A Matter of Honor (27 page)

The tears overflowed then and she allowed them to course down her cheeks unheeded. She must see that Cecilie was soon married, even though it meant Denby’s marriage to Lady Alicia. She must get out of this house and away from him. Once she opened her school there should be little chance of running into him again. She was not likely to be visiting in any of the
ton’s
usual haunts. And it seemed the only way to cure this terrible ache in her heart, or at least to make it somewhat bearable, was to get away from him. If she did not have to see him, she might in time manage to forget the feel of his arms and the wild warm ecstasy of his kisses. Perhaps eventually she could achieve some degree of contentment. That was all she could hope for now. A reasonably contented life as a spinster schoolmarm
.

Finally sleep overcame her, but it was not a restful sleep
,
haunted as it was by dreams of Denby
.
It was several hours later when a brisk tapping on her door aroused her. It took a moment for her to regain her senses. Then she called, “Yes? Who is it?”

The door opened. “It’s me, miss,” said Millie. “Bates sent me up to get you. His lordship is just in and it seems he wants to have a word with you. In the library.”

Aggie sat up rather groggily
.
“Please tell his lordship I have been lying down. I will be there shortly.”

“Yes, miss.”

As the door closed behind the maid, Aggie forced herself from the bed. She did not want to see Denby. She would have given a great deal at that moment to be able to run away, but no such opportunity was available to her.

She splashed cold water on her face and patted down a few stray wisps of hair. Then, before her fear could immobilize her, she made herself go downstairs. Nothing would be gained by avoiding this moment. She knew that and yet...

Her knees were trembling long before she reached the library door and she did not pause before she entered. She got halfway across the room before her legs threatened to fail her. “Milord, you asked for me?” His back was to her and she noted absently that he was wearing a new coat, perfectly tailored. And then he turned to her and she had to f
i
ght the waves of longing that threatened to overwhelm her.

“Yes.” His tone was formal, his eyes guarded. “My mother seemed to feel that you wished to discuss Cecilie
.”
His eyes watched her closely.

“I-I do.”

He gestured toward a chair and she sank into it gratefully. He pulled up another and straddled it. “Well?”

“I - I do not understand your attitude toward Viscount Heatherton
,”
she began. “He seems to me to be very suitable. And Cecilie is quite taken with him. Why do you dislike him so much?”

“I have my reasons,” he said quietly, his eyes never leaving her face.

She waited for him to go on, but he remained silent. “You must understand, milord,” she said then. “This is much more serious than Lord Gale. The Viscount has a very real hold on Cecilie’s affections.”

“So my mother informs me,” he replied calmly.

“But if you f
i
nd him unsuitable, you should not allow Cecilie to see him,” Aggie cried.

The Earl frowned. “I have told you. Heatherton’s mama and mine are bosom-bows. I cannot forbid him the house.”

“But your duty to Cecilie?”

“I have informed Cecilie as to my feelings on the matter,” said his lordship dryly.

Aggie began to feel that everyone was going mad. “I told you that your stubbornness would drive her into a man’s arms.”

“So you did,” he agreed.

Suddenly Aggie wanted to scream. For the moment she forget her feelings about herself. “Why must you be so - so
-”

“Stupid?” he volunteered dryly.

“Yes!” Her temper was flaring now and she did not care. “You are ruining her life. Gretna Green is not unknown to her.” She glared at him. “If you deny Heatherton’s suit, she may well elect to run off with him.”

“And you will assist in her packing?” he inquired, still in that strangely formal tone.

“Of course not!” she blazed. “I could not, in good conscience, do such a thing. But you must understand. Cecilie is wild about this man. And you have advanced no legitimate reasons against him.”

“I need not do so,” he said calmly. “I simply cannot abide him.”

“But -” Aggie felt that they were talking in circles. There was something here she did not comprehend.

The Earl consulted his timepiece. “I’m sorry
.
Miss Trimble
,
but my time is limited. I must dress for dinner now. A pressing engagement. I’m sure you understand.”

Aggie forced herself to nod. She was suddenly unable to speak, for the knowledge came to her quite clearly that the Earl’s pressing engagement was with Lady Alicia
and the thought f
i
lled her with despair.

