Sorcery & Cecelia: Or the Enchanted Chocolate Pot (11 page)

My betrothal to the Marquis has had unexpected benefits, new gowns among them. The modiste required me for nearly the whole of Wednesday, but I own that judging by the dress I wore to Lady Melbourne’s ball Thursday evening, all the fittings and consultings will be well worthwhile. Georgy helped me with my hair and I really do think I looked quite well. Isn’t it funny, Cecy—I only came to London because Georgina could not come out before me, and I never thought I’d really find a suitable
parti
in Town—but the instant it became known that Schofield had offered for me, many eligible young men and a great many more ineligible old ones were suddenly able to perceive my charms for the first time. I had a splendid time, for the first half hour.

On our arrival, the room was almost full of the Ton, but neither Dorothea nor Miranda was in evidence. Thomas appeared and led me out in a country dance, selected according to some private strategy of his. He seems to have worked out a little timetable so we can appear together for the briefest possible time before the greatest possible number of people. Georgina was surrounded by her usual throng of beaux. Even Aunt Charlotte appeared to be having a nice fencing match with some of the mamas, who were inquiring pointedly about the suddenness of my betrothal.

Dorothea and Miranda arrived in a little stir of attention, which grew until the entire room was murmuring like the wind in a grove of trees. When Dorothea was presented to Lady Melbourne, a hush fell upon the room. It lasted only a moment, but for that single moment there was not a sound from the guests and the music seemed loud and just a touch flat. Dorothea glanced shyly about once, then dropped her gaze to the fan she held and kept it there. As one, every man young enough to walk without a stick surged toward her. A great sigh ran through the room, and then the murmuring began again, like the wind rising.

The dances continued, but this time Georgina lacked her beaux, and I was one of the many in the chairs along the wall. A throng of young men surrounded Dorothea, and first among them was that odious man, Thomas.

Miranda stood watching it all with an expression of serene amusement, until she caught sight of me, seated across the room and attempting to look as though I didn’t care two pins for anything. She gave me a graceful little inclination of her head as a nod of recognition and then smiled at me—quite the most unpleasant smile I’ve ever seen in my life.

I spent the remainder of the evening paying no attention whatever to Dorothea and Thomas. (He stood up with her for three waltzes, that monster. And Dorothea would never have consented to a single one, had she not had a childlike faith in me and my ability to rescue her from him.) I was far too concerned with Georgina in any case. She took her sudden fall from grace with great composure, but the gossip that rose in whispers all around her required many brilliant smiles from both of us to deflect.

The next day, I was startled to receive an invitation to tea with Miranda and Dorothea Griscomb. Georgina went with me, on the theory that it would do Georgy’s reputation nothing but good to be seen to be friendly with the beauty who had so recently taken the shine clean out of her. The pair of them hit it off at once, and departed in short order to examine the Griscombs’ collection of India curiosities, leaving Miranda and me alone over the teacups.

“Will you have more bread and butter?” Miranda inquired.

I accepted, though it was rather stale, since the alternatives were marzipan bonbons shaped like little clenched fists and meringues tinted a distinctly peculiar shade of green. I took a cautious sip of tea.

“Your sister is truly lovely,” said Miranda.

I regarded her with suspicion. It seemed most out of character for her to praise anyone, still less a stranger. “Dorothea is as beautiful or more so,” I replied carefully.

“Thomas certainly appeared to think so,” agreed Miranda. “It must be very galling for you to be treated so. Yet perhaps it is wise for you to be used to such behavior from the very start, for I’m sure he’ll be just the same once you’re married.”

“That’s of little importance to me,” I said in as indifferent a tone as I could muster. I took another sip of tea and added, “I hardly think our marriage will last long enough to inconvenience either of us.”

Miranda gave me the full benefit of those cold dark eyes. “Your romance was a whirlwind affair.”

I smiled. It was hardly more than a baring of teeth, but I managed it. “My romance was timed precisely according to my instructions.”

Miranda’s expression did not change but I could sense the focus of her attention as it sharpened. “Instructions?” she purred.

I put my teacup down on my saucer and gave my best snort of exasperation. “Don’t play the innocent with me.”

Miranda’s eyes widened at my words. If she has spent any time at all in Sir Hilary’s company, she could hardly fail to recognize both the snort and the sentiment. Remember how you and Robert chopped your hole in the hedge of the maze? Those were Sir Hilary’s exact words when he questioned me. I flatter myself I even came close to the cadence of his voice.

