A Gentleman's Daughter: Her Choice (13 page)

“Please, do not do this,” Cecilia said, trying to sound calm, though she trembled, now with fear.

His darkening eyes fixed on Mr. Cateret. “He must learn to leave innocent young women alone.”

“Go on, Cecilia,” Mr. Cateret bade her. “We two gentlemen must settle this.” He returned Mr. Thornhill’s wrathful look.

She glanced at Mr. Cateret. Mr. Thornhill grasped her arms. The pressure of his fingers almost seared her with his anger. As he tried to move her aside, she said “no.” Putting her hands on Mr. Thornhill’s chest, she leant herself into him. He softened at her touch, she gazed at him again.

“If you still want me, Mr. Thornhill, I wish you to speak with my father.” Mr. Thornhill studied her face, caressing her arms. Cecilia shivered, though his touch warmed her to her toes.

“Thank you,” he replied in a husky whisper.

“You do not love him, Cecilia. Do not do this,” Mr. Cateret said.

Cecilia responded by pressing herself to Mr. Thornhill, burying her cheek in his broad chest. As she had imagined, his embrace filled her with the heat of a balmy summer day.

“I suggest you leave, sir. You have tried my patience far enough,” Mr. Thornhill said.

“Please, ‘Ret, leave us alone,” Cecilia said, reluctantly turning to him.

Mr. Thornhill stepped back slightly, staring at her.

“I am sorry, bella, but I cannot do that,” Mr. Cateret said, also studying her. “You see, Mr. Thornhill, we are on intimate terms, Cecilia and I. Has she told you she loves you? For she has said so to me, as recently as this morning. I do not know why she is being so intractable, but she does have a spirited temper.” Smiling broadly, Mr. Cateret continued as Cecilia and Mr. Thornhill looked at him, as one stares at a madman, horrified and wary, unsure what his next move will be. “I know you will not lie, dearest. Tell Mr. Thornhill, now, so we can end this.”

“No, you misunderstood--”

“You had better leave, Cateret, before I finish what I started,” Mr. Thornhill said through his clenched jaw. “I can see you are not yourself so I will give you the chance to excuse yourself.”

“Only when she tells the truth.”

“I was in love with you, as well you know. Now will you go?” Cecilia lashed out.

“If you wish. I did this for you. You may be angry now but you’ll see it is for the best. I will see you soon,” Mr. Cateret finished, bowing to her. Cecilia watched him go, trying to compose herself, with little success.

“Miss Wilcox, were his attentions unwelcome, or have you been playing me for a fool?”

“No, yes, please let me explain, sir. You could never be a fool, Mr. Thornhill. It is I who have been a foolish girl. I thought myself in love with him, but I am not.”

“Why does he claim you do? Why does he claim intimacy with you? What liberties have you allowed him?”

“I said I have loved him. I have allowed him nothing, other than my friendship,” Cecilia said, wanting desperately for Mr. Thornhill to believe her. She reached for him, but he stayed her hands.

“I find it unlikely he has not taken what his friend did.”

“He, he did, but I did not invite it.” She tensed as he tightened his grip on her hands, almost to the point of pain, but better to have his touch than not.

“Perhaps you are more inviting than you think.”

“And perhaps you are no better than any other man. Do not believe me so ignorant of what you allow yourselves when you claim to be in love.” She pulled her hands away.

“I had hoped you were and not so I could hide anything. But I can see you are not who I believed you to be.” He was still near, his breath loosened tendrils of her hair.  

“I have not lied to you.”

“Have you not? Why did you come here? You ought have stayed at home.”

“Please, do not be angry with me. I cannot bear it. I only want to go home, please help me,” she said, leaning into him again, his solidity assuring her he would know what to do.

“Have you asked your mother?” he said, moving her from him.

“Yes, she refused. Please, I…” she faltered again, away from his embrace.

Mr. Thornhill held Cecilia once more. She breathed him in, gentleman and something else, something akin to the river, powerful and vigorous, comforting yet frightening.

“Your mother would not object to a visit to Lionel Hall, surely? I will send a messenger to your father asking him to meet us there day after tomorrow. We may leave in the morning.”

