Lady Cecilia Is Cordially Disinvited For Christmas

by Jeane, Sheridan

  “Don’t even say such a thing,” Evangeline scolded. “You’ll bring us bad luck.” Then she pulled at her bottom lip with her thumb and forefinger as she lowered her brows. “Do you really think Devin would do something so low as to throw you over?”

  “No, of course not,” Cecilia said, brushing the question away with a casual wave of her hand. “It was just a bit of wishful thinking. He can’t back out. That would be breach of promise. He can’t afford to have a black mark like that against his name. Just think of the damage it could do to his career. He wants to become a judge. Did I tell you that?”

  Evangeline plopped onto the edge of the bed. “Then I suppose you’ll need to take those comportment lessons.”

  The knot of tension in Cecilia’s chest tightened. “I suppose you’re right, which is why Devin thought of it.”

  “Of course I’m right. I might be the youngest person in our family, but I’m also the most sensible one.”

  * * *

  As Cecilia’s parents escorted her to the ballroom, she noticed a flash of pale green fabric disappearing through a doorway leading outside to the elegant Mivart Hotel’s gardens. She immediately recognized Evangeline’s dress. She hadn’t expected to catch sight of her sister tonight. She was a little disappointed to spot her so easily.

  At least Evangeline would have an excellent view of the ball from the gardens. And if she became bored with what was happening inside the hotel, she could always take a moonlit stroll. Father had arranged for a refreshments table to be set up outside to encourage people to wander through the torchlit gardens. Evangeline should enjoy London now, while she still could. After all, it wouldn’t be long before Father whisked her away to a small town nestled along the southern coast of France for the sake of Mother’s health.

  Cecilia’s resentment melted away. Mother needed to live in a more temperate climate where the air was clean. The dampness and soot of London were terrible for her. The doctors said she’d improve if she moved to Cannes, and Cecilia clung to their assurances. They had to be right. They simply had to.

  “Montlake said he planned to arrive early,” Father said. “Watch for him once we enter the ballroom. He’s saving us some chairs so your mother won’t have to stand.”

  “Stop fussing,” Mother protested. “I’m perfectly capable of standing.” The topaz necklace she wore was accented with small, bright citrine gemstones, their golden-orange brilliance a stark contrast to her mother’s dwindling vitality. Seeing it on her now sent a pang of loss through Cecilia, not because it would be auctioned tomorrow, but because she could so clearly remember how vibrant and lovely her mother had once looked when wearing it. She’d once possessed a fire that outshone even the brightest of her jewels. But not anymore.

  Cecilia and her father exchanged dubious glances. She squeezed her mother’s arm. “Of course you are. No one will make you sit if you don’t want to.”

  “Now you’re being patronizing,” her mother grumbled, and then she took in a deep breath. “But I appreciate your concern. At least you aren’t trying to tell me what I can and cannot do.” She patted Cecilia’s hand.

  Mother seemed to have a bit more energy this evening. Cecilia hoped it would be enough to carry her through the night.

  As they neared the entrance to the ballroom, a tall, dark-haired man stepped away from the paneled wall and strode toward them. A tingle of pleasure washed through Cecilia as she recognized her fiancé, Devin Montlake. He always had that effect on her. She drank in his distinctive profile with its strong jawline and full lips. She’d always been acutely aware of Devin, even when she was a young girl. Despite their differences…their many, many differences…something about Devin had always enticed her, as cheese tempted a mouse, and when he’d asked for her hand in marriage last year, she’d never even considered rejecting him. At least…not until later.

  It was only recently that she’d finally come to the realization that they simply didn’t make sense as a couple.

  “Good evening, Lord Babbage,” Devin said, fixing his gaze on her father.

  “Montlake. What are you doing out here?” Father asked, surprise evident in his tone. “I thought you were holding chairs for us.”

  “I have everything in hand,” Devin replied, unaffected by the brusque words. He looked crisp and capable in his black cutaway coat and starched white shirt. Even his sideburns were impeccably groomed. “My friend Leeland Raven is already in the ballroom and is holding five of the best seats available. They’re close enough to the refreshments table to be convenient, but not so close as to cause us to be buried in a crush of people. They’ll provide us with an excellent view of the dance floor as well.” He was quite logical and capable, as usual.

