Cousin Cecilia (12 page)

The Meacham girls were out on Monday afternoon when he called. They were at the vicarage making plans for a birthday party for Kate. It was their hope that their beaux could be coerced into attending. Cecilia was upstairs with the servants, making arrangements for the weekend visitors. When Miss Miser came to fetch her, Cecilia felt an unaccustomed confusion. Her fingers flew to her head to arrange her hair. She darted to the mirror and saw the bloom of a flush on her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. “Tell Lord Wickham I shall be down presently,” she said, trying to appear calm.

“I’ll make an excuse downstairs myself, to get a look at him,” Miss Miser said roguishly. “You don’t usually show any discomposure when a gentleman calls on you. This one must be something out of the ordinary.”

“So he is, extraordinarily troublesome!” Cecilia said. “He is the one holding up my marital arrangements for my cousins.”

Miss Miser, long her mistress’s confidante, was not deceived by this transparent subterfuge and suggested a quick brush be taken to Miss Cummings’s curls before she go down. Cecilia used the interval to determine what tack she should take with Wickham. A direct confrontation was not her intention, yet she wanted to mention the rout party, and his attempt to keep Dallan and Wideman from it.

She had wiped all traces of excitement from her expression when she entered the Gold Saloon. Her smile was no more than polite, and her curtsy, though graceful, was small. “Good afternoon, Wickham,” she said. He rose, he bowed, with a similar sort of smile. Each made a quick survey of the other, and the smiles broadened spontaneously.

There was no denying Miss Cummings was a very handsome lady. Wickham found her something quite out of the ordinary, especially in a quiet backwater like Laycombe. Her becoming tousle of black curls, her wide-set gray eyes and her rosebud complexion were even more admired than her elegant toilette. Cecilia was measuring her caller against the ton, but still found him to pass muster.

“I expect you have come to check up on the mount you lent me,” she said. “Fear not, she is unharmed and very much appreciated. I had her out for exercise yesterday and shall do the same later today.”

“I’m happy you’re enjoying Lady, but my reason for calling is not so innocent,” he warned her. “If you have a few moments free, perhaps you would come out for a drive with me.”

This suited Cecilia perfectly, as conversation in front of Mrs. Meacham was a little circumscribed. “Very well. It’s too fine a day to remain indoors. I shall just get my bonnet and pelisse.”

Before long, they were installed in his carriage, while Sally squinted through the curtains, taking in every detail of the affair. The only item for conjecture was that they drove not toward St. Martin’s Abbey, but away from it.

“What is it you wish to discuss?” Cecilia asked, as they clipped along the High Street.

“I have come to ask you a favor, ma’am. I need your help.”

“I’m very happy to give it. What can I do for you?”

He slanted a smile at her. “You are impetuous, Miss Cummings. You agree to help me before you hear what I have to say.”

“Impetuosity is one of my little faults. I cannot believe, however, that you will ask anything of me that I might not with propriety grant.”

“That is a pretty compliment to me. I hope the favor does nothing to change your opinion. The thing is, I am in a bind. You recall I mentioned Elgin and some fellows from the British Museum were coming down to have a look at my bits and pieces from abroad.”

“Yes, and Elgin will try to get them away. Do you wish me to hide them?” she asked, her smile making it a joke.

“He’ll get only what I decide to give. I want to ask you to help me entertain him and his wife. A few of the other gentlemen are also bringing their ladies. I must do something in a social way, a dinner party at least. I know of no one who would make such a charming hostess as yourself.”

She looked at him in alarm. “That is a singular honor, sir. I am not at all sure I can accept.”

“You misunderstand me,” he hurried on. “Naturally I meant that your hostess should also be of the party, and your cousins, too. Mrs. Meacham would be the nominal hostess, but as you are acquainted with the Elgins and more familiar with entertaining on a larger scale than provincial dos, I hoped you would agree to help.”

Put in this light, the invitation appealed to her. “I should be happy to do it, but I must first discuss it with Mrs. Meacham.”

He gave her a conning smile. “There’s no hope for reprieve there. I’ve done my reconnaissance work. She has already consented, depending on your lending a hand.”

“When are your guests expected?”

“They come Wednesday afternoon and leave Thursday. It’s only a brief visit, as Lord Elgin’s schedule is busy. One dinner party is really all the trouble I would put you to.”

