A Gentleman's Daughter: Her Choice (2 page)

“Indeed, Mrs. Wilcox, I was on my way there when I met Wil in town. He invited me to stay, if you are so good as to extend your hospitality.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Wilcox replied, arching her brow as she gave Wil a quelling look. Mr. Wilcox, seeing his wife’s mood, engaged her attention as they walked up the front steps into the house, leaving Wil and Mr. Cateret to escort Cecilia. They each offered her an arm, as they used to when Cecilia was a young girl. She smiled and lightened her step in this small gesture, as she always had, surrounded by her beloved brother and her favorite of his friends. Now it was accompanied by the thrill of being close to Mr. Cateret, who had occupied her thoughts so often.

“Cecilia is quite changed from last you saw her, eh ‘Ret? She is near as tall as myself and she doesn’t giggle as she used,” Wil said. They passed through the wide paneled door, the fanlight above it casting patterns on the polished wood floors.

“Yes, she is changed,” he said with a bitter frown, as Wil excused himself to find the housekeeper about Mr. Cateret’s room.

Wil had not noticed Mr. Cateret’s study of Cecilia, but she had. Her elation at his look of regard was tempered by his cold reply to Wil and unhappy countenance. Perhaps she mistook things. She wanted his approval so much she did not trust herself to recognize it.

“Are you happy to go to London?” he asked.

“I am happy to visit my cousins, yes.” She glanced down the hall, relieved only the chairs and pictures lining the walls witnessed their exchange.

“Are you and Miss Amelia still bosom friends? Has she made a bluestocking of you?”

“Amelia is not a bluestocking. She is interested in antiquities and enjoys reading, as I do myself.” She frowned. He and Wil teased her too much.

“Does she know my friend Mr. Frederick Dryden? He will be giving a lecture on Roman antiquities in a few weeks’ time. She should attend. I would be happy to introduce them.”

“She has mentioned his writings. I am sure she would be glad of the introduction. Will you be attending as well?” Mellow light played across the now rosy-hued burgundy carpets, which had been in use since her grandmother’s day.

“No, I have heard many of Dry’s lectures. It is not my usual London pursuit.”

“Oh no, sir, and what would such pursuits be?” Cecilia asked, assuming an expression of innocence at which Mr. Cateret first smiled then his countenance clouded. Seeing he would not answer, she continued. She could tease him as well. “I suppose you find Landsdown lonely. Perhaps you seek company in London?”

Mr. Cateret stared at her with a stormy expression, his ample brows tugged together. Any answer he may have had was stopped by her brother’s return.

“Are you being a pert miss, Cecilia? You see she has not changed so much, ‘Ret. I can show you to your room now, if you wish. Dinner will be in an hour.”

“Thank you, Wil,” said Mr. Cateret. He bowed to Cecilia and followed Wil up the wide oak staircase.

Cecilia placed her hands on her cheeks, their heat felt even through her gloves. She pulled them off. Wil ought not tease her so and ‘Ret shouldn’t be upset by her questions. Had they not always been friends? She hurried up to her room before her mother found her so vexed.

When Cecilia came out to go down to dinner, she stopped upon seeing Mr. Cateret in the hall. A scenic tapestry, its colors, like those of the carpets, faded by age and sunlight, hung behind him. Cecilia studied it, though she could tell each stitch from memory, to distract herself from ‘Ret’s bright amber eyes.

“Miss Cecilia, may I escort you to dinner?” he asked, offering his arm.

“Yes, thank you. I am sorry if I was impertinent earlier. I did not mean offense,” Cecilia said.

“No, I am not offended. You had the right of it. Landsdown is lonely without my family or anyone about.”

“But you have your neighbors and then why do you not marry?” Floating downstairs with her hand on his arm, she must be the wood nymph she often imagined herself in her favorite tea leaf green dress, which she wore. It matched his eyes.

“Yes, I have many good neighbors, especially George Allenby and his family. As to marriage--you will have heard of my London reputation. Those who would pardon my indiscretions are only interested in my lineage and supposed fortune.”

“I am sorry, especially if there was someone you wished to…” Cecilia faltered. She wondered how many avaricious mamas had pursued ‘Ret for their daughters, all because he was sole heir of his father’s estate and the grandson of an Earl.

“Here Wil would tease you again.” Mr. Cateret smiled. “Do not be sorry for me, I spoke only generally. I have not been disappointed.”

Cecilia was saved from replying as they reached the drawing room to join her family, where she spent an agreeable time listening to ‘Ret and Wil reminisce and ‘Ret jest at some of the prospective buyers of Landsdown, which they were surprised to hear he considered selling. The cheerful blue hues and cluttered arrangement of the room, which usually settled Cecilia, instead crowded her.

