Lady Cecilia Is Cordially Disinvited For Christmas

by Jeane, Sheridan

  Cecilia’s frustration with him had been reasonable. He’d been absent from her life for far too long. Did he even have the right to try to win her back? He’d been so dogged in pursuit of his vision for their future together that he’d never considered any other alternative.

  Horace walked ahead of him, pushed open the stone mill’s door, and slipped into the darkness.

  Devin stared into the black interior of the empty building as he tried to picture a different future altogether.

  What if he decided not to marry her? To simply let her go?

  The pain that ripped through his chest felt like something almost alive. Feral. The thought of not being with Cecilia nearly crushed him. He gripped the frame of the open doorway to brace himself.

  God, how he wanted her! Loved her!

  But was that enough? Was he simply being selfish in wanting to have her for himself? Maybe she’d be better off with someone else— someone who wrote letters to her and communicated with her and didn’t take her for granted. Someone whose family would love her and value her as much as he did.

  “Maybe I’m not the right man for her,” he said into the darkness. “Surely she could do better than a barrister. Her father is an earl. She could marry a nobleman instead of a younger son with no title.”

  Horace lit a lantern next to the door, and the light allowed Devin to make out some shapes in the room. A plain table and some wooden chairs. A stack of boxes. The room was mostly vacant.

  “But she doesn’t care about things like that,” Horace pointed out. “She never has. You know Cecilia. She’s a free spirit. Status doesn’t matter to her. She cares more about what people do with their lives and how they help those around them than their bloodlines. For her, it comes down to deeds.”

  Horace had a point. That was probably why his parents had never really approved of her… they knew she didn’t approve of them. She hadn’t shown them the respect they’d always presumed was theirs by birth. Instead, she had chided each of them for their lack of charity.

  “Give me a minute,” Horace said as walked through the only other door in the room and paused to peer back at Devin. “I’m replacing the mill’s wooden cogs with new steel ones. They’ll last much longer. You’re so distracted, you might as well wait here. I’ll check on the progress the workmen made and be right back.” He stepped inside and peered around for a few minutes.

  As Devin’s eyes adjusted to the dim light shining in through the open door, he decided not to lean on the table while he waited. The place looked dusty— probably from grinding flour.

  As promised, it only took Horace a minute. “The work seems to be coming along well,” he said the moment he reappeared in the doorway.

  He closed the door behind him, brushed of his hands, grinned at Devin. “I was recalling some of Cecilia’s more entertaining exploits. That girl never gives up, does she?”

  “She’s relentless,” Devin agreed. But she’d given up on him. On them. Perhaps that said more about how much he’d taken her for granted than it did about her lack of commitment to him.

  “Remember the time one of their gardeners accidentally killed that rabbit with his scythe? Cecilia was so distraught when she realized the rabbit was a nursing doe that she went in search of the kits. She found them, put them in a box, took them to the stables, and fed them goat’s milk every four hours until they were big enough to fend for themselves.” Horace ushered Devin toward the door with a sweep of his arm.

  Devin smiled at the memory as he left the dim room and stepped back outside into the afternoon sun. “And ‘fend’ they did. Her family’s gardener was beside himself when those same rabbits started stealing food from the kitchen garden. She wouldn’t let him do anything that would hurt them. It drove the poor man batty.”

  Horace grinned as he shook his head. He blew out the lamp and immediately disappeared in the ensuing darkness. “What about the time she collected all her old clothes and took them to the village church to donate them?” His voice grew louder as he strode toward Devin. “Her nurse was put out to discover that the items she usually sold in London to supplement her own income were being given to the locals.” He stepped outside and turned to lock the door.

  “We were visiting that day. Her nurse had finally had enough and quit. She said she’d never seen such a thoughtless and bubble-headed girl who didn’t understand the value of money. Cecilia said the woman didn’t have her values straight if she thought money was more important than being a good person and helping those in need.”

  “That’s the girl you fell in love with,” Horace said as he launched himself into his saddle with only a slight grunt of effort. “That’s the woman you still love today. It just so happens that your values are more in line with Cecilia’s than with our father’s. The biggest difference between the two of you is that you’re better at being diplomatic than she is.”

  “That’s an interesting perspective.” They rode side by side as they headed home.

  “A good one, I hope.”

  “Very much so.” Devin met his brother’s gaze. “I had no idea you were so insightful. Maybe I should solicit your brotherly advice more often.”

  Horace looked doubtful, clearly wondering whether Devin was having a go at him. “I wouldn’t want you to overexert yourself. You might hurt something.”

  “I was being sincere. In fact, perhaps you can help me find a way to fix things with Cecilia.”

  “And win her back?” Horace grinned. “That, dear brother, would be a pleasure.”

  5

  After searching in vain for her father, Cecilia finally gave up and headed back to her bedchamber. Less than a minute later, he entered her bedroom carrying a plate of gingerbread slathered with clotted cream.

  “For you, my dear,” he said, handing her the plate. “Evangeline said she thought you’d be up here.”

