A Gentleman's Daughter: Her Choice (20 page)

   There was nothing to be done but try to sleep, but all she could do was cry and remember his strong embrace, his forceful yet tender kisses. Her whole body felt pulled toward him, as the tide is inexorably drawn to the shore. Wiping away her tears, she changed and crawled back into bed. She would have to wait.

Chapter Nineteen

M
r. Cateret banged on the sturdy paneled door of the terraced row house in Bedford Square. His hand stung. He pulled it to his face, examining it in the low glow of the streetlamp. Blood trickled from the knuckles, inky as the night sky. Not so wise to have entered a pugilist match in his state. Or ever, for he had never been one for the rougher sports. Having visited the fencing master, Mrs. Morris’s for meals, his club for billiards, taverns, gambling houses, and other houses, he had finally hoped to forcibly knock Cecilia from his mind and heart. Still she lingered, aching as the pain of his day-old bruises and cuts. He kicked the door with his foot. The leather would scuff if he continued.

“Here, off with you,” Tim said. The former prize fighter’s tall frame loomed in the doorway, his muscles bulging from his linen shirt. Probably hastily dressed at this late hour. “Mr. Cateret, what you doin’ here, sir? Best come in a’fore you rouse the neighbors.” He stood aside and ‘Ret staggered in.

A pale vision, from her golden hair to her frothy dressing gown, floated down the stairs. Mrs. Brown had been his savior many a time, as she was for so many others.

“Why, ‘Ret,” she said. He leaned against the wall. “Thank you, Tim. Help him into the kitchen, please.”

Tim hefted him and they went down the hall, hazy and indistinct while Mrs. Brown followed them with a single flickering candle. They edged down a narrow staircase and into the kitchen, where embers glowed in the grate of the black stove and a chair was slid under him. He slumped into its rush seat.

“How’s Miss Benson?” Tim asked.

“Resting. Jenny’s sitting with her,” Mrs. Brown said. She whisked past him, preparing a teapot. Tim filled and clanged a large kettle onto the stovetop and stoked the fire.

‘Ret rested his head in his hand. “Collecting strays again?”

She laughed. A true, honest woman’s laugh, balm for his troubles. “I have not had enough merriment of late. Perhaps you will stay awhile this time?” she said.

“I cannot, but I thank you. Why have I never married you?”

Another giggle. “It would not suit either of us.”

“Of late, I have contemplated matrimony.”

“Have you? Finally fallen in love with a proper young woman?” Her voice still held a current of mirth.

“Yes,” he said. “Her beauty, like the night, blinds me to all else, leaves me lost, waiting for the day, when she might shine her love upon me.”

“You always were a poor poet. Leave off with such talk, I beg you.” The kettle sang and she lifted it to the cooler stove back. Tim was nowhere to be seen. “Who is this woman? Does she not love you?”

“She did. Perhaps she still does. She is the younger sister of my friend, Wil Wilcox.” Mrs. Brown nodded. They had met before. “In May, I visited their home and she enchanted me. I thought to run away with her, but did the honorable thing, for the sake of my friendship with Wil. Her mother took her here, to her aunt’s, where I met her again. She became angry with me, misunderstood my intentions, and now says she will marry another, when her father consents.”

“You know my feelings about seducing young innocents.” Her voice hardened.

“I wanted to marry her. An elopement, yes. Not a seduction.”

“Often one in the same. Will you see her again?”

“I will have one last moment with her, however torturous it might be. It will be a sweet pain, an ecstasy of despair I am unable to wrest myself from.”

She filled the teapot, its sharp, bark scent eased him. “Do not be maudlin. Speak to her honestly and ask if she loves you. Then you will know. But do not be secretive. Her father must approve you to show you such hospitality all these years. Only despair comes of concealment.” She sat with a sigh and poured their tea.

“Miss Benson upstairs?”