“Did you want us to arrange the party—”

“No, no. I would not impose so strenuously on your good nature. My housekeeper will attend to the details. It is just your presence that I am asking.”

“That is hardly a favor at all, Wickham. I will be more than happy to attend.”

They left the town and drove into the open country, with a sun-drenched vista of valley beyond. Cecilia was happy with the projected party and decided to put the drive to use. “It is your being a bachelor that puts you in this awkward position,” she pointed out. Oh yes, this man definitely needed a wife, and while she could not think offhand of anyone to fill the bill, she would give it consideration. A smile of anticipation lit her eyes.

Wickham took a sharp breath but said nothing. She wasn’t hiding her claws! Say that for her, she was as bold as brass. “But it is only a hostess for my party that I am looking for,” he said, rather pointedly.

“I did not mistake the invitation for an offer of marriage, sir!” she said, and gurgled quite delightfully, while batting her long lashes at him.

Wickham was seized with a strange compulsion to grab her into his arms and kiss those laughing lips—but he felt no desire at all to marry her. Beauty had seduced him once. If he ever married again, it would be a sensible, coolly thought-out marriage to some lady young enough to give him a son, and old and plain enough that she would never touch his heart.

As they drove on, Cecilia remembered that Wednesday was Kate Daugherty’s birthday, and Martha and Alice would be attending it. She was to have attended as well, and dreaded it, as it left her prey to Dallan’s advances. Wickham’s dinner party made an unexceptionable excuse to miss the party. Looking at her, Wickham wondered at that pensive look. He hesitated to use the word “scheming,” but “sly” seemed not too strong. Now what plan was she hatching? Her next remark seemed innocent enough.

“What did you find in the barrow Blackie discovered last Sunday, Wickham?”

“Nothing unusual. There were bones, a few flints.”

“No beaker?”

“No, it was a very minor discovery. The size of the mound hadn’t raised my hopes to any Olympian heights.”

“A neighbor of mine found a metal knife blade in one of those old barrows. He seemed to think it a great thing. He had not thought the working of metal was known in England so long ago.”

“It might have been brought from elsewhere in a trading vessel. Metalworking was certainly known in Mesopotamia. Or perhaps even in England. Very little has been done in that area. We have very little notion of our ancient past. Stonehenge, Avebury ...”

“Oh, Stonehenge! I feel the hair on my neck lift when I stand, gazing up at those monoliths.”

“You’ve been there?”

“Several times. I have relatives living nearby and always visit Stonehenge. Such a mystery. Who could have built it, and why?”

“People have been wondering that forever. It has been mentioned in ancient writings since the sixth century. Some credit Merlin with the miracle, but of course it doesn’t feature in the King Arthur legend at all, so I think we can dispense with that theory. John Aubrey was probably closer to it. He believed the stones are the remains of a Druid temple.”

“They do remind one of a primitive temple,” she agreed.

“Doctor Stukely supported the notion. Others, notably Dr. John Smith, believe it has some astrological meaning.”

Cecilia had some interest in the ancient monument, and as Wickham had studied the literature, they passed a pleasant half hour discussing it. They were both surprised when the town of Reigate suddenly loomed before them, and they realized they had driven farther than they intended.

As they were getting along so well, Cecilia decided to tease him about missing the rout, and more particularly about trying to lure Dallan away.

“You missed a very nice party last Saturday, Wickham. It is a pity you couldn’t attend.” Her knowing smile told him she suspected at least some part of the truth.

“I could have, actually,” he admitted. “My company was delayed. Elgin hoped to get down on Saturday, but he wrote at the last minute and put it off.” No trace of blush suffused his face at this polite lie.

“Why did you not come to our rout then?”

“As I had already refused, I was afraid I would throw out your numbers.”

“Good gracious, we aren’t so formal as that! You did not fear that luring Mr. Dallan away from us would also throw out our numbers?” she added with a sapient look.

“Lure him away?” He seemed genuinely confused. “I may have mentioned why I was not attending, but I didn’t attempt to lure him away, I promise you. In fact, I’m sorry I missed the party. Jack Duck’s place is becoming a bore. I don’t plan to return there.”

Cecilia drew a breath of relief and honored him with a warm smile. “Good! I am happy to hear it. No doubt it would do an older man in your position no harm, but to take youngsters there...”

