Cousin Cecilia (20 page)

The change was reflected in the feverish glitter of her eyes, and the warm flush of her cheeks as she entered the Elgin mansion. Her first object was to discover whether Wickham was there. Her eyes scouted the entrance hall in vain. Perhaps he was in the music room already. She would nip in while Mama spoke to Lady Elgin. If Wickham sat alone, she would sit beside him to exchange a few words. "What a surprise to see you here, Lord Wickham! I had no idea you were interested in singing."

The words were never spoken. Wickham was not there, nor did he come during the extremely aggravating hour of Italian caterwauling. For sixty minutes she sat forlornly, imagining him out waltzing with the beautiful Lady Gloria, perhaps even this instant making his offer. By the intermission, her head ached wretchedly, but she forced a smile and went out with her mother for a glass of wine. Every fiber of her being was on thorns to escape, to dart off to a more interesting party where she might run across Wickham. She could not ask Mrs. Sommers to oblige her, so she glanced around the throng for someone else who might be planning to skip the second half of the concert.

Her eyes peeled over all the caps and gray and bald heads in the refreshment parlor. A younger man or couple was what she required. Her eyes were drawn by a sandy-haired gentleman just slipping unobtrusively from the crowd. It was Mr. Larraby. He was an old friend, no real lover of music but a connection of Lord Elgin who had come to flatter him into writing an article for his journal.

"Mr. Larraby," she smiled. "I see you drifting toward the door. Is it possible I am in luck, and you are about to shab off from this dull do?"

"You've caught me dead to rights," he admitted, "but no need to announce it. I have made an appearance. That's enough to establish my good intentions. I am off to livelier dissipations. Can I give you a lift home?"

Home was no good. Although no longer a deb, Cecilia was not yet ancient enough to attend the balls alone. "Where are you going?" she asked.

"I promised the Millars I would look in on their party."

This would be an unexceptionable do, and if Wickham was not there, she could latch on to another party and continue her hunt with other friends. "Would you mind taking me with you?"

"I would be honored!" he answered readily.

"I'll just tell Mama and get my pelisse."

Within two minutes she rejoined him in the hallway. The crowd was just beginning to return to the music room, and they hastened to the front door to escape unnoticed. The butler was already at the door, drawing it open. As Cecilia stepped out, Lord Wickham was just entering.

"Cecilia!" he exclaimed. Shock at seeing her made him forget the new formality between them, and he addressed her in person as he did in his thoughts. For a brief moment their eyes met, before darting away. The look, though brief, was extremely conscious. He looked as if he had been caught out in some petty crime, and she feared she looked the same way, for it was exactly how she felt.

"Not leaving so soon!" he said. He glanced at Mr. Larraby, holding on to her elbow, and noticed the change of escort. That was a good omen at least. It seemed she was not completely in Pincombe's pocket.

Cecilia had to swallow all her chagrin. Frustration lent an angry tinge to her voice. "As you see, but if you hurry, you can catch the last half of the concert."

Caught off guard, Wickham stuttered and stammered, trying to discover where she was going and to extricate himself from the boring concert. He had only come in desperation as he could not find her anywhere else. "I am not really that fond of Italian singers. I came from a sense of obligation to Elgin."

"We are all in the same boat," Mr. Larraby laughed. "I am here to twist Elgin's arm to do me a favor, and Miss Cummings—why to tell the truth, I cannot imagine why you are here, ma'am." He looked a question at her.

Cecilia found both gentlemen waiting for her answer. She cared very little what Mr. Larraby might think; her concern was all for Wickham, and it was at him that she looked. In a flash it occurred to her that Mr. Larraby had just revealed that he was not really her partner, or he would know why she was here. It was as good as telling Wickham that she was chasing him. In a bustle of confusion she said, "I was obliged to accompany Mama, but my duty is done now, and I am off to meet Sir Nigel at Millars." She looked to see if Wickham had any thought of accompanying them. His penetrating stare told her nothing.

"I highly recommend it," he said. "I have just come from there. A very lively party."

"I wonder that you chose to leave it so early," she said. It struck an echo from the past. She had said something similar to him in Laycombe.

"It is more a matter of duty than choice. I promised Lady Elgin I would drop in."

