her as if she had struck him. His first flare of anger turned to confusion, then embarrassment, for he had some breeding, hard as he tried to conceal it. "I am sorry if I have offended you, ma'am."

"Well you might be, sir!"

On this she turned and swept from the room before the curious eyes of the onlookers. Dallan realized he was the object of their stares, and felt more foolish then ever. His pride was all that got him out of the room without bawling. He had never felt so humiliated before in his life, and to add to his chagrin, he knew perfectly well he deserved that lecture. But really it was too bad of Martha not to give him the first dance.

He went outside and walked down the High Street, trying to clear his head. What had possessed him to offer for Miss Cummings? In his private thoughts, she was still Miss Cummings. He knew perfectly well she would never have him when she had rejected Wickham. His intention had been to play the heartbroken lover, along with Wickham. He envisaged a month or two of mutual pining over a pint at Jack Duck's. But Wickham had said rather brusquely that he did not plan to frequent Jack's place in future, suggesting that it was beneath a gentleman. There was no point going if Wickham wasn't to be there. And now with Andy engaged and George as well as caught in parson's mousetrap, he would be alone.

The whole village seemed to be mourning for him. Lights were dim in most of the saloon windows, with everyone at the assembly. He stopped in front of Meachams and gazed up at the bow window where he had often sat in former times with Martha, conning the street and quizzing everyone. If Miss Cummings had her way, Martha wouldn't have him. That London swell hanging on to Martha's arm as though he owned her... Martha, who had never refused him anything before, had refused to stand up with him. Something like panic seized him. He felt a deep urge to hasten back to the assembly—but besides being bosky, he feared what he would do if that popinjay had his arms around Martha.

With nothing else to do, he rode north to Jack Duck's Tavern, to initiate a life of dissolution and heartbreak—then she'd be sorry she had rejected him. Without George and Andy and Wickham, the place was so dreary he hardly wanted to stay. Peg sat with him, trying to cheer him up, so he bought her a bottle of wine. For himself, he ordered brandy, knowing it to be the quickest path to ruin. He had two glasses and went outside to cast up his accounts. After such an ignominious occurrence, there was nothing to do but go home to bed, which he did, with only one detour back to the assembly. He saw through the window that Martha was standing up with another of the London swells. How they loved her! She would cut a wide swath in London society. Would she ever remember him? Would she recognize him ten years hence when she dropped a coin in his beggar's hand? "That looked a little like a gentleman I used to know in Laycombe. I wonder whatever become of Mr. Dallan," she might say to her husband. Cruel world!

Things were hardly more pleasant at the assembly. The draper's wife had overheard an extraordinary thing in the refreshment parlor and took her tale to the most appreciative set of ears in town, the Gardeners'. Before long the story was around that Mr. Dallan had offered for Miss Cummings, and she had treated him shockingly. Henley was a little toplofty to be sure, but to call him stupid and vain was doing it a bit brown. As to saying he was not good enough for Martha, well, they would like to hear Martha's opinion of that!

Sally went whispering in Martha's ear and created as much mischief as even she could desire.

Martha burst into noisy tears and fled to the coat-room, where Sally Gardener was quick to lead Cecilia and stay gaping to overhear the exchange of abuse.

"Why did you tell Henley I would not have him?" Martha demanded through her sobs.

"It wasn't you he was offering for," Sally pointed out helpfully. "It was Miss Cummings herself."

Martha lifted a moist eye from a sodden handkerchief and said in a weak voice, "It cannot be true! You have stolen him from me, Cousin. All your pretense of trying to help me! It was a wicked stunt to steal Henley for yourself. Oh I shall never forgive such treachery. Never! And to think, we invited you into the bosom of our home, never suspecting..." She could say no more and gave herself over to uncontrolled tears.

Cecilia leveled a glare on Miss Gardener. "I hope you're satisfied, miss. Pray leave us alone. You will hear no more tales to carry abroad this night."

Sally tossed her curls and hastened off to carry those already heard.

"Martha, control yourself," Cecilia said. "Dallan meant nothing by his offer. He was disguised."

"He wasn't that disguised that he couldn't tell you from me."

"He didn't know what he was saying. He didn't mean it."

