For Your Arms Only (9 page)

July 1820

T
he invitation to Penford arrived the next morning. Cressida held it a moment, admiring Mrs. Hayes’s elegant script. She still hadn’t decided if she wanted to go, but it was very lovely to be invited.

“What is that?” Callie had heard the servant at the door. She paused on her way through the hall to look. “Oh my.”

“Julia told me about it,” she said, ignoring the curiosity in her sister’s tone.

“We’ve never been invited to such an event at Penford before.”

“Er…no.” She handed the invitation to Callie and picked up her basket. Callie followed her out into the garden.

“What sort of party is it?”

“I think it’s to celebrate the major’s return home.” Cressida bent over the herb garden. She cut some lavender, breathing the soft scent with a sigh of pleasure.

“Oh.” Callie fingered Mrs. Hayes’s note. “We haven’t anything grand enough to wear.”

“Not nearly.”

“And you still don’t like him.”

Cressida concentrated on cutting some sage, laying each velvety sprig carefully in the basket.

“Well, shall we go?” Callie kicked her foot lightly.

“I don’t know.” She cut some mint for Granny’s tea. Perhaps it would settle her digestion. The expensive tonic had made little difference.

“You don’t have long to think about it.”

“I know!” For a moment she considered telling Callie what the major had said yesterday, that they might not really want to find Papa after all, and his advice on horse stealing. They didn’t know anything about that man, and she was not wrong to be cautious, she wasn’t…Except that he had been right, curse him, about everything. She hated it when going against her instinct was the sensible thing to do. “We’ll talk about it later,” she said. “At dinner.”

Callie brought up the Hayes party as soon as they sat down to eat. For once Cressida was relieved Granny had taken to her bed; her grandmother would be so pleased to hear they were invited to the best house in the neighborhood, she would have no choice but to go. More and more Granny seemed to live in her own world where worries about money and proper clothing didn’t intrude. As it was, she and Callie talked the matter over while Tom ate in silence, his head lowered over his plate. But they couldn’t reach a conclusion

“I’m sure it will be a lovely evening,” said Callie wistfully as they cleared the table. “But we’ve really nothing to wear.”

“No.” Cressida felt a mixture of relief and resignation. Relief that she wouldn’t be required to face the major any sooner than three days hence, resignation because…Well, because she hated being poor and shabby and it would have been nice to go to a fine party. But, like much else in life, it couldn’t be helped. She told herself she would send a polite refusal in the morning.

But she still hadn’t written it by midday, when Tom came into the kitchen and handed her a package.

“What is this?” She pulled the string. She hadn’t asked him to purchase anything, not when they didn’t have any money. The package was round and soft, like a cushion, and wrapped in a generous length of linen. Tom didn’t answer, and was halfway to the door by the time she got the string off and unfolded the linen to reveal a bundle of silk the color of spring roses.

“Oh, Tom!” She was almost speechless. The silk spilling out of the linen wrapping was far finer than anything Papa had ever bought them. “What on earth…?”

“You and Mrs. Phillips need nice dresses.”

“But—Tom, wait!” Hand on the doorknob, he stopped and turned back, eyebrows raised. Cressida stroked the silk, unable to repress a sigh at the cool softness of it. Underneath the rose she saw a shimmer of blue-green, like water captured in fabric form. “I can’t pay for this,” she blurted out.

“Do you not like the colors?”

“Yes! No! It’s beyond beautiful, but—”

“’Tis my gift to you both,” he said. “For the party. I wanted you to have enough time to make something nice.”

“Tom…” She shook her head to clear the haze of delight, and carefully folded the linen back around the shimmering fabric. “It’s too much.”

“That’s my decision,” he answered gruffly. “I sold a few of my consuls and had some coins in my pocket when I saw the bolts in the shop, and thought it would become you well. I’ve still got my pension,” he said at her expression. “Don’t worry about me. You told me I’ve been like a brother to you, aye? Can’t a brother give his sister a gift?”

Not when the gift cost this much. And she had called him a brother years ago, when she was still a girl. Cressida realized this was more than a brotherly gift. Tom knew how tight their finances were. He hadn’t sold his consuls to buy silk for her and Callie, but to help feed them. In that light, this expense was even more outrageous, but the gift was so touching she couldn’t bear to argue with him about it. She bit her lip and nodded. “Thank you, Tom.”