"Then you'd best hurry, Lord Wickham. The audience is rushing for the seats now. Nice meeting you again."

Wickham could find no excuse to linger. He bowed and passed on into the house as Cecilia and her escort left. Mr. Larraby found her a very indifferent companion that evening. She hardly said a word as the carriage took them to Millars. Once she said, "I believe I shall just go home, after all, Mr. Larraby, if you don't—" Then she stopped. But Wickham might return to Millars. The rout would last longer than the concert. "No, Hanover Square is out of your way."

"I don't mind the detour, if you would like to go home," he said promptly.

"No, no. We shall go to Millars." Very likely Nigel would be there.

Lady Elgin saw Wickham entering and had a word with him. He slipped into the back row as the audience was already seated. His mood was not so obvious as Cecilia's. His look of concentration as he sat in the music room, ears deaf to the racket, might be mistaken for appreciation of the performers. He sat through two numbers, during which he discreetly drew out his watch three times.

At the end of the second selection it was eleven-thirty, and he felt as if he had been locked up for an eternity. She was at Millars. It almost seemed she had made a point of telling him where she was going, though he disliked that mention of Pincombe. He had told her this was only a duty call. She would not be surprised if he returned to the rout. He rose and slipped quietly out of the room.

Within twenty minutes he was back at Millars's rout, searching the hall for Cecilia. She was performing a country dance with Pincombe. She had arranged to meet him here then. His heart was heavy as he watched her from an inconspicuous corner, admiring her trim figure, deeply resenting the black arm around her slender waist. He did not notice that she wore the same gown she had worn at Laycombe. His attention was more closely riveted on her face. How lively and vivacious it was. Five minutes before it had been a perfect mask, but she had seen him and was now not only vivacious, but in a panic of pleasurable alarm.

As the dance ended. Lady Gloria spotted Wickham and came forward to welcome him. "I thought you had left, Wickham!"

He bowed politely and tried to look happy to see her. "I had a duty call to make at Elgins." She looked as if some further explanation was necessary and he added, "I could not like to drag you away from the ball for such a dull do."

"I have the next dance free," she said hopefully.

"That is fortune rewarding me for having done my duty. May I have the pleasure, Lady Gloria?"

Indeed he may. It was a set of waltzes, and while he waltzed with Lady Gloria, his eyes sought out Cecilia. She was standing up with Pincombe again. Two sets in a row looked as if they were serious, perhaps even betrothed. Miss Cummings was too polished not to realize the significance of honoring one partner so strongly. He felt his suit was hopeless. He wouldn't accost her. Yet when the music ended, they stood close together, either by chance or by planned arrangement on someone's part.

Pincombe made the first move. "I see you returned, Lord Wickham."

"Yes," he said, and felt embarrassed, lest Cecilia suspected his reason. Pride disdained admitting he was in love with her unless the emotion was returned. "I had to leave briefly, but hurried back." A smile in Lady Gloria's direction hinted she was the reason for it.

Cecilia felt a lava rush of jealousy and spoke without thinking. "Ah we understand how it is, do we not, Nigel?" Her stormy gray eyes turned lovingly to her cousin.

Wickham's reaction was more violent than she expected. He gave a jolt and exclaimed, "Are you engaged then?"

Nigel looked to her for a reply, and in the
gêne
of the moment, they both emitted a nervous laugh.

"Oh you are!" Lady Gloria exclaimed. "How wonderful. I always felt you two suited so very well. Congratulations, Sir Nigel. And Miss Cummings, you sly boots. Not a word of this did you mention this morning."

"We were not engaged this morning! That is—we are not exactly—"

Nigel saw her floundering and leapt to her rescue. "We haven't announced it yet. Mum's the word. Till our parents know what we are about..."

"Of course," Lady Gloria smiled forgivingly. "I shan't say a word, but I want to wish you both happy."

"Thank you," Cecilia said, and grabbed Nigel's arm to escape at top speed. "Why did you say that?" she demanded, the moment they reached the door.

"I had to say something. You were gasping like a fish out of water. Good God, what are we to do now? There is no counting on Lady Gloria's discretion."

"She said she wouldn't tell."