  Why was it that even now, when she realized they were so terribly ill-suited for one another, she still felt this tug of attraction?

  Cecilia glanced away from Devin as she plucked restlessly at her mesh gloves. They weren’t really traditional evening wear, but Cecilia always liked to add her own bit of flair to everything she did. It had been so warm all day that she’d decided to take a chance and eschew the heavier kid leather ones in favor of this open-weave cotton pair, but now it seemed almost decadent to be able to see her skin through the diamond weave of the mesh. But that was silly, wasn’t it? After all, her shoulders were bare for the world to see, so why should a glimpse of her hand make her self-conscious?

  And then Cecilia realized that her self-doubt came from being so close to Devin. Now she constantly questioned herself. All because he wanted her to take comportment lessons.

  This man would drive her mad. One moment she was noticing how incredibly handsome he was, and the next moment she was resenting the way he was trying to take over her life.

  And he was handsome. She’d always thought so. The heat radiating from his body was like a caress. She wanted to edge closer to him. That was wanton of her, wasn’t it? She glanced up at him, and just as quickly, she glanced away. Even now, she had to force herself not to reach up and tuck the errant curl of hair behind his ear. He would not approve of that. She was certain of it.

  Even so, her heart beat slightly faster as her imagination began running off on a tangent. If she were to be so bold as to brush back his hair, what would stop her from briefly cupping his jaw and feeling the heat of his skin and the faint roughness of the stubble that had grown since he’d last shaved?

  Cecilia shook her head, forcing herself to break free of the fantasy. If these weren’t wanton thoughts, what were?

  “Five chairs, you say?” Father repeated. “So your friend will join us? That should be fine.” Then he frowned and glanced doubtfully at his wife. “Does that sit well with you, my dear?”

  Sit well. On chairs. Cecilia smirked. Had Father noticed his own pun? Now Devin was giving her a strange look. Drat.

  “Oh, do stop fussing,” Mother snapped. “Of course it’s fine. Mr. Montlake has been most considerate.” Mother gave him a stiff smile.

  Cecilia tried to hide her dismay at the sharp tone Mother used, because her peevishness was a sure indicator that she was already beginning to tire. Cecilia looked at her more closely and noted how pale she seemed in the glow of the gas chandelier. Her skin was almost translucent.

  Father and Mother would leave for Cannes in just a month. Everyone avoided using the word “consumption,” but that’s what she had. And there was no cure. But even so, living in a mild climate was said to help considerably.

  Cecilia knew better than to try to convince Mother to return to her room. She might be ill, but she had the determination of one of Father’s foxhounds once it had caught a scent.

  “Why don’t we join Mr. Raven?” Cecilia said instead. “I, for one, would love a glass of punch.” The sooner Mother sat down, the better.

  Devin offered her his arm and she slid her gloved hand through it, resting her fingertips along his forearm and enjoying both the heat radiating from him and the texture of his evening coat. Perhaps these mesh gloves really w
ere decadent.

  As Devin led them across the room, she saw Leeland Raven watching them. She’d met him in London last season, and apparently, Devin knew him rather well. The man had such a lighthearted disposition and pale hair that he was, in many ways, the antithesis of Devin. How odd that a man named Raven would have such pale hair. Maybe some fey creature had replaced the real Leeland Raven with a pale-haired fairy child. She smiled.

  “Good evening,” Mr. Raven said, rising to his feet. His gaze focused on Cecilia’s smile and he returned it.

  They greeted one another and, despite her earlier protests, Mother willingly took a seat.

  “Miss Paring, are you free for this next dance?” Mr. Raven asked. “I hope you’ll do me the honor of being my partner.”

  Devin’s expression remained stoic, but Cecilia saw the small muscle in his jaw tense. Had he planned to claim the first dance with her? Well, there was nothing she could do about it now. She couldn’t refuse Leeland Raven. It would be abominably rude. Comportment lessons, indeed.

