Cousin Cecilia (7 page)

Her hostess looked shocked at the idea. “Oh my dear, we cannot ask
him!”

“Is he as ramshackle as all that?”

“Nothing of the sort. The hitch is that he never accepts an invitation anywhere. He received many offers when he first returned, but he never accepted them.”

Cecilia had no wish to receive a refusal. “You told me he never attended the assemblies either, but he went last night.”

“So he did, and it was the greatest surprise in the world. Whoever would have believed it? Everyone spoke of it. And of you, too, Cecilia. You were a great success. But as to his accepting an invitation, that is a cat of a different color. He calls on no one.”

“He is calling on me today,” Cecilia announced, and received all the astonishment she could wish.

“What, calling here?” the mother asked, and dropped her toast in shock. “You never mean it! Here, at my house.”

“I hope you do not mind.”

“Mind? It is famous.” She slapped her knee in glee. “He never goes anywhere but to Lowreys. How everyone will stare when I tell them. And here I sit like a moonling, when the whole room will have to be turned out.” She rose from her chair before anyone could stop her and sent a bevy of servants with beeswax and dust cloths, tea leaves and broom, to clean the immaculate Gold Saloon.

“You have attached him, Cousin,” Martha marveled, and in her excitement her finger found its accustomed way to her mouth.

“Which I never would have done had I chewed my fingernails to the quick.” Martha removed the finger and smiled an apology. “As to having attached him,” Cecilia continued, “it is no such a thing. Merely I am letting him call so that I may exercise a little influence on him, to detach him from your beaux.”

“He must be sweet on you,” Alice insisted. “He never asked to call on any other girl. Sally Gardner was used to chase him dreadfully—well, she still does. Every time he rides into the village, she flings on her bonnet and pelisse and goes scrambling into the street after him, letting on she needs something in whatever shop he goes into, and accidentally dropping her bags at his feet, so he has to help her pick them up.”

“Oh dear,” Cecilia laughed. “I hope he doesn’t think I was using her stunt Tuesday when the buttons fell.”

“You only did it once,” Alice said forgivingly. “Sally does it all the time. You remember, Martha, when Lord Wickham’s housekeeper broke out into hives and he was several times at the chemist’s shop trying to find a remedy, Sally used to scoot into the chemists the minute she spotted him coming down the street. She used to get a teaspoon of clove oil at a time, and her mama didn’t have a toothache either because she would be out gallivanting herself the minute Lord Wickham was down the road.”

Cecilia smiled ruefully at such gauche behavior, and as soon as Mrs. Meacham returned, she broached the London plan. It met with unanimous approval. When Cecilia asked if she could put a few guests up if they wished to come to the assembly, that, too, was agreed to. The house was the finest in the village, much larger than they needed, with ten bedrooms and two suites. Martha and Alice were thrown into a tizzy to hear that the guests were gentlemen and demanded an accounting of each. As Cecilia had no idea which of her friends would accept, however, she could not oblige them, and made it a mystery.

Cecilia assumed her young cousins would be at home when Lord Wickham called and hoped to put Martha forward a little. She was thwarted in her scheme. Martha and Alice left for the vicarage right after breakfast, to discuss the assembly with Kate, but their mother would be at home.

“He’ll come around eleven-thirty,” Mrs. Meacham said. “He usually rides into the village at eleven on Saturday morning to tend to any business or shopping or banking he may have before the weekend. After he is finished, he’ll stop here.”

“You set me down a peg, ma’am,” Cecilia said. “I had thought he was making a special trip in to see me.”

“So he would have done, had it been any day but Saturday, and he coming anyway. It must be nearly eleven. There goes Sally Gardner with her basket. She times her leaving the house to meet him. Yes, there he is. Why, he is in his phaeton; he usually rides his black horse. A fierce looking animal it is. The lads say it’s an Arabian.”

“He does not mean to pay his call in riding clothes at least.” Her pride was assuaged to see that he had made this concession to her call.

“So I see,” Mrs. Meacham said, peering through the sheer curtains. “He is likely getting some things that he will need the carriage to haul home.”

“You are determined to deflate my pretensions,” Cecilia said, yet her cousin’s explanation struck her as plausible. She had been taking too much credit for this call. It was actually no inconvenience to Lord Wickham at all, and therefore little compliment to herself.