“Yes. She ran away from home, feeling her guardians would throw her out if they discovered the truth. Her mother was my dear friend. She too, soon after we were at school together, succumbed to the persuasions of a rogue and died when Miss Benson was only two. Her father, the blackguard, died soon after, face down in a gutter, as befitted such a man. I am very troubled by Miss Benson’s situation, though, for the man did come when I wrote and seems a gentleman. There is something odd about it, but it must be he, for he has said he will marry her. But he left, claiming he needed time to arrange things so she would not be scorned in the neighborhood. Yet I have since heard rumors he has been paying court to another. I have written him again, but have received no reply. She grows weaker by the day.”

“May I help? Perhaps I could find this man for you.” ‘Ret sat taller.

“Not in your condition. But perhaps after a night of rest…it would do you good to be put to task. And, for all your sentiment, you have always been discreet.”

“You may rely on it. But I must act quickly, for the Wilcoxes expect me this week,” ‘Ret said.

“I believe his estate is on the way…they live near Abingdon?” ‘Ret nodded and sipped his tea, hot and strong. “He resides at Lionel Hall, Mr. Greyton Thornhill.”

‘Ret sputtered, his cup clattered to the table. “The base scoundrel. He stole my Cecilia from me. And he has done this!” He rose, his head bursting. “I must go. He’ll not be allowed to ruin her. What if I am too late? God help me.” He sank into the chair.

“Do you say Mr. Thornhill has proposed to Miss Wilcox? I should ring his neck.” She slapped a slender hand on the table. “He has promised to marry Miss Benson. He must be stopped and brought here to do his duty. Though she might be better without such a man.”

“But the child…” He pushed his hands through his hair.

“Yes, that is the sticking point.” She rose and called for Tim, who appeared in the far doorway.

“Mr. Cateret needs washing things. And some food. He must be off within the day.”

“I’ll see to it,” Tim said as he set about his duties.

‘Ret heaved a deep breath. He hoped nothing had happened to his beloved; surely neither Cecilia nor Mr. Wilcox would be so trusting. “Tell me Miss Benson’s story,” he said. He must know the facts if any would believe him.

“I shall write a letter. I care nothing for him, but for the young women…we must protect them from scandal.”

“I understand,” he said. He would prevail. Cecilia would be his after all.

***

Mr. and Mrs. Wilcox sat in the dining room alone when Cecilia entered. It seemed everyone had been awake until the small hours, visiting and playing casino, save Cecilia, who had retired early. Cecilia ate what she could choke down in silence, her color and her indignation rising with each moment.

“For one who went up before everyone else, you do not appear rested, daughter,” Mrs. Wilcox said as they finished their light breakfast.

“I find it difficult to rest in a house where I am kept locked in my chamber.”

“I can see we ought speak privately,” Mr. Wilcox said, rising from his seat. He motioned to his wife and daughter, who followed him to his study, where he shut and locked the door. “As you should know, locking a door is as effective in keeping others out as it is keeping one in.”

“Is that why I have found myself so imprisoned?” Cecilia turned on her parents.

“I believe you overstate the matter,” Mr. Wilcox said.

“We are only attempting to keep you safe. There have been riots in the county and thievery abroad,” Mrs. Wilcox added. “I am more interested in what you were doing trying to leave your room at such hours.”

“I wished to get a book from the library,” Cecilia said, blushing.

“You have never been adept at concealment,” Mrs. Wilcox said.

“Papa, will you let her scold me again?”

“I do not hear her scolding you and in this instance I believe you ought be admonished. I know now your mother was correct about Mr. Cateret those many weeks ago, though I did not believe it at the time. Were you trying to meet Mr. Thornhill last night? Did he ask you to do so?”

“I told you, I wished to get a book.” Cecilia faced the door.

“I suppose I shall have to speak to Mr. Thornhill myself. Go to your room, child. I will call for you when I have discovered the truth. Perhaps I will send you to the Partridges again for a time.”