“My mother, she will not…” she hesitated, uncertain, since he released her from his strong, warm arms.

“Leave everything to me. Are you well enough to come inside?”

“Yes, thank you,” Cecilia said, pulling on her gloves as Mr. Thornhill did the same.

“All will be as you wish. Shall we?” Mr. Thornhill asked, offering his arm, which Cecilia gladly took.

Chapter Twelve

M
r. Thornhill sought out Mrs. Higham and Mrs. Wilcox directly, asking them to join him and Cecilia in his uncle’s study for a private word. When he made known his proposal to Cecilia, they smiled like a grasping woman given a diamond necklace, though this soon turned to annoyance as he told them his plans and his demand all should remain private.

“I wish you to see Lionel Hall, of course, but do you not agree I ought speak to Mr. Wilcox without delay?” he said to Mrs. Wilcox’s initial refusal of his invitation.

“Then I shall send for him,” Mrs. Wilcox replied.

“My business in London is finished. I leave tomorrow. If you do not wish to join me, very well. However, I believe matters will only be delayed, as will he not want Miss Wilcox present when I speak with him?”

“Of course, sir,” Mrs. Higham put in. “You are most gracious to invite us and I am sure we are all honored by your proposal to my niece.”

“Yes, we are happy to join you, Mr. Thornhill,” Mrs. Wilcox finally said, scrutinizing her daughter. He did not want to leave Cecilia to the care of her mother alone. “I will write Mr. Wilcox directly.”

“If you wish. However, I have already arranged to send him word to meet us.” He almost chuckled at Mrs. Wilcox’s reddish pall, so like the angry puppets in the plays he had watched as a boy. Cecilia also stifled a smile. Heat sizzled in him. “Perhaps I may escort you home? If we are to make an early start on the morrow, we ought retire shortly.” Better if Cecilia retired with him. He tugged at his gloves.

“Yes,” Mrs. Higham said. “And I must arrange for my daughter to go to her aunt Higham. Would you be so kind as to see Miss Wilcox across the park? We shall follow shortly.”

“I am honored to be of service,” he said, taking Cecilia’s arm in his. Her touch alone threatened to undo him. He escorted her around the drawing room, so she might say her farewells, and walked her out into the frosty summer night.

“This weather is certainly odd, is it not?” he said as they ambled across the park. He had so much more he needed to speak with her about, but he could only say the mundane. Anything else and he would surely imperil them both. Cecilia nodded, gazing about her. She was so lovely and he could hardly think with her arm, soft and supple, linked in his. He tightened his hold on her. “I fear there will be little harvest this year. Already my tenants suffer, though not so much as others I have seen.”

“I am sure you must take prodigious care of them, sir. Anyone would be grateful for your protection and care.”

“Thank you,” he said, hoping she meant herself. “Have I been overly presumptuous in my plans?”

“I am most grateful, sir. You have done all you said. You are a man of your word.”

He studied their arms, twined together. What had he done? He had to find Gregory now or all would be lost. “It will be best if I ride ahead tomorrow, to see to everything. I will call on you before I leave in the morning,” he said as they went up the steps of Mrs. Higham’s home.

“Thank you,” she replied as they entered. He wished her goodnight. She paused a moment, her lips slightly parted. The manservant cleared his throat. Mr. Thornhill bowed. The door clicked shut behind him. He missed her already.

Cecilia lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling. Her throat choked and her ears thrummed with the effort of holding in her tears. All she wanted was for Mr. Thornhill to kiss her, to take her away with him, away from the scolds and scrutiny of her mother, away from the pain she caused ‘Ret, away from any thoughts, thoughts of how she had been mistaken in her feelings about ‘Ret, and might be repeating her mistake with Mr. Thornhill. But he was not like ‘Ret. Mr. Thornhill was a gentleman—he would never use her, nor any woman, ill.

She turned and hit her pillow. Never had she been so befuddled and delicate and she did not care for it one whit. She thought of Mr. Thornhill and how good he was to her, how he had looked at her. When she was near him, she felt utterly unsettled yet reassured by his commanding, attractive presence and tender look. With Mr. Cateret, she had felt as if they were poised on a precipice, ready to leap into possible danger or adventure; Mr. Thornhill, however, stood firmly, as if in a river’s valley, able to see and protect her from harm.