  “Yes, I’m free,” Cecilia said. “I’d be delighted.” She checked her dance card. “Oh, and look, Mr. Raven. The next dance is a waltz.”

  Devin cleared his throat. “Would you do me the honor of putting me down for the following waltz?”

  Cecilia smiled and nodded, quickly penciling both Mr. Raven’s and Devin’s names on her dance card.

  A moment later, the first notes of music began playing, and Mr. Raven offered her his hand. Once she took it, he immediately wheeled her out onto the dance floor. His right hand rested lightly on her waist as he led her through the graceful one-two-three rhythm.

  “You look lovely tonight, Miss Paring.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Raven,” she said, blushing at the compliment.

  “I know we only met each other a few months ago, but I hadn’t realized you and Devin knew one another, let alone that you were engaged. He’s been rather closed-mouthed about it.”

  “He never said a word?” The polite smile she’d been wearing stiffened on her lips. She glanced back at Devin, past the other dancers. He’d never even spoken of her?

  “But then again, Montlake and I don’t run across each other very often,” Mr. Raven added, obviously wishing he hadn’t said anything. “London is such a big city.”

  The tension in her cheeks eased as her smile faded. Devin was a rational and dependable man who was never given to indiscretion. That might not sound like the most flattering way to describe one’s fiancé, but when Cecilia had been younger, those had been the most desirable traits she could imagine. Long ago, she’d decided she wanted someone she could count on. Someone strong and reliable.

  Someone who was the opposite of her father.

  Someone like Devin. Had that simply been a childish fantasy?

  “Have you known Montlake long?” Raven asked.

  “Almost since I was born,” Cecilia replied. She glanced across the room, trying to find Devin again, but since she and Mr. Raven were waltzing, they had traveled to the far end of the ballroom, and she couldn’t spot Devin. “Our country homes were near one another, and we frequently attended the same social events while we were growing up.” He’d always been the one to come to her rescue and pull her out of her many scrapes. He’d been her hero. Her champion. She tipped her head back to glance up at Mr. Raven. “And you? Did you first meet him in London?”

  “No, at Oxford.”

  “You were a student there?” That startled her. Mr. Raven had never impressed her as being the studious type.

  “Yes,” he said with a chuckle. “Don’t sound so surprised. We were both in Balliol College. We had some law classes together. Montlake was brilliant. The best in the class. He’s an amazing barrister, and he’ll make a fair and just judge.”

  A flash of pride flared within Cecilia. She admired Devin, she always had. It pleased her to know Mr. Raven held a similar opinion. “And you? Are you a barrister as well?”

  “No, I’m a solicitor. I prefer working with people to arguing points of law in court.”

  “I would feel the same way,” she replied, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Although I don’t see that drawing up legal papers would be much of an improvement over debating the law.”

  “Ah, yes, but at least I have the opportunity to work with many different people from all walks of life. Poor Montlake only has judges, solicitors, and other barristers to associate with. Take my word for it, they’re a stodgy lot.”

  Cecilia laughed. “So I’ve noticed.”

  “You’re sure to liven things up once you become Mrs. Montlake. Those humdrums won’t know what to make of you.”

  Cecilia’s smile fell. “That’s exactly what worries me. I’m not entirely certain I’m cut out to be a barrister’s wife.” She fixed her gaze on his lapel, not wanting to see the agreement she knew would be on his face.

  “Don’t talk that way,” he said, tightening his grip on her hand. “You’re bound to liven up those bores. They need someone like you to keep them from putting each other to sleep.”

  She tried to meet his gaze, but couldn’t. “I hope you’re right.”

  “I know I am. You’re good for Montlake. I see the change in him when you’re around.” He lifted his gaze as he sought out something across the room. “Did you know he hasn’t taken his eyes off us since we stepped onto the dance floor?”

  Her mouth opened to protest, but then she realized he must be looking over the other dancers’ heads at Devin. It must be nice to be so tall.