“But our guests, surely--” she said as she turned on her heel to address her papa.

“Do not contradict me. I act in your interest, child,” Mr. Wilcox said, kissing Cecilia’s forehead. She did not feel reassured as she usually did from this gesture; she was too miserable.

Her vision blurred, tears streamed down her hot cheeks; she hurried up the stairs then looked back. She must seek the comfort of her wood. No one but the groom might see her. She knew each step, it did not matter she saw nothing, until she reached the edge of the trees and nearly collided with Mr. Thornhill.

“Cecilia, you are unwell? What can I do?” He gripped her arms.

“I must speak with you.” She breathed him in, as comforting and enticing as the wood and water.

“Let us to the house…”

A carriage trundled up the drive. Who could be here so early? They could not be discovered.

“No,” Cecilia said. “My father sent me to my room. He may see us if we return now, please come and speak with me, please.” Cecilia grasped Mr. Thornhill’s hand and gazed up at him, trying to pull him into the shelter of the wood. There it was cool, the sun filtered through the branches of the elms and conifers, beginning to warm the earth, making the air heady with the life of the blooming plants and coursing under the leafy ground.

“Very well, for a few moments.” He shifted his hand in hers and squeezed.

Cecilia quickly walked him to a small grove of trees, where they might be more secluded; Mr. Thornhill studied her.

“My father knows. He wants to send me away. Somehow he knows you asked me to meet with you last night.”

“He could not know, unless you told him.” He dropped her hand.

“I did not. He will ask you, he will…”

“Perhaps it is for the better. It was wrong of me to ask such of you.” He stared into the distance.

“I would have come, but they locked me in…” Her hands clasped, as if in prayer.

“I know. I came to your door when you did not appear.”

“You did not knock. Could you not have opened it?”

“I suppose. But that would have compounded my wrong actions.”

“It is not wrong that we wish to be alone,” she said, again grasping his hand. They studied each other.

“True, love. Except we are not engaged,” he said as she pressed herself close to him.

“But I only wish to be near you. Now my father will send me away…” She caressed her hands over his chest. He radiated heat and strength.

“Perhaps I should go.”

“No, I cannot bear it.” She slid her hands around his neck and gazed at him, her lips opening to him as a rosebud in the sun.

He pushed out a low breath and embraced her, his mouth taking, teaching, unfurling her until she trembled, beautiful and fearful.

“Come away with me. I will take care of you. We may leave now. The grooms will not question us.” He took her hand and led her out and up toward the stable. As they approached the door, her brother and Mr. Cateret came around the garden wall, running to intercept them. Cecilia held Greyton’s hand as angry words were exchanged; all was a jumble around her. As long as she held onto him, she would be well.

Chapter Twenty

C
ecilia finally began to understand the scene around her. They thought Greyton tried to seduce her. She nearly laughed aloud.

“Step away from my sister, sir,” Wil said. Cecilia did not find anything amusing in his expression. “Cecilia.” She understood his implicit command to come to his side. She shook her head. Greyton’s body tensed, becoming rigid as when he and ‘Ret argued at the Nefton’s dance. “He has seduced and left with child another young woman. He promised to marry her.”

“No, he would never…” Cecilia stopped. Yet had he not made her forget herself and her duty to her papa? “Would you?” she asked, facing him.

“I cannot explain. If you will but trust me…” he said, grasping her arms, his eyes pleading.

“What has he done to you, dearest?” ‘Ret said. He attempted to wrest away Greyton’s arm, who shoved him back.

“I…” Her mind jumbled. Had everything been a lie? Perhaps he planned to use her. Perhaps his meeting with Mrs. Carter had been no coincidence. As her cousin Felicity said, what sort of man would fall in with a woman like Mrs. Carter, whose only redeeming quality was her abhorrence of men who seduced innocents?

“Unhand my sister,” Wil said as Greyton tightened his hold, forcing her to see him.