The corner of his mouth crooked upward, then he slipped through the door. Cressida caressed the bundle of silk, already thinking of the dresses they could make. The rose would look best on Callie, of course, with her darker hair and eyes, but the blue-green was the most beautiful color she’d ever seen. For one night, at least, they wouldn’t look like the poorest people in town.

It also sealed her fate regarding the party. There was no way she could refuse to go now—and if she was very honest with herself, she was not sorry the decision had been made for her. She hugged the package close to her chest and ran up the stairs in search of Callie, who was mending in her room.

Her sister’s eyes widened in amazement when Cressida showed her the silk. “Where did you get it?” She stroked it lightly.

Cressida hesitated. “Tom gave it to me—to us.”

Callie’s hand froze. “How on earth?”

“I think he would be gravely insulted if we refused. He knows how things stand. He said it was a gift, like from a brother to a sister.” Callie put her hand back in her lap, looking troubled. Cressida sank onto the opposite chair. “He said we should go to the Hayes party, and needed something to look nice.”

“That was his reason?”

Cressida nodded.

Callie chewed her lip. “We are not Mr. Webb’s sisters. Granny would not approve of us accepting such a gift from him.”

“Granny won’t know,” Cressida said bluntly. “If that’s your only basis for objection…”

“Then you want to go to the party at Penford. I know you, Cressida; if you were set on not going, you would have told Mr. Webb in no uncertain terms, and he wouldn’t have bought this.”

Again she hesitated. Cressida wasn’t immune to the lure of the blue-green silk, nor to the thought of looking elegant and even lovely in a dress made of it. And if the enigmatic Major Hayes were to see her in it…“Julia is my friend,” she said. “She particularly asked me to go, and Penford is lovely. We’ve little enough to do at nights, except mend and read. Why shouldn’t we have a night out?” Callie’s eyes narrowed at her. Cressida felt the heat rising in her face, but somehow couldn’t stop herself from blundering on. “And perhaps it will help us form a better opinion of Major Hayes and decide if we wish to accept his help in finding Papa.”

“You are the only one hesitant to accept his help,” Callie pointed out. “What do you have against him?”

She didn’t even entirely know, beyond the fact that she seemed unable to act sensibly and rationally in his presence. “Don’t you think it odd, that a man who had been thought dead for five years, whom everyone thought to be a traitor, should suddenly reappear? And not just that, but come straight to us and offer to help find Papa? Why would Lord Hastings send him, a man who is likely to be mistrusted by everyone and who must have a great many other things to tend to?”

“Lord Hastings must have had a good reason…” Callie’s voice trailed off.

“Well, no one knows what it is.” Cressida sighed, drumming her fingers on the package that lay across her lap. “Even Julia said she doesn’t know if we can trust him.”

Callie touched the silk again. “I think we have little choice. You yourself said we have no idea where Papa might have gone, or why. Major Hayes is the only person who has offered help, and we need it. The rent is due in a fortnight, we’re about to lose our horses, we still owe half the merchants in town, and we have only a small income. We’ll be cast on the parish if Papa doesn’t return soon.”

“I know.” Cressida shook her head, shoving aside her reservations. “Very well. I promise to either present a good argument against him, or graciously accept his help, by the day after the party. Because we’re going to go and have a splendid time.”

“We’ll have to sew through the night.” Callie’s eyes sparkled as she set aside the drab brown dress she had been mending.

“Get your scissors,” Cressida replied with a grin. “We’re going to look marvelous!”

For two days they sewed, early in the morning after chores and late into the evening after dinner. Callie, with her eye for fashion, cut the shining silk for two gowns, and Cressida ripped lace from her old best gown for trim. Cressida, who could whip a fine straight seam in no time, did most of the construction work, while Callie turned rosettes on the skirt hems and corded the sleeves with tiny bands of silk. Working with such fine cloth, anticipating the evening awaiting them, their spirits rose above all the worries about money, Papa’s absence, and Granny’s health. Granny sat with them during the day, smiling and laughing with them both, just as they used to do in Portsmouth. Tom sat with them at night, smoking his pipe in the corner and blushing whenever Callie would hold up a sleeve or a skirt and ask his opinion. For two days Cressida didn’t worry about anything but the undeniably exciting prospect of being well-dressed, well-fed, and carefree for an evening.