"I'm pretty sure Lady Jersey overheard, and if Lady Gloria doesn't tell the world, you may be sure Silence Jersey will."

"Oh dear, what can we do?"

Sir Nigel pulled at his earlobe and said, "I expect we'll just have to get married."

Chapter Sixteen

Lady Gloria Kirkwell came within ame's ace of receiving an offer of marriage from Lord Wickham. If she had accepted his stilted offer of a drive home with him, delivered before the next set of dances began, she would have had it that very evening while his temper was at its peak. His expression looked so far from romantical that she decided he had a megrim and saw no reason why she should cut short the ball, only to oblige him. She had half a dozen other beaux in her eye as well as Wickham. So Wickham went to Brooke's Club instead, to vent his ill humor on a game of faro. In a pitch black mood, he almost wanted to lose his fortune.

Cecilia's evening ended a little less foolishly. She had Nigel drive her home directly and made him go into the house with her to discuss their situation. "Do you think he loves her, Nigel?" she asked, when they were ensconced on the sofa with a glass of wine.

Sir Nigel considered it a moment. "I shouldn't think so. He leapt like a shot rabbit when he asked if you were engaged. Why would he do that if he was in love with Lady Gloria?"

"That is my own feeling," she confessed. "I think he loves me and doesn't know it. I cannot like to see him—and Gloria—marry under such inauspicious circumstances." She gave her cousin an uncertain look. "I daresay he would not like to see me make a bad match either."

"Yes, it's a pity I'm such an unexceptionable gentleman," Nigel grinned. "If I was a rake or fortune hunter or serious toper, I daresay he would dislike our match as much as you dislike his."

"I expect he might even do something to hamper it," she said, glinting a meaningful look at him.

Nigel suspected that look. He had seen it before when Cecilia made him lend her a set of trousers and man's jacket to sneak into the cockfighting barn in disguise. He had seen it when she made him give her an alibi while she went to the Pantheon masquerade. He had seen it dozens of times, and it always spelled trouble for him. "No!" he exclaimed, on general principle.

"You haven't even heard my idea yet!"

"The answer is still no."

She sat down, let her head droop wearily on her chest and drew a deep sigh. "Very well, Nigel. I cannot expect you to put yourself out when it is only my life's happiness that is at stake," she said, with suspicious docility. "What is that to you? I daresay I would be equally disobliging were the situation reversed. I did not mind telling your papa it was my idea when you borrowed his hunter to race Teale, but of course that was years ago, when we were young. It is true I have done you a few favors since then," she added, hitting him with an accusing eye, "but I do not blame you for abandoning me now."

He knew he would help her in the end, and said, "Cut line, Cecilia. I know I owe you a few favors. What is it you have in mind?"

She glanced up at him uncertainly. "I only want to give Wickham the notion that you are—unsteady in character."

"Oh lord! I suppose it is to be bruited about town that my pockets are to let."

"No, I shouldn't think that would do it. He knows I have thirty thousand. It must be something serious."

"Good God! My blood runs cold to think what you have in mind if being a wastrel is not serious."

"It is not so very bad after all."

"No, nothing at all. I am only to be a monster of some sort of dissipation. What is it to be—drink, women, cheating at cards?"

All these had occurred to her, only to be discarded. "No indeed, I could not like to blacken your character. I want you to become a monster of rectitude. You must hint to Wickham that once we are shackled, you mean to bounce me off to the country, to raise your children and hold house while you continue racketing about town. I expect it is more or less what he had in mind himself," she added, with an angry twitch of her shawl.

"Then he will not see much amiss in it, will he?"

She gave a sly smile. "Oh I think he will. He realizes now that such a life would not suit me. And I think—I do hope I am not wrong—that he loves me. That must make a difference, Nigel."

Nigel was not perfectly satisfied with this plan, but as it was so much less horrendous than he feared, he was willing to go along with it. None of his friends would believe such a taradiddle, so the story could not do him any irreparable harm if it got loose. "When am I to display myself to Wickham in this draconian character?"

"The sooner, the better."

Sir Nigel rose and said, "Why waste a moment? I expect he is at Brooke's by now, waiting to fleece me of what few shekels I have left. Brooke's is where he goes to drown his sorrows."