“May I be of help?” young Mr. Hookham said as he strode up.

“Leave off, Tom,” Greyton said. “This is none of your concern.”

“Oh?” ‘Ret said. “I believe he would want to know his cousin Rose is safe, though not well.”

Greyton released Cecilia. ‘Ret handed her a letter, which she opened and read while the men argued. Greyton had betrayed this Miss Benson and then her. He was the lowest kind of rogue.

“What did you do with her?” Mr. Hookham said to Greyton.

“Left her with child,” ‘Ret said. “Promised to marry her and deserted her again to make up to Cecilia.”

Mr. Hookham’s primal yell froze Cecilia. Her eyes raised to his heavy frame barreling into Greyton, who kept his balance and punched Mr. Hookham’s face. Blood oozed from his nose. Cecilia’s muffled cry joined the shouts of Wil, ‘Ret, and the groom, while Greyton and Mr. Hookham grunted and fought. Greyton twisted Mr. Hookham’s arm behind his back and held him in place.

“She was frightened of you, Tom.”

“Shut up. I care for her, scum.”

Greyton wrenched his arm further. “She--”

“Stop!” Cecilia shouted as her brother and ‘Ret pulled Greyton off Mr. Hookham.

Mr. Hookham faced Greyton, his eyes murderous. He pummeled Greyton in the stomach.

“Sir!” Her father loped over. Mr. Hookham righted himself, wiping at the blood encrusting his nose and lips. Greyton struggled against his captors, seemingly unaffected by his ordeal, save his disarrayed clothes. “Son, what is the meaning of this?”

“’Ret arrived and found me. He has just discovered Mr. Thornhill is not who he appears. He has seduced and left with child a Miss Benson, who is also Mr. Hookham’s cousin. She had run away, yet when Mr. Thornhill found her, he kept her hidden with promises of marriage when all the time he has been planning I know not what with my sister.”

“Mr. Cateret, how came you by this tale?”

“By accident, or happy chance. An old friend is watching over Miss Benson and she told me the whole of it. Here is a letter from her.” ‘Ret pulled the letter from Cecilia’s grip, who blinked.

She swallowed and studied each of the five men.

“Mr. Thornhill, we will speak in private. Mr. Cateret, please be so good as to go inside and waylay anyone who would come outside or interrupt me. I know I can trust to your powers of diversion. Son, watch over your sister. Child, all will be well, I promise you.”

Cecilia shook her head. Nothing could be so again. She grabbed Greyton’s arm before he could follow her father.

“How can you have made yourself a protector of my innocence when your behavior has been thus? You are no better, no, you are worse than Mr. Mainmount. I will tell you as I did him, do not ever come near me again. I hate you,” she cried out. She held herself high as he stood facing her, his eyes impenetrable.

“No,” Mr. Thornhill said, his voice choked with fury. Cecilia frowned. “If you love me as you say, you would--”

“Mr. Thornhill!” her father said. “Follow me, sir, or I shall be forced to have you removed from my property.”

Mr. Thornhill watched her for a moment. She inhaled deeply, letting out a shaky breath.

“John,” she said to the gawking groom. “Fetch me some comfrey root from cook. Mr. Hookham, let me,” she said, taking his arm to keep him from making his injuries worse with his own ministrations. She did not turn as her father, Mr. Thornhill, and Mr. Cateret’s boots tread across the drive.

“Sister, perhaps I should take him to Partridge Place,” Wil said.

“I can tend such small wounds.” Cecilia led them through the garden. The sweet scents of the roses and lavender mocked her. “Mr. Hookham was defending Miss Benson and myself. It is the least I can do for him.”

“Very well,” Wil said.

“Thank you, Miss Wilcox,” Mr. Hookham said. His dark eyes showed only pain, though he held himself proudly, as if nothing were amiss.

“Did you love her, sir?” Cecilia asked in a quiet voice.

“I did.”