The only minor consolation she could derive was that he called before he attended to business. This might indicate an eagerness that the rest of his call did not uphold. When he was seated in the well-dusted Gold Saloon, he addressed the first half of his remarks to Mrs. Meacham.

“You have removed from the Maples since I left,” he began, and tendered his sympathy at the cause. “You must have hated to leave it, but you have no sons, as I recall. A large estate is a big handful for a lady.”

Mrs. Meacham soon found herself overcoming any shyness and chatting sociably. While they chatted, Cecilia had time to examine his toilette. Wickham was turned out remarkably well for a country gentleman. His shirt front and cravat were immaculate; his Hessians were newly polished, and his jacket was unexceptionable. It was the work of Stultz to be sure, but not one of his more outré creations.

The conversation proceeded with congratulations from Lord Wickham on the beauty of the Meacham girls, and a playful mention that they had got their looks from their mother. This was palpable nonsense; they both favored their father in appearance, but it went down very well. Oh yes, Wickham was definitely setting out to please the dame and having wonderful success, too. Next he complimented her on the house.

“I had the happy idea of having a bow window thrown out, for it gives such a good view of the street. I can see it from end to end. It is something to do of a dull afternoon, looking out on the street.”

“A charming idea, and the room is so tastefully decorated, too. My own place has sadly deteriorated, since I have been away. I am trying to bring it back, but that certain touch is lacking. The woman’s touch. I hesitate to entertain till I have refurbished the place.” The weak pretext was to account for his lack of sociability.

Had this been Lord Wickham’s second visit instead of his first, she would certainly have recommended his taking a wife, but she was not yet at that stage of intimacy, and the conversation veered to other topics.

“A charming assembly last night, was it not?” Wickham said, to draw Cecilia into the talk.

“I wonder that you left the party so early, if you liked it,” she replied saucily. Her sparkling eyes told him, “You may have cozened her, but I am not so easily fooled.”

“Having had my two dances with the most charming lady there, the rest was all futility. Mrs. Meacham will forgive my saying so, I trust. Her own lovely girls are much too young for an old Benedict like myself to presume to show an interest.”

Mrs. Meacham would have forgiven him for attempted murder when he was behaving so handsomely. “My two hussies have a certain set of lads in their eye, you must know,” she said.

Before Cecilia could turn this opening to any use, a servant appeared with wine and macaroons. Lord Wickham felt he had done the pretty with the hostess and turned his attention fully to the younger lady. “Miss Cummings, you are missing some fine riding weather. A pity you hadn’t brought your mount with you.”

“Alice has an old cob in the stable. You are welcome to it I’m sure,” the hostess mentioned. “Of course Bricks is ancient. The girls don’t ride much, since we removed from the Maples.”

“I have several mounts at the Abbey, if you would like to borrow one while you are here,” he offered.

There was a little chicanery in presenting this as a new idea, for she had already refused the offer the evening before. Cecilia began to understand that his courting of Mrs. Meacham was to make himself appear respectable. The challenging gleam in his eye confirmed her suspicion.

“You are very kind, but I cannot think—”

Mrs. Meacham cut her off in mid-speech. “That is mighty handsome of you, milord. Now there you are, Cecilia. There is plenty of room in the stable, and I can easily spare a groom, so you need not let that hold you back.”

“You forget, ma’am, my team are in the stable,” Cecilia pointed out.

Mrs. Meacham immediately gave a lengthy enumeration of the stalls, and the cattle in them, and ended up saying, “And that leaves two boxes standing empty all the live long day.”

“I’ll have Lady sent over this afternoon,” Wickham said. A smile of triumph rested on his arrogant face. “A tidy bay mare. Not up to my own weight. I shall accompany you on your first outing, to let you in on her little tricks.”

“A tricky one, is she?” Cecilia said, quizzing him boldly. “I wonder why that does not surprise me.”

“Well, she is a lady,” he riposted. Mrs. Meacham frowned at this non sequitur, but no one noticed. “Shall we say tomorrow morning, Miss Cummings?”

“You forget tomorrow is Sunday. We shall be at service in the morning.”

“Ah yes, so we shall.” A muscular spasm around his mouth betrayed his mood, without quite forming a smile. “Three o’clock then, if that suits you?”