At dinner, Cecilia remained silent, upset by the news that ‘Ret would not only be selling his snug Palladian home, but would also be leaving England. It did not help that her mother chose rabbit for dinner. Cecilia disliked it. Perhaps she could sneak into the kitchen later for a bun and an apple. Mrs. Willet always indulged her.

Cecilia scuffed behind her mother into the drawing room after dinner.

“Lighten your step, girl,” Mrs. Wilcox said once they were alone, the door shut. “You are so fond of capering about like an untrained foal, but there is a balance between that and plodding like a common laborer after a day in the fields. Your youth and natural beauty will only carry you so far. You must learn some grace and proper deportment. Perhaps your aunt Higham can make you see reason.” Her mother clucked her tongue and established herself on the high-backed sofa nearest the door. It had the best view of the room entire, unlike the other three sofas dotting the room: one opposite near the pianoforte, another facing the far windows, and a third, a chaise, facing the round table used for cards on the other side of the room from the music. Cecilia perused the selections, hoping she and ‘Ret might sing together, as they had on his previous visits. Soon, the gentlemen entered. ‘Ret asked the pleasure of singing a duet with her, as she wished for. While their voices blended together in song, Cecilia lifted and warmed at his nearness, forgetting all thoughts but those of the moment.  

When ‘Ret led her from the pianoforte, he brushed his lips over her hand and whispered “Grazie, bella donna.” Cecilia smiled and placed a hand on her throat, reminding herself to stifle the sigh therein. He laughed and made some joke as they approached Wil, who lounged on the nearby sofa, his arms splayed along the curved back. He moved so they might join him, Cecilia snug between them. She spent the rest of the evening dazed. Could ‘Ret care for her?

Chapter Two

O
ver the next days, Mrs. Wilcox watched ‘Ret closely. Cecilia noticed her mother’s scrutiny, but could not care. She gave way to giddy delight and secret smiles, as Mr. Cateret, Wil, and sometimes Polly, took her on rides and walks about the countryside, read and sang with her, and catered to her every whim. She and Mr. Cateret exchanged many longing glances over dinner on the third night of his visit, when they were joined by Mrs. Partridge, Polly, and Mr. Holden, who was to be the new curate serving with her uncle, Reverend Joseph Wilcox, beginning in July.

Mr. Holden, an eager, learned young man, would doubtless cause a stir in the neighborhood, being an eligible, attractive, and amiable young man. Such were scarce in their immediate vicinity. That he monopolized Cecilia’s attention in the drawing room before dinner was not unpleasant, but she had no desire for him to become attached to her, as the last curate had. His attentions were highly unwanted and irritating, but her father quickly dispatched him. Mr. Holden seemed much more sensible.

Cecilia, hoping Mr. Holden would note her preference, glanced at ‘Ret throughout dinner, though she marked the raised eyebrows of Mrs. Wilcox and even Mrs. Partridge, which did not bode well. However, when the gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing room after dinner, Mrs. Wilcox was unable to keep Cecilia and ‘Ret apart, for they were requested to sing together. Following the performance, ‘Ret asked Cecilia to sit with him; even her mother could not deny it would be rude to refuse.

“I do not like having to wait for your attention, bella, especially due to such a man,” ‘Ret whispered. A petulant frown curved his lips while he cut his sparking amber eyes at Mr. Holden.

“He is a knowledgeable, good man.” Cecilia suspected ‘Ret flirted with her. She smoothed her pale green muslin dress. Perhaps such games could be enjoyable, if she could learn to play.

“Good for sermons and some sweet parson’s daughter, perhaps. You would be stifled by such a polite and proprietous man.” He shifted his body toward her, their knees almost touched.

“Would I? And who would suit me, then? A boor, a libertine, or a rake, perhaps?” Cecilia laughed and fiddled with the small golden cross she wore at her neck.

“The latter, of the reformed variety, of course. Who would need another woman who had you?” ‘Ret finished in a low, intent tone.

Cecilia’s brow crinkled in puzzlement but they were interrupted by Mrs. Wilcox, who wanted Cecilia to join her in saying farewell to their other guests. Her mother promptly sent her to bed after their guests took their leave, so Cecilia did not see ‘Ret again until the next day.

As they made their way to Partridge Place the following morning, ‘Ret gave her a small posy of violets while they walked alongside the whispering stream in the wood, well behind Wil and Polly. The greenery made tracery overhead, hallowing the walk as if it was the aisle of a church.