Miranda’s eyebrows crept up her forehead as she peered at me searchingly. I wanted very badly to take another sip of tea but was afraid that if I tried the cup would rattle in the saucer and betray my nervousness.

At that moment, very fortunately I think, Dorothea and Georgina returned. We took our leave with much affection on Georgina’s and Dorothea’s behalf and much insincerity on Miranda’s part and mine. I think the seed of a suspicion has been planted. I hope it turns out to be suspicion of Sir Hilary and not entirely suspicion of me. If Sir Hilary and Miranda are conspiring to rid themselves of Thomas, surely they wouldn’t let him marry Dorothea and live happily ever after, when with a little resolution they could kill him and gain control of his estates through Dorothea. And if that is so, surely Miranda could believe that I should find the prospect of wealthy widowhood an appealing one. I preferred to try for a light touch in my reference to Sir Hilary. If she questions him, he may admit to a long-standing acquaintance between our families. Is that the sort of suspicion you had in mind?

Despite Schofield’s behavior at Lady Melbourne’s ball, I agreed to drive out with him on Friday. Again, obedient to some schedule of his own, he selected a spot in which the most people would observe us in the briefest period of time, St. James’s Park. We spoke scarcely at all, so industriously were we nodding and smiling at our respective acquaintances, but I knew immediately when he saw Dorothea, for he stiffened beside me like a hunting dog coming on point. She was strolling with Michael Aubrey and Alice Grenville, looking perfectly fetching in a lilac walking dress and pelisse. Really, she reminds me terribly of Georgy, that perfect profile and the elegant line of her throat. It made it worse, in a way, that she did resemble Georgina, for it has happened to me before, that chill sensation when I feel my companion’s attention drawn from me to her. Not that I cared for his attention, mind, only it was disagreeable to have it happen
again.

Schofield pulled up and we chatted, and in a matter of moments, I was walking beside Alice Grenville and Dorothea was up in the carriage. It seemed the most natural thing in the world, and I’m sure no one could have remarked upon it. Only, of course, Michael Aubrey stayed to speak with Dorothea as Alice and I strolled on along the way alone.

I have mentioned, I believe, the Oriental footbridge over the long duck pond. Alice and I were at one center of the bridge, discussing the ducks and swans that paddled nearby, hopeful of crumbs, when Alice spied the Grenville twins strolling past. She greeted them with enthusiasm and walked forward to meet them. George and Andrew met her before she was off the bridge. Andrew and Alice stepped onto the footpath, debating the merits of a visit to Gundier’s. George passed them, intending to join me. Briefly, I was alone at the highest point of the bridge, perhaps seven feet above the surface of the water. At that moment, I felt the structure tremble; then, as the bridge shivered itself into splinters, I fell into the duck pond.

My first thought was “Earthquake!” My second, “I will never be able to wear this bonnet again.” Then I was able to get my feet under me and rise, cascading green water, shocking the ducks, and offending the swans. When I stood, the water only reached my waist, so I was able to clamber out of the pond unassisted.

Judging from the needlelike bits of wood that had once been the footbridge, which now bobbed and floated on the surface of the pond, nothing natural caused the bridge to collapse. It was a sensational event and attracted much attention on every hand. Most of it, however, was directed toward George Grenville, poor man, who managed somehow to fall off the bridge as it went down and break his arm. While he was being attended to, Frederick Hollydean and Mr. Strangle drew up in their landau and insisted I allow them to escort me home. I was wet to the skin, chilled to the bone, and torn between embarrassment and fury (not a sign of the Marquis, of course), but I was otherwise unharmed, so I accepted. I did some damage to the upholstery, since I was covered in mud and streaming with water. I’m afraid neither of them got much sense out of me, though both of them cross-questioned me the entire way home, since all I could do was clutch my reticule to my chest and sniff back silly tears.

Aunt Charlotte was very severe with me, calling for a mustard plaster to be applied to my chest, and explaining to me that if I had not so improperly abandoned my escort for another, this would never have happened. It seemed a good idea to let her work off her rage by allowing her to minister to me, so I submitted to a day of scrubbing and scolding and being tucked up in bed with a stocking around my neck to keep off the cold.