“It seems we both have more to mend than a few cuts and bruises.”

They stopped before the door to the kitchen, beneath the stairs.

“Under your care, I am sure we may both recover.”

Cecilia smiled. Her chest ached. “Come, Mrs. Willet always has tea and buns for me.”

***

Mr. Thornhill clasped his hands behind his back and stared out the window of Mr. Wilcox’s study. He saw again Cecilia standing near the pond, wandering away from him, as she had the day before while he had spoken with Mr. Wilcox and Mr. Hookham. She was not actually there, but the image was so real, he bowed his head, knowing she was now gone from him forever.

“What have you to say, sir?” Mr. Wilcox said.

Mr. Thornhill hunched his shoulders. He had striven to be a gentleman, but his actions had shown him out for the blackguard he was.

“As to Miss Benson, I can only say it is not what anyone believes. Yet I am still duty bound to her. I see now my behavior has been no better than those men I have held in scorn and contempt. I confess I wanted your daughter to behave improperly, Mr. Wilcox, for which I am ashamed and sorry. I betrayed your trust and hers as well. It is of little import I would marry her if I attempt it with such an action, against your clear refusals of my suit. I acted a common ruffian toward your guest, my neighbor. I am truly sorry, more than I can say. I have let my passion and pride rule me and have hurt she who is most dear to me. It will be better for me to go now, so I may not pain her further. Perhaps she would indeed be happier with someone else, someone who would not forget he is a gentleman. I thank you for your consideration and hospitality, sir. I can only hope you may all soon forget, though I do not hope for forgiveness, as I cannot grant it to myself.”

“Perhaps we may reach some understanding. I cannot approve your behavior, but I myself cannot condemn you when, though I had the approval of her father, I eloped with my own wife,” Mr. Wilcox said.

Mr. Thornhill faced the older man, stunned at such a revelation.

“But I must know the truth about Miss Benson.” Mr. Wilcox’s grey eyes shone steely.

“I cannot tell you, sir. I did promise to marry her, if…no, I will not bring others into this. I have been wrong and I must face the consequences. I am only sorry I involved anyone else. I should never have called on your daughter. But…my feelings for her are true. For her sake, I will not return. Please make my apologies to the rest of the party, if you will be so kind. I hope she soon recovers herself. Again, I am sorry,” Mr. Thornhill finished, stopping to shake Mr. Wilcox’s offered hand.

“Sir, I find this unsatisfactory,” Mr. Wilcox said, staying his hand. “I have never heard anything ill of you or your family. My sister Higham has known you these many years and my brother James has mentioned you as a man of your word. I cannot believe us so wholly deceived. I know my daughter is angry now, but I should not wish you both to regret this parting if it is all a misunderstanding.”

“You are most kind, but truly I cannot explain further. Someday, I hope I may ease your mind, but at present I cannot. I wish you and your family every goodness. Farewell.” He bowed.

“I will have your carriage ready,” Mr. Wilcox said.

“Thank you,” Mr. Thornhill said. If possible, his body tightened further, tense as ropes lowering a casket into the cold ground. He stopped, his hand on the doorknob. Maybe, if Jennings had found Gregory…no, all was lost. He had to think of Miss Benson, as he should have all this time. Opening the door, he raised his head. Duty would be his all.

***

Cecilia stood by her bedroom window and leaned against the cold glass as Mr. Thornhill’s carriage disappeared from view. She had left Mr. Hookham in her brother’s company once she had tended his injuries, helped by a blushing Tilly, who happened to be in the kitchen at the time. Perhaps Mr. Hookham’s manly figure and booming voice might appeal to some young women, though, of course, as a gentleman, he did not pay attention to her maid, beyond a polite smile. He and Wil had gone to play billiards, Mr. Hookham professing he could play as well with either arm. She assumed her father would inform the elder Mr. Hookham of what had occurred. Now she wished her father had sent her away, as she did not know how she would face anyone again.

