Cousin Cecilia (21 page)

"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 did 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."

The group went together to the refreshment parlor. "I didn't see you at the park today, Miss Cummings," Lady Gloria mentioned.

Pincombe answered again, assuming that in the normal way this would annoy Cecilia. "Miss Cummings had to do a little errand for my aunt," he explained. "We had planned to drive out together, but my old Aunt Lavinia Dicaire needed some work done on her diamond bracelet. I asked Miss Cummings to attend to it, as I had to see my barber."

Wickham looked to see how Miss Cummings liked being used as an errand boy. She smiled demurely and said nothing about it. "This is a lovely rout, Lady Gloria" was her comment.

"Enjoy it, my dear," Pincombe said, with a doting smile. "You must get your fill of waltzing, for next year you will have weightier matters to fill your time. I should like to have at least one crib in my nursery filled by next year."

Cecilia allowed a little chill to creep into her tone. "I would remind you of that old saw about not counting your chickens, Nigel."

He laughed good-naturedly. "You've danced enough years, my dear. It is time you learned to enjoy the comforts of domesticity."

"I am not tired of dancing yet," she said saucily.

"Then I shall ask Lord Wickham to give you the next set. You will be safe from harm with Lord Wickham." He turned to Lady Gloria and sought her company. Sensing that Cecilia desired privacy with her victim, he took Lady Gloria's arm and led her away.

Wickham surveyed Cecilia through narrowed eyes, looking for signs of that quick temper that he knew her to possess. She smiled docilely. "It was presumptuous of Sir Nigel to assume your complaisance in standing up with me, Wickham," she said.

"I should have said the fault was in his choosing your partner for you, ma'am," he parried.

"It is his notion of protecting me. He seems a trifle high-handed to be sure, but he means no harm."

"I had not thought you were a lady who required that degree of protection."

"You are referring to my vast, though vicarious experience in the marital arena, I collect? You need not fear for me, Wickham. If I find something I dislike in my husband, I shall change it."

"That is easier done before the wedding, ma'am."

She gave him a saucy look. "But then one runs the risk of frightening the prey away."

"You are referring to my wretched performance at Laycombe," he said, with a touch of embarrassment.

"That was unworthy of me, but it was my meaning, I confess."

"You must feel a strong attraction to Pincombe, as you are willing to accept from him what you refused in me."

Cecilia allowed a troubled frown to pleat her white brow. "Perhaps you were right after all. There is much to be said for a marriage of convenience. I daresay all marriages sink to that in the end. It is just that one could wish to see them at least begin on a more romantic note," she said wistfully.

She felt the very air palpitate with his disagreement, knew he wanted to contradict her, and knew as well that the refreshment parlor was too public a spot for any powerful show of emotion. "We had best go back to the hall," she said, and gave another wistful smile. In her eyes was reflected a nostalgic memory of his offer and even something for her regret at having refused it, as she was sunk to a marriage of convenience in the end. If he had an atom of gallantry, he would find a way to reclaim her.

"I see no reason why romance should be limited to the beginning," he said, and placed her hand on his elbow. They strolled slowly from the parlor out into the hallway. Across the hall a door showed them a small, private room. It looked like a ladies sitting room. There were comfortable chairs before the fire and two workbaskets on a table. "The music has not yet begun," Wickham said. "May I talk to you for a moment. Miss—Cecilia?" His voice softened as he spoke.

"For a moment," she agreed, in a breathless voice.

When they were alone, the mood was uncomfortable. Wickham knew it was abominable for him to proceed with his own offer when she had given every indication of accepting Pincombe's. She knew he knew it and feared he would let gentlemanly scruples stand in the way of their happiness. Being no gentleman herself, she knew the first move was up to her.

"Oh what should I do, Wickham?" she asked helplessly.

"If your mind is quite made up, I cannot attempt to dissuade you," he said through clenched lips, but he looked very much as if he wanted to dissuade her.

She made a pretty moue and tossed her head. "It is not made up," she said crossly. "I would not ask for advice if I had already decided. But I have chosen my confidant poorly. You, I know, are not against marriages of convenience."

It was enough. All his anger and frustration came blurting out. "I loathe and despise them! You should box Pincombe's ears and send him packing. I cannot imagine what you are about, to smile and smirk at that puppy's insolence! Limiting you to one glass of wine and telling you who to dance with. To speak of you as though you were some weary drudge who should submit to becoming a brood mare for him."

"He hasn't suggested anything different from what you said, or at least meant, when you made me an offer."

"To my shame. But your good sense treated that offer as it deserved. Good God! I had more respect for you when you combed my hair with your riding crop!" he said belligerently. His color was high, and anger flashed in his dark eyes. "What has changed your mind? What has changed you?"

His anger acted as a catalyst to hers, and she shot back, "Age and experience have changed me, sir. I see that all men are alike. Arrogant, overbearing, selfish, stupid—beasts!"

His complexion heightened from pink to red. "Then why are you marrying him?" he demanded.

"I haven't said I am. And in any case, he is no worse than the rest."

"Do you love him? It must be love. Nothing else could make you behave so foolishly." His eyes, staring into hers, looked impenetrable, but on the surface she read the gleam of fear and was hopeful.

"No, I don't," she said softly.

"Then why? If you only want a husband,
any
husband, have me. I offered first." He grabbed her hands and spoke ardently. "Cecilia, I was an idiot. I didn't know what I was saying. I had decided to marry; you were there—I spoke on the impulse of the moment, thinking and saying only what was to the advantage of myself. I married for love once—it was a disaster. But that wasn't love's fault. It was an ill-advised match from every point of view. I knew we would suit better. My pride was wounded when you refused, but I soon learned the greater blow was to my heart. I felt desolate without you. I came scrambling to London for the sole purpose of apologizing, of telling you I love you."

The color drained from her face, leaving her pale and giddy with happiness. "Oh! But why didn't you
do
it?"

His hands slid up her arms, drawing her close. "Because I thought you must despise me. I had to soften your anger first."

"And set about it by courting Lady Gloria!"

"I wasn't courting her! You were running about everywhere with that jackanapes of a Pincombe. He had already come bounding down to Laycombe after you. I was afraid the matter was all arranged." His arms went around her, and she laid her head against his shoulder.

"You wrong Nigel. He was of great use to me," she said softly in his ear.

He lifted her head and saw the laughter glinting in her gray eyes. A reluctant smile softened his harsh expression to tenderness. "Cecilia Cummings, you are a born schemer! I half suspected last night when he came ranting at me like something out of the last century. You put him up to it!"