  He glanced down at her and grinned. “If his family knew he was being so obvious in showing his affection for you, they’d be appalled. It bears repeating…you’re good for him.”

  “They don’t approve of me,” she muttered. “They never have. They think I’m a hoyden.”

  “His parents? Then they don’t know a good thing when they see it. You make him happy. That’s what matters.”

  Cecilia couldn’t stifle her snort of disbelief. She was snorting altogether too much tonight. “Not to them, but I thank you for your kind words.”

  The waltz came to an end, and they drifted to a stop, but Mr. Raven didn’t release her. “Don’t disparage yourself. There are enough hurtful people in the world who will gladly do it for you. There’s no reason to help them.”

  She glanced away. He was right, of course. Wasn’t he? Despite her confidence in Devin’s noble nature, she couldn’t stop the niggling self-doubt that kept creeping into her mind. She wasn’t convinced that Devin still truly wanted to marry her, and until she was, she’d never be completely at ease with her decision.

  Devin tracked her approach with his eyes, and she immediately knew that he’d been watching them dance, just as Mr. Raven had said.

  “Are you looking forward to tomorrow?” Devin asked her.

  She looked at him blankly for a moment before comprehension dawned on her. “Do you mean the auction?” She almost said ‘no,’ but then remembered her role tonight. She was supposed to be happy about the auction, so she’d need to pretend, at least when she was anyplace she might be overheard. She smiled brightly. “Certainly. I’ve never been to one as glamorous as this before. I’ve only attended little country auctions. I wonder how different it will be to hear jewels being bid on rather than horses.”

  One corner of Devin’s mouth tilted up in a half smile. “I imagine the bids will go much higher than they would for a plow horse.”

  She gave a slight shrug with one shoulder as though she didn’t really care. “Probably. Father’s counting on it being a success. He invited everyone he thought would be interested in attending tomorrow’s auction to come to the ball.”

  Devin indicated the crowded ballroom with a jerk of his chin. “Judging by the number of people here, the auction is certain to be well attended.”

  “I hope so,” she said, turning to sit next to her mother. “I just want it over with.”

  “Cecilia, for shame,” her mother scolded. “You know how important
it is. We’re doing this all for you, my dear.”

  She whipped her hand up to cover her mouth as she widened her eyes. She could hardly believe she’d forgotten for a moment. “Was that indiscreet? I’m terribly sorry. I shouldn’t have been so…I don’t know,” she said, searching for the right word, “so thoughtless.”

  Her mother snapped open her fan and began fluttering it. “You need to learn to be more circumspect.”

  Another of Devin’s acquaintances, Harris Kenning, joined them. “Good evening, Lady Babbage, Miss Paring.”

  “I didn’t realize you’d be here this evening, Mr. Kenning,” Mother said. She flashed the man an unusually bright smile. “It’s always a pleasure to see you.”

  “And you, Lady Babbage,” Kenning replied. “Would you care to dance?”

  “I’m afraid I’m a bit weary this evening,” Mother replied, looking disappointed, “but I believe my daughter is free for this dance. Perhaps you’d like to be her partner.”

  “I’d be honored,” Mr. Kenning said, offering his hand to Cecilia.

  She took it as she rose from her chair. “Actually, I’m not particularly fond of dancing the quadrille. Would you mind walking with me instead?”

  Devin frowned.

  Cecilia stiffened. Apparently she’d made another social blunder. But the gardens were busy and well lit. It wasn’t as though some illicit tryst could take place there. Any guest could look out his hotel window and see the guests wandering among the paths.

  Was Mr. Kenning disappointed? She wasn’t sure, but if he was, he hid it well. “I’d be delighted to,” he said, offering her his arm.

  She accepted it and he escorted her away from her family and out through a set of double doors leading to the hotel’s gardens. A number of guests gathered near the refreshments table, but Mr. Kenning maneuvered past them and onto the wide path.

  Small torches were scattered throughout the grounds lit the way. London’s night noises were soothing after the cacophony of the ballroom. The buildings surrounding Mivart Hotel’s interior courtyard muted the sounds of hoofbeats and carriage wheels along Brook Street.