When the night arrived, Brighampton was a flurry of activity. Cressida shivered as she pulled the sinfully soft silk over her head, marveling at her appearance. The aquamarine color looked very well against her skin and hair, and the line of the gown flattered even her gangly figure. She turned from side to side, admiring the swing of the skirt and the feel of the silk against her skin, and for a moment she felt beautiful.

“Hold still, you can bask in your glory in a moment,” said Callie, who was trying to fasten the buttons on the back of her gown.

Cressida stopped turning and laughed. “Glory! Next to you, I’m still the plain one.” Callie looked stunning tonight, with her dark curls pinned atop her head and Granny’s gold earrings in her ears. The matching locket was around Cressida’s neck.

Her sister finished the buttons and gave her a quick pat. Cressida shifted aside and they shared a moment looking at themselves together in the mirror. Both gowns were on the simple side, with little ornamentation, but still fashionable and so gloriously luxurious it almost made her moan in delight. “It’s lovely not to look poor for one night,” said Callie softly, echoing Cressida’s thoughts. “Even if we are.”

“I think we look utterly smashing,” Cressida declared. “Rich gentlemen will faint dead away at the sight of us, and we shan’t be poor for long.”

Callie burst out laughing. “We’d better go, then!”

Tom was waiting with the carriage. Granny, dozing in her chair by the fireplace in the sitting room, woke up to exclaim over how lovely they looked and kiss them both. Granny didn’t want to go with them, and was staying home instead with a neighbor from down the road. But she was still standing in the doorway waving good-bye as Tom drove them down the lane.

Penford was ablaze with lights. Julia had said it was to be a small party, but Mrs. Hayes still brought the full resources of her estate to bear on the arrangements. Cressida relinquished her light cloak at the door, trying not to gape as she looked around. She had been a guest at Penford before, but never when it looked like this. The wide hallway glowed with candlelight and smelled of the freshly picked roses that graced the marble-topped table in the center of the hall. Penford’s garden was famed throughout Hertfordshire. Mrs. Hayes was there, greeting her guests with a gracious smile. And beside her, tall and dark and almost broodingly somber, stood the major.

Cressida’s breath seemed to have solidified in her throat. He looked…powerful, as he had never looked before, and at the same time almost dangerously attractive. The dark severity of his evening clothes suited the hard lines of his face and his unfashionably short hair. There was nothing soft or light about him, just a pure masculine appeal that rooted her feet to the floor. He did not look at all like a man to be trifled with—and yet so far she had been rude, abrupt, and querulous to his face. Now she apparently was trying to be stupid as well, as he looked up from shaking the curate’s hand, right into her eyes, and her brain completely stopped. She couldn’t move, speak, or even think as his bright blue eyes held hers. Callie nudged her, and she jolted forward.

“Are you ill?” whispered her sister.

“No,” Cressida muttered, flushing at her own awkwardness. She pasted a smile on her face and followed Callie.

Mrs. Hayes greeted them cordially before turning to her son, standing at her side. “You have already met my son Alexander, I believe,” she said with a smile.

“Indeed, sir. It is a pleasure to see you again.” Callie curtsied as he bowed over her hand.

“Mrs. Phillips. Welcome to Penford.” Cressida braced herself. “And Miss Turner.” This time there was a slight curve to his mouth. “Welcome to Penford.”

“Thank you,” she managed to say as he took her hand.

“I trust you had a pleasant walk home the other day.”

He was still holding her hand, still watching her with that secretive gleam in his eye. Callie was speaking to Mrs. Hayes. She had to save herself. Cressida stiffened her spine, flashed her widest smile at him, and said, “Superb, thank you.”

It worked. His eyebrows went up a fraction of an inch and he straightened, which seemed to let a rush of fresh air between them. Or perhaps it was because she was holding her breath every time he came near her. She hated that feeling, the way her heart seemed to seize and then jump into her throat when he fixed his attention on her. It just wasn’t fair that he could unsettle her so easily.