“I did not ‘take’ anyone there, Miss Cummings. Your cousins’ beaux introduced me to the place.
Faute de mieux,
I accompanied them a few times. No more.”

Cecilia considered this and thought perhaps he was telling the truth. Mr. Dallan at least had his own way of perceiving the world and had likely exaggerated to give the ladies the notion he was closer to Wickham than he actually was. “You stand very high in their estimation, if I am not mistaken. A word against the place from you will make them realize it is beneath them.”

“Then I am happy to be able to return the kind favor you do me in hostessing my party.”

Sally Gardener was highly vexed to see the bright smiles on both their faces when he accompanied Cecilia to her front door. The girls had still not returned, and it was only Mrs. Meacham who sat at the bow window, monitoring the High Street. Cecilia joined her, but before she could discuss her drive, Mrs. Meacham peered through the curtain and said, “There goes Sally Gardener on the run, tying up her bonnet as she goes. Lord Wickham must be taking a stroll down the High Street. Yes, there he goes into the bank. What has Sally found to throw at his feet today? She will have to make do with her reticule, for she didn’t take time to grab up a bag from her house. A good thing it is patent leather; she can wipe the dust from it. There! She has dropped it smack in his path. I wonder what he says, that she smiles so.”

The conversation that could only be seen, would have raised Miss Cummings’s hackles very high, had she heard.

“So kind. Thank you very much, Lord Wickham. A lovely day, is it not?”

“We’ll have rain before nightfall, I think.”

“Very likely. It is really quite a raw, windy day. Do you go to the bank? That is a coincidence. I am just on my way there on an errand for Mama.”

“Then you must allow me to accompany you.”

“We were sorry you could not attend Mrs. Meacham’s rout party. A certain young lady was very disappointed,” she said, with a sly look.

“Indeed.”

“Miss Cummings was completely out of sorts that you refused her invitation.”

“I was sorry to have to do so.” Pest of a woman! He held the bank door for her and she sidled in past him, still talking. He’d have to let her do her business first. She’d drop her pennies and shillings all over the floor for him to pick up.

“They all had the notion that you refused their invitation only to go to the tavern,” Sally continued, in no low voice. “Especially when Miss Cummings spied you riding down High Street at midnight. Very upset, she was. ‘Don’t think Lord Wickham will tumble into the first trap set for him,’ I told her. ‘He won’t be that easy to catch,’ I said, right to her face. She didn’t know which way to look.”

Wickham glared at her with a set look about the jaw, undecided whether to turn his back on the loose-jawed commoner or give her a setdown. “I’m afraid you mistake the matter,” he said in a glacial tone.

“There is no mistake about it, milord,” she continued happily. “Miss Cummings has come here to make a match. It is discussed quite openly—amongst the family, I mean. I daresay I was not supposed to overhear. ‘A pity Lord Wickham could not be here,’ Mrs. Meacham said. And Miss Cummings replied, ‘Never fear, there will be a wedding soon, despite his not coming tonight.’ I very nearly fell off my chair to hear her speak so blunt. Lord Wickham should be warned, I thought, and so I just dropped you a hint.”

Why not a hint? She had dropped everything else. “I am obliged to you, ma’am,” he said, then strode with a stiff leg to the clerk and let Miss Gardener wait behind him, to pick up her own silver when it fell from her fingers.

His mind was alive with conjecture when he went back to his carriage. Openly bruiting about that she meant to catch him, was she? And he falling into her trap, as meekly as a lamb. She hadn’t even put herself to the bother of inventing a new trick to first capture his attention, but had dropped a box of buttons, like a Sally Gardener. He regretted having asked her to hostess his party, but really he required some lady, and who else was there, without putting one of the Lowreys, fifteen miles away, to the bother? He could hardly rescind the invitation already issued, but that would be the end of it. Miss Cummings would find he was not so easily caught as that.

Chapter Ten

It was no new experience for Lord Wickham to have a bonnet hurled at his eligible head. He had become quite adept at dodging them. He felt no real danger from Miss Cummings, though she was certainly a deal prettier than most of his flirts, and a deal slier, too. He must tread softly, or he’d find himself compromised. The danger lent a spice to the affair. One dinner party was hardly apt to find him shackled, however, and he looked forward to it with some eagerness.