She padded to the window, hoping a glimpse of the trees and clear night sky would ease her mind. Her attention was drawn instead by ‘Ret, who watched her window. Devastated he would take such an action, she put her hand to the glass and stared down at him. The pane felt as chill as she, more so when he raised his hand to her. Quickly, she drew the curtains and blew out the candles which had illuminated the room. She sat on the bed, crying quietly; she went to look out again, for she could not sleep unless she knew he was gone. Indeed he was, or at least she did not see him. Cecilia’s turmoil deepened and she restlessly lay in the bed, hoping sleep would claim her.

When she entered the drawing room the next morning, feeling as wan as her pale face appeared in the mirror, she was greeted by her mother and aunt. Mrs. Wilcox scolded and admonished, while Mrs. Higham questioned and pleaded; none of their tactics were effective in discovering what they believed Cecilia must be hiding. Apparently they thought her insincere in her acceptance of Mr. Thornhill and planning to decamp with Mr. Cateret.

“I am sorry my behavior has displeased you. You can do nothing, however, now I have Mr. Thornhill’s protection, as well as that of Papa and Wil,” Cecilia said finally, with a glint in her eyes.

“You little viper! That you should live while your sisters died! You will return to your room. Your very presence is abominable.” It was not the first time her mother had spewed such venomous words upon her. As before, Cecilia wished for love to shield her from her mother, a husband who would respect and love her, give her a home away from her mother.

As Cecilia rose to leave, the door opened to admit Mr. Thornhill.
He has come
. She yearned to run over and kiss him in gratitude, but instead clasped her hands, her cheeks aflame. Once they had all greeted each other, Mr. Thornhill spoke.

“Mrs. Wilcox, I believe you are too severe on your daughter.”

Cecilia dug her fingers into her palm. His defense of her at once made her smile and sicken with the thought of the scold she would later endure because of it.

“What I say to my daughter in private is no concern of yours, sir. You are not engaged yet.”

“I assume, then, you will not allow me the liberty of speaking to her alone?”

“If you wish. At least you may be trusted, I suppose, unlike--”

“Yes, you may use the study, Mr. Thornhill. You will find it downstairs across from the dining room. Sister, we ought to finish preparing for our journey,” Mrs. Higham cut in.

Mr. Thornhill led Cecilia to the study, shutting the door behind them. She blinked back her tears, mortified he had heard her mother’s words and by how rude she had been to him.

“I am sorry to have caused so much unpleasantness for everyone,” Cecilia said.

“I do not believe anyone holds you responsible.” For a man who had just been so gallant, his tight voice and rigid posture seemed odd.

“My mother does, I am sure and in this perhaps I agree with her.”

The study, cold and unused, smelled slightly musty, like moldering books and dank ashes.

“You are too severe upon yourself. Your mother seems more offended with myself than you at the moment. I suppose I ought not have rebuked her, but I cannot like her harsh words to you. I hope she will not remain vexed with me, as that would make things unpleasant at Lionel Hall.”

“Oh, she will not stay angry with you, as her irritation will no doubt be outweighed by her feeling that I am in need of a husband such as yourself who will, she hopes, make me behave,” Cecilia said, mimicking her mother’s tones. “I am sorry. I should not speak of her so.”

“No, you should not,” replied Mr. Thornhill. He smiled and Cecilia’s shoulders relaxed. “But we are alone and she ought not rebuke you as she did. Does your father hear her speak to you so?”

“Not quite so harshly, but yes, he has heard her scolds, as have others. My father, brother, and our friends are usually able to stop her before she goes on too long. I may say I have never been so happy to see anyone as I was you then,” Cecilia said. She brushed her shoe along the carpet and gazed at him.

“I am honored to be of service,” he replied with a smile which attractively crinkled the corners of his eyes. 

“Thank you,” Cecilia said intently, for she was nearly overwhelmed with gratitude for how good he was to her. “I hope you will allow me to tell you also how I appreciate your forgiveness for all my foolish behavior.”