Next morning I was permitted to go down to the blue saloon when Alice called to say that George was going to be fine. We condoled together over the catastrophe and speculated on the probable effect it would have on the ducks. Shortly after her departure, Thomas, Marquis of Schofield, called. I received him in the blue saloon, this time taking pains to seat myself in the chair he had claimed on his earlier visit. I was a little piqued to receive him once again looking less than my best, but at least this time I was decently dressed and groomed, and only the redness of my eyes and nose betrayed the cold I had contracted.

“You’re looking very earnest this morning,” I said when he had accepted a chair across the room from me and stared at me without speaking for a full minute.

“I have come to ask you to cry off, Kate,” he said. His voice was very even but his expression was gloomy.

I regarded him with astonishment. “I thought you needed a fiancée rather urgently.”

“Circumstances are not what I expected they would be,” he said.

I regarded him with gravity equal to his own. “I will release you from your promise on the condition you give me your word that you will not offer for Dorothea,” I said. “You may think only of yourself, but she has given her heart elsewhere and I have promised her she shall not be forced to marry you.”

He sneered slightly. “Do you really think force need enter into it?”

“Let us at least be honest with one another,” I said. “I won’t let you tangle me up with your sardonic remarks. I won’t try to pretend I don’t know what’s really happening. That girl is an innocent tool in Miranda’s hands. You can’t use her against her own Stepmother just to protect yourself. I won’t let you.”

“My dear half-wit, Dorothea Griscomb has nothing to fear from me,” Schofield replied. “If she is innocent, as you say she is, it is Miranda she must battle.”

“Then you promise you won’t offer for her,” I persisted.

“I can’t,” Thomas said. “Please don’t make me put out the rumors myself, Kate. Release me.”

“I won’t,” I told him. “I won’t let Miranda win. If I cry off and let you offer for her, it means the spell on Dorothea is too powerful for you to resist. And if Miranda wins, Thomas, it isn’t just you who loses. Dorothea loses and Robert loses, too—”

I put my head down, only for a moment, only because I had to blow my nose. My eyes were streaming, but it was merely my cold. I looked up when I heard the door close. He was gone.

And now I have sneezed seven times in the past hour and Aunt Charlotte will give me only barley water instead of dinner. At any moment I expect to hear the first rumors that my betrothal is at an end. I only hope that Schofield has the decency to let it seem I was the one to cry off. I will write again when I have better news to report.

Your loving cousin,

Kate

27 May 1817

Rushton Manor, Essex

Dearest Kate,

The Marquis of Schofield is behaving in the most singularly cockle-headed manner imaginable. Perhaps he will realize it when James Tarleton writes to tell him what happened on our ride Thursday, but I place no dependence on it. Anyone who believes that Dorothea could stand up to Miranda must be even more goose-witted than Oliver, and I had not believed that was possible. And what, pray, is to happen to Oliver if Thomas falls into Miranda’s clutches? I cannot think that Miranda would like it known that she had turned Oliver into a beech tree, however inadvertently, and your precious Marquis is the only one who knows where Oliver is. Nor has Thomas considered what the effect on your own reputation will be if you become engaged and then un-engaged in less than a month! There are also poor Dorothea and Robert, to whom he does not appear to have given a thought. He is clearly not even thinking of himself.

For you are quite right, Kate; Miranda is
not
the type to let him live happily ever after with Dorothea (even if one assumes they would be happy, which is clearly absurd). Miranda has some sinister plan for Thomas, and he is so befuddled by her spells that he doesn’t care. Or perhaps she has fooled him into thinking he can handle everything alone. In short, if we wish to see anything sensible done about the situation we will clearly have to do it ourselves.

It is extremely fortunate that men are not allowed to cry off from an engagement. Under no circumstances must you allow Thomas to persuade you to do the crying off! I expect it will be unpleasant, with all the whispering about his attentions to Dorothea, but perhaps you can give the gossips the impression that you are determined to be a marchioness no matter how your future husband behaves. In any case, Thomas has made it quite clear that he will offer for poor Dorothea as soon as he is free to do so, and that cannot be permitted until Robert has had a chance to find Mr. Griscomb and speak with him. The Marquis has obviously been caught by whatever spell Miranda has put on Dorothea to make her so impossibly attractive. (Which just shows you what an unprincipled woman Miranda is. I’m sure she could have done something so that the spell wouldn’t affect men who are married or betrothed, but I’ll wager she never even thought of it. She probably enjoys cutting up everyone’s happiness. Not to mention cutting up other parts of people; given her penchant for poisoning people and turning them into beech trees, I fail to see how she has reached thirty without leaving a trail of bodies behind her.)