In his expressive voice ‘Ret said a bit of Shakespeare: “ ‘The forward violet thus did I chide: / Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells, / if not from my love’s breath?’” He stopped and kissed her hand. Gazing at her, he opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a teasing shout from Wil for them to stop dawdling.

‘Ret’s words made Cecilia realize perhaps he returned her feelings; she felt aflutter. Walking close together up the familiar hill to Partridge Place, she gazed about her. A few chickadees flitted in the shrubbery by a flat large rock, a favorite picnic spot as a girl. The spire of Abingdon Church peeked from the distant trees, the river a ribbon carelessly tossed among the curves of hill and meadow, as the streamers of her bonnet weaved among the grass when she lay daydreaming on the hilltop making ships and carriages of the clouds. Would she ever be ready to leave her beloved Berkshire?

“’Ret,” Wil said as Partridge Place came into view, “perhaps you and Cecilia would like to wait here and enjoy the clear day? I know my sister must feel the effects of her confinement after the last days’ rain.”

‘Ret nodded. Wil and Polly waved and strolled away, arms linked. They had such an ease about each other. Cecilia doubted she would ever feel so with a suitor—and she did not know that she wished to. Taking her hand, ‘Ret led Cecilia to the further side of the hill, where they looked down on the sloping valley. She kindled and softened at his touch. Studying him, the longing in his eyes caused her throat to constrict. He faced the distant horizon and let go of her hand. They stood in silence, studying the tapestry of meadows and hedges below. Bees searched the clover, ready to hum back to their cozy skeps.

“I hope to travel to the continent this summer, now the hostilities with France are settled, as is my estate.”

“Oh?” Cecilia choked out. He had not mentioned he would go so soon.

“It will be a lonely journey, though. I would very much like to have a companion, someone like yourself, curious and lively. Have you thought of travelling? To visit all the great cities, there is much to see.”

Cecilia grew dizzy and breathless, as if she had just spun around and around, as she used to in childhood. “You wish me to go with you?” she whispered.

As Mr. Cateret turned to face her, clasping her around her waist, gently caressing her cheek, he whispered “yes.” Grasping her hand and kissing it fervently, he murmured her name as Cecilia, still lightheaded, stood unmoving. Hearing a distant shout, he started, releasing her quickly; she heard it was Wil. ‘Ret’s face changed from one of intensity and longing to that courteous mask he wore when trying to appear polite, as whenever he greeted Mrs. Wilcox.

“Meet me in your secret spot tonight,” he whispered before moving further away from her.

Cecilia could not manage any reply beyond inclining her head. Wil had returned so hastily to ask them to lunch at Partridge Place, for Mrs. Partridge specifically wanted to speak with Cecilia. They had a pleasant enough time, as ‘Ret, Wil, and Polly laughed together and Cecilia spoke to Mrs. Partridge, whose very presence was a comfort.

“Well, my dear, your mother has told me of her plans for you. Will you be content to do all this?”

“Yes, I suppose, if it comes to that,” Cecilia said.

“I hope you will remember we all care for your happiness, including your mother. Have you given thought to what kind of life you should like to live? I know we have not spoken of these things before, but your mother will expect you to marry soon.”

Cecilia nodded and shifted in her seat; she agreed only about her mother’s purpose, not her intent. Mrs. Partridge patted her hand and leaned closer, the scent of honey and sweet herbs reminded Cecilia of their many rambling yet purposeful walks to gather the wares of Mrs. Partridge’s stillroom. 

“You do know, I hope, your father would never force you to marry where you do not love, so it will be to you to determine the suitability and faithfulness of prospective suitors. I know you do not like strict adherence to the dictates of propriety, but remember there are reasons for the rules of good society, my dear. There are many who would act unscrupulously with an innocent such as yourself or men whose feelings might drive them to try and persuade you to a wrong action.”

Cecilia opened her mouth to protest, sure of her ability to see to her own actions adequately. Mrs. Partridge quelled her speech with a slight tilt of her head and a knowing smile.

“I have faith in you, Cecilia. Remember you are in possession of a good deal of sense and a kind heart. I hope you will use both in your decision as to whom you might marry, as Polly has done. I wish you as happy as she.”

“Thank you, dear lady.” Cecilia clasped Mrs. Partridge’s hand. Once again, her dear friend had stopped her from rash, unnecessary speech. “You have been a friend to me all my life and I will think carefully about what you have said, I promise. I will miss seeing you and Polly while we are in London. Whatever shall I do without yours and Polly’s wise counsel?”