She was torn between a very real desire to ride, and a wish to show Wickham a lesson. He was accustomed to having his own way—that much was patently obvious. He had come in and charmed Mrs. Meacham to do his bidding with a shower of insincere compliments. She wavered a moment, and while she wavered, Mrs. Meacham rushed in and settled the affair.

“There is no need to send Lady over this afternoon, Lord Wickham. Why do you not just bring her with you tomorrow afternoon, and save a trip?”

He shot a triumphant look at Cecilia. “An excellent idea.” Before any further demur was possible, he was on his feet, excusing his hasty departure, but he had a meeting with his man of business. A charming visit... He would call tomorrow at three... And he was gone.

“Well now, that was mighty handsomely done of him,” Mrs. Meacham declared, and glanced at the window. “There goes Sally Gardner again. She is like a dog after a cat. She’ll be galled that he was here. Aye, he’s fooled her this time. She has no excuse to go barging into his solicitor’s office. She’ll stay gawking in at the milliner’s window next door till he comes out.”

Cecilia glanced out the window and saw a sharp-nosed lady of provincial cut, staring at the solicitor’s closed door. She wore a frustrated face. “I ought not to have borrowed a mount on such short acquaintance,” Cecilia said. She feared she was talking to herself, for her companion had run to the window, monitoring Sally Gardner as closely as Sally was monitoring Wickham.

Mrs. Meacham heard, and answered. “Short acquaintance? You forget I have known Lord Wickham forever. Not well, you know, but as a neighbor. There is nothing in his loaning her to you when he cannot ride her himself. It is a pity he goes so little into society nowadays. Many a fine party was thrown at the Abbey when his wife was alive. She was quite a proverb for hospitality. She had the place done up after her marriage. That was only six years ago. I cannot think it is so bad as he says.”

Cecilia took up her embroidery and the two ladies settled into the companion chairs in the embrasure of the bay window for easier surveillance of the High Street. “What was she like?” Cecilia asked.

“Very pretty. Adrianna Heathmore is who she was before marriage. Her papa was a merchant. They say he made a monstrous deal of money in trade, but when they came here, he had sold out and set up as a gentleman on a nice estate about five miles north of the Maples. No one took much note of them at first, but then they sent Adrianna to London to make a debut, and that is where she landed Wickham. Her folks were thrilled to mince meat. She was a blonde girl, very pretty.”

Cecilia listened closely. If he liked blondes, then perhaps Martha might interest him. “Did you know her well after her marriage?”

“Not well. She did not mix a great deal with the local crowd. She was back in London on the slightest pretext and had the Abbey full of her and Lord Wickham’s friends. We were invited to a few large dos. They seemed a happy couple.”

“Why do you suppose she left him? I would not think a merchant’s daughter would have any regrets at marrying a lord, and a lord with an Abbey besides. She seemed happy, you say.” The idea occurred to her that the heavy partying might have been Wickham’s idea. From there it was an easy leap to imagine that he had taken a lover, and that was the cause of the rupture.

Mrs. Meacham had nothing to offer but conjecture. “Everyone thought she must be twopence short of a shilling to do anything so foolish. I expect she found us a dull lot. The man she ran off with—Gregory was his family name—was only a commoner, though a vastly rich man. She ran away with him to Italy—well, she knew her swell London friends would cut her dead. We all thought, when Wickham left, that he had run after her, but it turned out it was not Italy he went to first at all. It was Egypt and Turkey and such outlandish places. She and her Mr. Gregory bought up a villa in Florence, and that is where she died. Of a fever, folks said, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she just died of partying every night.”

“He does not speak of her at all. I have never even heard him mention her name, though he did say he was a widower. Of course I don’t know him well.”

“Pride, that is what is keeping him close on the subject. I would not advise you to mention her to him. The Wickhams are all as proud as Spanish grandees. There never was such a scandal in the family before. At least her dying saved the disgrace of a divorce. She never married Gregory, you know, but just lived in sin with him. I don’t know how a Christian girl could do it.”

A motion in the street distracted her from her story. “He must be coming out. There is Sally dropping a bag of buns all over the street. Ha, she has outdone herself this time. She has dropped a bottle of something, too—it is running down the gutter. What can it be? It looks like marbles. Olives! It is olives, nasty things, all pickled in brine. And here comes Lord Wickham. But she is out of luck. Mr. Cosby is helping her pick up the buns. They’ll be brushed off and put on the table, or I miss my bet.”