"Yes, he did. I knew how it would be. It's not fair, your coming to compete with us. And if you must have a husband, why could you not accept Lord Wickham? I wish you had never come here. I wish you would go home and leave us alone."

Cecilia was still trying vainly to comfort her cousin when Mrs. Meacham came running, alerted to the situation by Sally. Martha threw herself into her mother's arms and begged to be taken home.

"Oh dear, Martha," the mother said, "can you not pull yourself together? Just stay here a spell and have your cry out. There is no saying, Dallan might very well return after he has walked the drink off."

"Yes, return to her!" Martha said, lifting her head and pointing an accusing finger at Cecilia.

"Perhaps we had best all go home," Cecilia said helplessly. "I am truly sorry, Mrs. Meacham. It was none of my doing I promise you. I was as shocked as could be when Dallan blurted out his offer."

"I'm sure you did your best," Mrs. Meacham said, but in no kind way. "This is no reason to drag Alice away, though I doubt she will want to remain with this on our heads. Perhaps you should speak to her. Now hush, Martha. It isn't the end of the world."

Alice was sorry to have to leave such a lively assembly, but could not remain when Martha was in such dire straits. She would go home with the family as soon as she had a word with George.

Staying at the dance was impossible for Cecilia, going home in the carriage with the Meachams equally unpleasant, so she asked Nigel to drive her home. Cecilia heartily wished she had never come to the dance. Her head was throbbing, and on top of it all, Wickham had not even made an appearance. At the door of the house, she begged Sir Nigel to return to the dance and inform her in the morning how much commotion the affair had caused.

"And I'll tell you if Lord Wickham comes, too, and who he stands up with," Sir Nigel added, with a laughing eye. "Are your matchmaking visits always so hectic, Cousin?"

"Indeed no. This one outdoes all the rest. And on top of it all, Dallan is the most worthless groom I have ever tried to commandeer to the altar. I am not entirely sorry I failed, though it is a pity Martha is so unhappy."

"Perhaps this taste of true love will change your mind about Wickham's offer. A marriage of convenience doesn't seem such a bad thing, eh?"

"It is not love that has caused this brouhaha, but bad manners, including my own. Perhaps I was a little hard on Dallan, but he really is the outside of enough."

"He's a handsome enough devil. I daresay there aren't many to touch him here in the country. At least he seems the sort ladies like."

"Not ladies of common sense. Peagooses is more like it."

She fled into the house and was extremely relieved to see that the ladies had already gone upstairs. Another set-to with Martha was more than she could face. It was obviously impossible to remain at Laycombe. She must leave as soon as possible. As the next day was Sunday, however, there was still one day to be got in.

Her thoughts turned to Wickham. One more day when she might possibly see him. She might send a note to the abbey thanking him for the use of the mount... But that was paltry behavior, all but begging him to come.

She turned the lamps down low and sat on alone in the semi-darkness of the saloon, looking out at the familiar street, because she could not face her bed. The street looked strangely romantic by moonlight. There half a block down was the shop where she had first met Wickham, and he had picked up the box she dropped. Was that when she first began to fall under his spell? She had been attracted from the first in any case. Love at first sight. How often she had scoffed at the concept.

The simple fact of the matter was she didn't know the first thing about love. How had she passed herself off as an expert all these years? How had she managed to get everyone but herself to the altar with the gentleman of her choice?

It hardly seemed possible that two hours had passed, but when she saw the carriages begin to appear in the High Street, telling the end of the assembly, she knew it must be quite late. Soon Sir Nigel and the others came in. Woodhouse and Teale exchanged only a few words before going upstairs. Nigel stayed behind to give his report.

"Are we utterly disgraced?" Cecilia asked fearfully.

"You were a nine-minute wonder. It ceased to be spoken of as soon as Mrs. Empey caught her feather in the hanging lamp and created a new riot."

"And did—was Lord Wickham... ?"

"He arrived just after dinner."

"That's very late! I wonder he came at all. Did he stand up with anyone?"

"Yes, he had a dance with two local girls. Miss Daugherty and a Miss Gardener, who accidentally dropped her shawl in front of him."

"Ah yes, she drops things to great advantage." Neither Kate nor Sally could give her any fear of competition. It looked as if Wickham had gone to the assembly for no other reason but to show he was untouched by her refusal.