Dumbly she rose and made her way toward the door. “Do not worry about Cecilie, Aggie. I am conf
i
dent we will get her well settled.” There was something strange about the tone of his voice, but her eyes were full of tears and she dared not turn to look at him for fear they would betray her.

Blindly she turned down the corridor toward the courtyard. She must have a chance to think. There was something quite extraordinary in Denby’s behavior. It was certainly clear that he remembered her words concerning how opposition affected Cecilie. Quite clear that he knew that his opposition would drive her
toward
a man rather than
away
from him. And still he behaved as he did, by his actions causing her to be even more enamored of young Heatherton
.

Aggie stopped dead in her tracks. Was that his intent? Was he taking the advice she had given him? But if he were - Then he
expected
Cecilie to elope. Aggie shook her throbbing head. If he had such a plan, why hadn’t he told her about it?

She sank down on the stone bench among the roses, absently inhaling their rich fragrance. Had Denby and his mother concocted this plot? With Heatherton’s connivance? All the facts seemed to indicate so: the Earl’s strange, almost unreal, stiffness with Heatherton; Lady Denby’s encouragement of Cecilie
’s
affections; the Earl’s opposition which yet left the way clear for the Viscount; and even, Aggie realized suddenly, that f
i
rst meeting at Vauxhall
Gardens, which she could now see had almost certainly been arranged. They wanted Cecilie to elope! That must be it; it explained so much.

But why hadn’t they enlisted her help? She could not tell. At any rate
,
she told herself, it seemed clear to her now. She must think about what to do. Absently she picked a pink rose and held it to her nostrils. As she inhaled its sweet fragrance, a terrible sadness stole over her. Cecilie’s love for Heatherton
was sweet and innocent, as her love for Denby had been.

Sitting there in the sunshine, Aggie knew that Cecilie was right in her devotion to Heatherton. In the same situation, if Denby had asked her, she would have run off with him. And then the tears escaped the control Aggie had imposed on them and rolled down her cheeks, falling unheeded upon the rose. She had lost her chance at happiness, but Cecilie should not. If it was Denby’s plan that the two elope, she would make the way clear for them.

Chapter Eighteen

And so the next day when Heatherton came to call, Aggie had made her decision. The Viscount gave her his usual cheerful greeting and sat down to admire Cecilie’s needlepoint. “I am only just learning to do it,” said Cecilie truthfully. “Aggie’s is much better.”

“You will learn,” said the Viscount with a smile. “It’s the wanting to learn that counts.”

“Yes, milord,” said Cecilie with a smile of pleasure. “I want to learn everything I need to know to make you a perfect wife.”

Heatherton reached out to take her hand in his. “None of us is perfect, my dear. I love you as you are.”

Aggie attended diligently to her needlework, pretending that she heard nothing of what they were saying.

“I must speak to Denby about you,” Heatherton said.

Cecilie sighed. “Aggie says it will do no good. He says he cannot abide you. How
can
that be?” she asked in genuine bewilderment. “You are the most wonderful man I have ever seen.”

The Viscount chuckled. “Cecilie, my dear. you are love-bitten.”

“Yes
,
I know,” she replied with a little laugh. Then her tone sobered. “But I am afraid of Denby. He is so - so hard.”

Heatherton’s voice dropped. “I told you. Don’t worry about him. I know what to do.”

It was at this point that Aggie yelled “ouch!” causing both the young people to glance up in surprise. “I’m afraid I have stabbed my f
i
nger rather badly.”

“Oh, Aggie, how dreadful! Do let me see.”

Aggie shook her head. “No, no, dear. You stay here with your guest. I will just go out and ask Millie for a little piece of cloth to wrap it in. I should not like to stain my needlepoint.”

“Oh!” Cecilie seemed suddenly to have realized something. “Yes, Aggie. That does seem the best thing to do.”

So Aggie, her heart pounding, left Cecilie with her visitor. She was sure she was no more than a few paces down the hall before Cecilie was receiving her first kiss. Aggie found that her own hands were trembling. Was she doing the right thing leaving the two of them alone? She really felt she could trust Cecilie with Heatherton
.
But what if she could not? The thought seemed to add wings to her feet as she sped toward the kitchen. Without something on her finger she could not go back, especially as there was no sign of a needle hole anywhere in it.