“Let us be done with it,” he said, his eyes roving the room.

Cecilia’s stomach dropped. The angry undertow in his tone chilled her. “I will be glad to leave the city. I do not feel I have been myself here.” 

“I understand. I too look forward to returning to the country. I hope you will feel at home in Lionel Hall,” Mr. Thornhill said, studying Cecilia. His eyes were so penetrating yet inscrutable, Cecilia was unsettled. It disturbed her that he could seem to read her so easily when he remained a mystery to her.

“I hope my visit will help me to discover more about yourself and your family. I feel as if I do not know you as well as I should like.”

“I wish to know you better, too,” Mr. Thornhill said, reaching for her before clasping his hands behind his back. They were as good as engaged, surely he could hold her as he had. “We could discover all we wish to when we marry. Do you believe your father will consider my proposal?”

“I do not know. I suppose, though he may not like it that we have only just met.”

“And there is a certain gentleman you have known much longer,” he replied bitterly, turning from her.

“I cannot help that, as well you know.” He did not forgive her, clearly.

“You can help your feelings for him, if only...” he stopped, studying her again. They were silent a few moments until Cecilia spoke.

“I will not deny I shall always care for him, I do not wish to pain him. If you cannot accept that, perhaps you wish to take back your proposal?” Her throat tightened. She truly had been a foolish girl, thinking what she felt for ‘Ret was love…

“No, though if you would be happier if I did so, I will. I do not like any of this. Is it so wrong for me to want your affections to be mine alone?”

“Of course not,” she said with a sigh. She glanced at her hands, twisting her handkerchief.

“I shall go. Until tonight. I wish you a safe journey,” he said with a bow.

Cecilia curtsied, but he was already gone. She hurried to her room before her mother could waylay her.

Tapping her finger on the dressing table top, Cecilia sat wondering what Mr. Thornhill would do. He was inscrutable and changeable. Sometimes he seemed understanding and other times he appeared to disapprove of her. Also, perhaps he did not see her as clearly as she had believed, for he did indicate a passion for her which, while it might cloud his judgment now, would someday cool, perhaps leaving him regretful of his choice. Her heart quailed at such a thought but she knew from her own experience with Mr. Cateret that once the shine of new love wore off, one might find the object of desire had also lost its sheen and was unsuitable.

It would serve her right if Mr. Thornhill decided she was not the wife for him. This was, after all, what she had done to ‘Ret. There would be a perverse justice in it, Cecilia thought. When she examined her situation coolly, she felt very little sympathy for herself, for she had been melancholish and moonish, not at all what she expected from herself. Yet the thought of losing Mr. Thornhill sent her into such a paroxysm of despair that her objectivity was obliterated and she set to weeping. Eventually, she reprimanded herself, and began to recite all the poems she could remember, in hopes of stopping her tears. Even if she could not lift her spirits, she had no wish to appear red eyed and pale faced, especially not before Mr. Thornhill.

Only Mrs. Wilcox and Mrs. Higham saw her, however, and even they assented when she claimed a need to rest as they rattled along in the carriage. Her pale countenance and continuing low spirits were enough to make her mother and aunt approve of this, as they wanted her to be at her best.

After a brief stop for some refreshment, the three women again sat in the carriage. Cecilia looked out at the dark sky, sighing at the unseasonable weather. But her spirits rallied for they moved into Berkshire, her beloved county.

“Thinking of Mr. Cateret again? Now I know why you were so melancholy on our journey to London,” Mrs. Wilcox said.

“I do not like long carriage rides.”

“Why will you not answer my questions?”

“As you know everything already, why should I trouble myself?”

“I know that if you do not marry soon, I shall have you out of my house in any event. Surely your brother will take you, or perhaps one of your uncles.”

“Papa will sooner have you out.”

“Niece, you do not know of what you speak,” Mrs. Higham said, patting her sister’s hand. “Your parents made a love match, do not forget. Besides, unlike you, your father wishes his friends and neighbors to have a good opinion of him. No gossip would come from sending a grown daughter to her brother or uncle for a time, not so for a wife.”