“You will be well, I am sure. We shall write. If you get into difficulty, simply think on whether your father would approve and you will know what is right. Let us enjoy our picnic tomorrow. I believe your father wishes to give you a pleasurable outing before you must to town,” Mrs. Partridge finished, squeezing Cecilia’s hand as they rose to join the others on their way out. Cecilia smiled. However much she may wish to become ‘Ret’s wife, her first duty was to her dear papa. She would make no promises without his approval.

There were no more moments alone with ‘Ret, for the three had gone back to Middleton House for dinner, where Mrs. Wilcox contrived to keep Cecilia away from Mr. Cateret. After Cecilia retired to her room, she paced, waiting until everyone would be abed. Pausing, she inhaled. Her grandmother’s lavender fragrance still lingered. The solid oak bed with its paled pink coverlet and other old furniture placed about settled her spirit and her mind. She did not know why ‘Ret wanted such secrecy, but that her mother did not let them speak alone. Would he wish to keep a secret engagement? She did not know how anything would be conducted in such circumstances, but felt she could trust ‘Ret to guide her.

Sitting quietly on her bed, she pondered over her conversation with Mrs. Partridge and rubbed her arms, which prickled in doubt. Her father would not approve of a secret engagement, so she would have to persuade ‘Ret to speak to him. After some time, she could wait no more, so she padded across the rose carpet to open her door. It was locked. She searched for her key; in a panic, she turned out drawers, looked in every corner, but it was not to be found. She crumpled onto her chair, near to tears. Surely ‘Ret would come to her when she did not. With this thought, she set things to rights, including herself, and sat, hands clasped, on her chair. She began to suspect her mother had done this. Now the oddity of her suddenly discussing the dangers of the nearby riots became clear. Perhaps she had even discovered Mr. Cateret outside as well. Finally, Cecilia went to bed; Mr. Cateret never appeared.

Mr. Cateret waited. She could not have mistaken him, for he had discovered her favorite hiding spot behind the garden shrubbery along the wall long ago. She was attracted to him; he had experience enough to know that. The way her deep brown eyes gazed at him, her heart shaped face flushed, her chestnut hair shining, ringlets loosening, much as her bosom strained against the filmy muslin of her gowns. She was all he desired, but she was naïve. He wished to speak to her only when they could be alone. Yet she did not appear. He could not risk going to her room, which was near her parents’ chambers.

Striding into the house, he shook his head. Perhaps she had not the spirit and passion he believed. Perhaps she was still a mere girl. Taking the stairs two at a time, he soon entered his room. Wil had been a true friend to him these many years. He would not risk his friendship over even one so captivating as Cecilia.

***

The day of the picnic was bright and the hills that soft green which usually cheered Cecilia no matter her mood. Indeed, as she ambled through the grounds on her morning walk, seeing the hills covered with spring blooms in their first blush of color--blue, pink, and lavender--lightened her gloomy feelings. She could not rid herself of her puzzlement, though, especially as Mr. Cateret avoided her all morning. Feeling pinpricks of doubt about him, Cecilia tried to turn her thoughts by reciting poetry to herself, as Polly had taught her, except Polly preferred bible verses.

Upon returning from her walk, Cecilia found her father alone in the drawing room reading letters.

“Ah,” he said, placing the papers aside on one of the small tables which dotted the room. He rubbed his eyes. “Will you favor me with a tune?”

Cecilia nodded and studied him. Creases not noticed before lined his forehead and dashed around his warm hazel eyes. “Is all well, Papa?” She settled at the pianoforte. Sunlight danced on its polished surface.

“Nothing to concern you, child. Accusations and assumptions throughout the county. Now the war is over, I’m afraid men will find enemies closer to home.”

“I am happy to listen.” She caressed the cool keys.

“Thank you but you shall remain carefree as long as I can see to it. There will be time enough for the follies of men to vex you. No need to begin now.”

Cecilia laughed and leaned her hands on the bench. “According to Mama, I am more trying than any man.”

“I will be glad when my brother and his family arrive. Your mama is more agreeable when we have company.”

“As are you yourself,” Cecilia said. Her papa missed his brothers and liked nothing more than having them near, his house full.

He chuckled. “True, in sociable society.”

“Not that of London drawing rooms?” Cecilia played a quick note. Her father had listened to her disappointment over her first trip to London last year with an understanding ear. He too felt at home only here, in the Berkshire countryside.

“I suppose one can find amusement anywhere, but London--”

“What of London?” Mrs. Wilcox said. She blew into the room, swiftly joining her husband on the settee, stinging as a hot wind on a dry, dusty summer day.

“Perhaps Mr. Cateret might join you on your journey?” he said.

Cecilia rose and clasped her hands. She perched on her favorite cozy chair and bit her lip.