  “Thank you.” She stared at the food, but even the heavenly scent of Cook’s famous gingerbread didn’t manage to pull her from her despair. It wasn’t as if she were two and everything could be mended with a treat and a kiss. Some problems were too big to be dealt with using such simple methods. “I need to talk to you.”

  “Evangeline said that too.”

  “She’s been busy.” Cecilia tried to smile but couldn’t. “I overheard some things today that I found rather hurtful. I wasn’t sure if I should tell you about them, but I decided it’s best if you know what’s being said.”

  Father sat heavily on the chair next to her. “Cecilia, you look devastated. What have you heard?” A furrow creased his brow.

  “Lord Vincent was talking about our family’s bad luck.”

  Father let out a heavy sigh. “I’ve spoken with the man more than once about his habit of discussing our family, and I’ve repeatedly asked him to stop. He’ll refrain for a while, but then he forgets. It appears I’ll have to speak with him again.”

  “He’s saying that we’re cursed. You know how people can be. If that kind of story starts to spread…”

  Her father paled. “I was afraid that rumor might someday make its way around. I hope this doesn’t make things worse for us. You know how superstitious certain people can be.”

  Cecilia hesitated, holding her breath. She finally let it out. “Devin told him he’s perfectly aware of why we make a bad match.”

  Her father’s face went blank. “He what?”

  “Don’t make me repeat it.”

  He pressed his lips tight. “I expected more of him, but I should have known better.” Her father’s tone dripped with bitterness. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

  She had no response for that. She’d always thought Devin was nothing like his parents. They were such greedy, grasping people with no charity in their hearts. Devin was nothing like them. Not in that way.

  But— perhaps he was like them in other ways. In his need to follow all of life’s rules as assiduously as one followed the rules in a game of cards. The man had no gray areas in his life. It
was all black or white.

  Maybe she’d been right to break things off with him.

  Her pain felt like a knife through her heart, but maybe this was for the best. She couldn’t imagine how much worse her devastation would be if they were married and he still refused to communicate with her. Still didn’t show that he valued her, and instead chose simply to ignore her.

  Sometimes love wasn’t enough. In order to endure the storms of life, there also needed to be mutual respect. Trust. Openness. Without those things, a relationship would be imbalanced and destructive.

  The knife in her heart twisted again, bringing a fresh wave of pain.

  Why did this have to hurt so much? Why couldn’t doing the smart thing feel better than this?

  “I— I broke things off with Devin,” she told her father.

  He stilled. He didn’t speak for a moment, but finally he nodded. “It’s for the best. You’ve made the right decision.”

  Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “I’m glad you think so.” She inhaled shakily. “It hurts, Papa.”

  His expression softened at her use of such an old term of endearment. “I know. Hearts mend, though. Soon enough, you’ll find someone truly deserving of your love. Take my word for it.” His eyes flickered as he leaned away from her. “I’ll need to find a way for you to have a season next year after all. I’d assumed Devin would ask for your hand today and you’d forego being launched into society, but I’ll need to formulate a new plan.” He patted her hand. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll manage. I always do. I can use some of the money I’d earmarked for your dowry.” A kind smile deepened the grooves around his mouth. “Since you won’t be eighteen for four more months, this is probably for the best. After all, you haven’t had the opportunity to meet many man.”

  Cecilia nodded, feeling oddly deflated. She’d expected Father to upbraid her for ending things with Devin. His pragmatic and supportive response left her off balance.

  She was barely aware of her father leaving the room. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She picked up the napkin that Father had brought her along with the gingerbread and used it to dry her face.

  He was right. This was for the best. Her pain would pass.

  Either that, or she’d die of a broken heart.

  6

  Devin wiped his boots before following Horace back inside their family’s home. The moment he shut the door, a footman appeared to whisk away their hats and overcoats.

  Leaving the drafty entry hall behind him, Devin immediately went in search of Cecilia. He followed the sounds of laughter, hoping to find her with the other guests.

  When he arrived in the salon, he found the room transformed. Christmas supplies littered every surface as their house guests helped to make decorations.

  Someone had brought in some large wooden storage boxes. The lids were open, and light glinted off Mother’s ever-growing collection of Christmas tree decorations. She’d started acquiring them only a few years ago when they’d first begun showing up in stores. His mother, usually reluctant to embrace change, had latched onto this particular trend with gusto. The fact that Queen Victoria had wholly embraced the Christmas holiday had heavily influenced her.

  He immediately spotted Cecilia. She sat with a group of women making small cones out of paper. They tied a bit of ribbon to each one and then filled the cone with nuts and bits of dried fruit. As soon as the tree was erected, they’d hang the little cornucopias from its boughs.

  His mother sat with Miss Glassford, chatting away as they tied small bundles of cinnamon sticks with bits of ribbon. The room was redolent with scents of cinnamon, cloves, pine, and oranges. He spotted some children pressing cloves into oranges. He’d always particularly loved those little balls.

  He’d need to get Cecilia away from this group in order to have the conversation they so desperately needed— and without arousing his mother’s suspicious nature.

  He waved over a footman and gave him a message for Cecilia and then hurried off to the library. He didn’t want anyone to catch sight of him, or his ruse would never work.