It was only a few minutes later that she returned to the drawing room. Cecilie and Lord Heatherton still sat as she had left them, but a faint flush on Cecilie’s cheeks and an extra brightness to her eyes told Aggie that her little stratagem had been successful. Cecilie no longer had to speculate as to the nature of her suitor’s kisses; she had experienced at least one.

“Is your f
i
nger all right?” asked
Cecilie
as Aggie reentered the room.

Aggie nodded. “Yes.” She lifted it to show them. “Millie helped me find a strip of cloth. And it will soon heal.”

With these amenities observed, Aggie returned to her needlework and Cecilie and Heatherton to their conversation. The Viscount never overstayed himself and so in due course he rose to go, bowing low over Aggie’s hand and saying gravely, “I hope your finger will soon heal.”

And Aggie replied with equal gravity, “I’m sure it will not take long.”

When Cecilie returned from walking the Viscount to the door, she was wearing a radiant smile. “I’m very sorry about your finger, Aggie.”

Aggie nodded. “It was nothing, dear
.
Such things happen.”

“Yes, I suppose they do,” agreed Cecilie, reaching for her needlework. She stitched in silence for some moments. Then she looked up with the merest of smiles. “Aggie?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Do you suppose that a kiss could be both?”

“Both what?” asked Aggie, carefully keeping her eyes on her work.

“Both f
i
reworks
and
coming home,” said Cecilie softly.

Again Aggie could feel the treacherous tears rising. If only she had not lost Denby
.
If only she could feel his arms around her once more. Some seconds passed before she could master her emotions enough to speak. “Yes, Cecilie,” she said f
i
nally. “Sometimes it’s like that. Both at once.”

Cecilie nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

* * * *

No more was said of kisses that day
,
or later. But whenever Lord Heatherton called, Aggie contrived in one way or another to leave them to themselves for a few minutes.

And then one day it happened. Aggie had known it would, but still it was a shock. She woke early to f
i
nd Cecilie’s bed empty. A note pinned to the pillow said simply,

We’ve run off. Dillydums
,
too.

For long moments Aggie stood staring down at the note. Her heart was pounding in her throat and her mouth was suddenly dry. They had done it. As she had known they would. Done it without Heatherton even approaching Denby. Aggie had to admire the plan. For if the Viscount had approached Denby and been refused, he could certainly not have called again and there would have been no opportunity to arrange the elopement.

She was turning from the room, wondering how long she should wait before informing his lordship what she had discovered, when her foot kicked a piece of crumpled paper on the floor. Absently Aggie picked it up and smoothed it out. Then her heart rose up in her throat and she almost cried out in her alarm. Dear God! This was a letter from Lord Gale! An effusive letter full of flowery compliments and begging Cecilie to run off with him.

Aggie’s fingers trembled so that the paper almost fell from them. No! Cecilie could not have gone with Gale. And yet - she could not risk it. Cecilie was so young and so easily swayed by compliments.

On trembling legs Aggie hurried to seek out his lordship. She found him still in the breakfast room. “Milord!” she cried. “Cecilie has run off.” She was too distraught to notice the expression on his face, though later she was to wish she had. “At f
i
rst I thought it was with the Viscount, but it may be with Lord Gale!”

“What!” His face darkened and his brows began to draw together in that line she dreaded, while the gray of his eyes turned stormy.

Silently she passed him the letter. He scanned it quickly, then bellowed, “Bates! Order my horse. And get my pistols.”

“Yes,
milord.”

“Pistols!” Aggie grasped the back of a chair for support.

“If it’s Gale,” he said, “I may need them.” He looked down at her
,
his eyes clouded. “Go to my mother and wait. She’ll be up. And don’t worry.”

Then he was gone and all the words f
i
lling her heart were left unsaid. A shudder raced over her. If Cecilie
had
gone with Gale, and if Denby didn’t catch them in time, Cecilie’s
life would be miserable. And it would be Aggie’s fault.