She was unsure how many minutes she remained there, but long enough for her limbs to grow stiff and sore. A knock sounded.

“Cecilia?” Jane said as she entered and shut the door.

Cecilia spun around and teetered into Jane’s arms. She eased them onto the edge of the bed, rocking Cecilia as Grandmamma Wilcox used to.

“My uncle sent for me. I am so sorry. I was wrong to stop Wil last night. If I had let him tell your father--” Jane smoothed Cecilia’s back.

“No, only myself and Mr. Thornhill are to blame.” She exhaled a shuddering breath.

“Not you.”

“Yes, I forgot my responsibility to my family and the behavior a gentleman’s daughter ought remember. I suppose you, Felicity, and Amelia have been correct all along. Most men are not worth our notice.” Cecilia tried to smile, but felt herself frown instead.

Jane wiped Cecilia’s cheeks. Cecilia’s breath caught, remembering Mr. Thornhill doing the same. He had seemed so tender. “Shall I send for a tray? You have missed luncheon.”

Cecilia shook her head. “Oh, Jane, how could I have so mistaken him?”

“We were all deceived by him. Your father still thinks…we await our uncle James. Perhaps he may be able to discover all.”

“Do you say there has been some mistake?” Cecilia sat upright and opened her hands, letting hope in.

“I do not know. It was most unpleasant, though. Mr. Hookham, the elder, was quite angry. He did not believe it of Mr. Thornhill and called Mr. Cateret a liar, especially when he would not tell him where Miss Benson is. Mr. Cateret claimed she is well cared for and he had promised his friend he would reveal nothing more. My uncle is wise, I must say. He sent your mama and the Hookham ladies to fetch my mother so they might all lunch at Partridge Place. I believe he got word to Mrs. Partridge for her assistance in entertaining them for the day. And Wil took Mr. Allenby to Oxford to visit some friends.”

“What of Mrs. Carter?”

“She left for London earlier.” Jane rose and smoothed the bed clothes.

“He will probably join her,” Cecilia said.

“Who? Mr. Thornhill?” Jane studied her.

“Yes.”

“She was not lying, then? They did know each other?”

Cecilia nodded.

“He is not worthy of you.” Jane shared Felicity’s opinion of Mrs. Carter.

“What else said my papa?”

“He secured promises from all that nothing should be revealed, for your sake as well as Miss Benson’s. I believe he plans to write Lord Nefton, as the closest Mr. Thornhill has to a father now, so that any further wrongs may, hopefully, be prevented. Though I cannot think but perhaps Lord Nefton is no better than his nephew.”

“But Miss Nefton…I cannot believe it. Will the Hookhams go home?”

“They mean to stay the week. It is best, for otherwise they would have to explain more than they should to their friends and neighbors. If you like, you could stay with us until they leave.” Jane placed a hand on Cecilia’s shoulder. Cecilia patted it and stood.

“Thank you. I will ask Papa. Henceforth, I shall do as he wishes.”

“Then let us downstairs. He is concerned for you.”

Cecilia nodded and checked her appearance in the mirror. Amazing, she did not look much different. Only her eyes showed a hint of the emptiness which sunk her being, leaving her limp as an unstuffed mattress. She straightened and followed Jane downstairs.

All that long afternoon and evening, Mr. Cateret hovered in the background with Wil, Mr. Allenby, and young Mr. Hookham; the weather had turned wintry again in the midst of summer and they all had to stay indoors. Cecilia was touched when even a small smile from her brightened ‘Ret’s whole countenance and she soon saw he made it his business to elicit more. Throughout those next two days, ‘Ret behaved much as he used to toward her, before he had declared his love. His sweet little attentions, jokes, and duets with her all made her begin to feel almost at ease again, reminding her of the girl she had been. Yet then he would glance at her longingly and all the events of the last two months would rush in on her and she remembered. She could never be that carefree again.