  This room hadn’t escaped the frenzy of his mother’s holiday preparations. Fortunately, she’d been a bit more subtle in here and had only placed a few bowls of potpourri around the room. The scents of cinnamon, cloves, and pine filled the room, overwhelming the faint scent of paper and leather book bindings.

  A moment later, Cecilia came hurrying into the room, still holding a paper cornucopia filled with nuts and dried fruit. She was a vision in pink, and he immediately noticed the gown’s V-necked collar. He’d wager she’d chosen the style with him in mind. He’d noticed that she’d started gravitating toward this sort of collar after he’d commented on how it enhanced her beautiful neck.

  Unfortunately, the moment she caught sight of him, she came to a halt and scowled.

  “I’m looking for Evangeline,” she said as though grudging every word she uttered. “She sent a message asking me to meet her here.” She glanced around, apparently searching for her sister as she absently popped a candied walnut into her mouth and crunched down on it.

  “I apologize for the ruse, but I’m the one who sent that message. I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t want anyone to know you were coming to meet me.”

  Her lips thinned, and the knuckles of the hand holding the paper cone tightened to white. Not a good sign.

  Without a word, she turned to leave.

  Devin’s heart dropped. Wouldn’t she even listen to him? “Please, Cecilia, I beg of you. Don’t leave. I know you’re angry with me, but if I ever meant anything to you, stay and hear me out.”

  She halted in the doorway, then slowly turned to face him. “There’s no need. You’ve made your feelings toward me quite clear over the past few months. Your conversation with Lord Vincent was illuminating, to say the least. I’ve already informed my father that we’ve broken things off. I don’t think there’s anything left to be said.”

  She held his gaze, this proud, wronged woman. He’d already known she had fire and strength. Now he also recognized the depth of her pride.

  He needed to apologize. Nothing less would do. He could tell by the expression on her face that she was ready to walk away from him forever.

  Could he blame her?

  “I’m sorry I didn’t write to you and took you for granted.”

  She frowned. Not the response he was hoping for, but perhaps the one he most deserved. Then, she took a single step toward him. That was something, at least.

  “Why? Answer me that. Why didn’t you write to me? How could you simply stop communicating with me?” Her beseeching eyes seemed filled with doubt. “I have an active imagination, Devin. Everyone knows that… you better than anyone. When you don’t send me letters, I start imagining the most horrible things. That you’ve been hurt or have fallen ill. That you’ve been set upon by thieves or run down by a carriage. When I found out through my father that you were quite well, I was relieved, but hurt as well. Why didn’t you contact me? I was obliged to fill in all those unknowns, and my speculations became more and more creative.” She hesitated and looked down at the floor. “I started imagining that you’d found someone else you prefer to me. That you’re spending time with her and are afraid to tell me.”

  Someone else? How absurd. She couldn’t be further from the truth.

  “Darling—”

  Cecilia seemed to sway. She clutched the paper cornucopia to her stomach as she grabbed the frame of the door and steadied herself. “The thought sickens me. I try to convince myself that you’d never be so unkind or duplicitous— and I succeed for a while, but those doubts return when I lie awake at night, unable to sleep. They’re insidious.” She seemed to gather more strength and stood up straighter. “I blame you for all my sleepless nights. For all that heartache. It would have been nothing for you to write to me, either to reassure me that all was well with you or to end things with me. Instead, you left me in that limbo. Your lack of communication was though
tless and disrespectful. I expect better of you, Devin.”

  Every word hit him like a lash, and every lash was deserved a hundredfold— no, a thousandfold.

  He’d had no idea she’d felt this way. No idea that she’d doubted his sincerity so profoundly.

  No idea that not writing to her could hurt her so deeply.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but then paused. There was more to her distrust than was apparent on the surface. He was certain of it. Was the real problem that she didn’t trust him, or that she was riddled with self-doubt? After all, his parents had made it obvious that they didn’t approve of her. Had their constant criticism, whether spoken or silently implied, eaten away at her confidence?

  “Cecilia, I do apologize. I was wrong. My only defense is that I didn’t realize how deeply my silence would hurt you. I wrote to you that I was extremely busy, and I thought you understood why I didn’t keep up with our correspondence. I never meant to hurt you or appear as though I didn’t hold you in the utmost respect.”

  “Being busy is no excuse.” She glanced down at the crumpled cornucopia she held and seemed surprised by its dilapidated condition.

  “You’re right, it isn’t. I hope you’ll recall that I said I wanted to become a barrister as quickly as possible and that I knew it would be difficult to do so.”

  “You didn’t say you wouldn’t write to me. Why didn’t you?”

  He let out a sigh and dragged his hand through his hair. “I tried. At first, I wrote to you once a week, but that turned into once a month and then— I gave up. Most of what I wrote to you was so trivial. So unremarkable. I spend my days reading and writing documents, and that formal style seeped into in my letters to you. The last one I tried to write sounded more like a legal document than a love letter. I never sent it. You would have hated it. I tore it up and promised myself I’d try again— but I never did.”

  “Maybe you’re right, maybe I would have found your letter dry and boring— but a boring letter is better than no letter at all.”