Underestimating Miss Cecilia

by Carolyn Miller

  So, Ned told something of his experiences, even daring—for he sensed the other man’s compassion might lend itself to a bending of the law—to mention the gypsy.

  A frown appeared, but he said only, “There are many who have been marginalized, whom society seems to prefer would not exist.”

  “I … I have become increasingly aware of the plight of people such as the gypsies and the Irish, and the fact that there is little recourse for those who have been unfairly accused. I have wondered about the creation of an organization to help those facing legal difficulties, who cannot afford to pay, and hope to one day gather some like-minded men who will be prepared to stand up for justice, even despite the social and legal cost.”

  “You are aware that these are indeed challenging times for parliamentarians who might regard those in the north as men wanting to overthrow the government.”

  Ned cleared his throat. “I cannot believe they wish for insurrection, simply for a chance to be heard.”

  “And perhaps fairer wages so their families can eat.”

  “Of course.”

  “The massacre at St. Peter’s Field should never have happened.” The earl’s eyes flashed, and he looked away for several moments, lips flattened, muscle ticking in his jaw. Then he sighed. “I have long felt the Corn Laws do the working man an injustice, and can fully sympathize with those suffering these difficulties.” He straightened in his seat. “I commend you for your compassion and your regard for the plight of those who cannot speak for themselves.”

  Ned’s throat tightened. How long since he had felt words of commendation?

  “Yes, please send me your report. I shall look over it, and doubtless will want to speak with you again before I submit such things to Parliament next year.”

  “Thank you, sir. You have no idea how much I appreciate your willingness to look into such matters.”

  “I learned a while ago the importance of compassion, and its necessary practical outworking in our lives.” The earl smiled. “Forgive my enquiry, Amherst, but are you married?”

  “Er, no.”

  “It would appear the well of compassion has already been dug, but I encourage you, when it comes time to find a wife, to ensure you find one who shares similar convictions. I cannot stress how important it is to ensure one’s wedded partner is one who shares faith and encourages us to be a better person.”

  “I will keep these things in mind, sir.”

  “Good. For I would hate to see such sympathetic understanding lost because of the demands of an ill-chosen wife. A wife of good sense and a good heart is worth far more than rubies, so the Bible tells us.”

  Ned inclined his head, and soon made his exit, mind running over all that had been said, all the earl’s words that held so much promise.

  And his final words about a wife—could he one day find such a woman whose worth proved her to be above rubies?

  CHAPTER NİNETEEN

  THE NEXT DAY saw the initial aloofness thaw to something warmer, as the young ladies and gentlemen grew more comfortable with each other, increasingly able to converse with each other about all manner of things. All except Cecy. She was not precisely short of partners wishing to converse, but she was unable—or at least unwilling—to give them encouragement. How could she, when she knew that if they were so foolish as to make her an offer she would need to demur? Surely it was better not to raise their hopes and to answer their questions in monosyllables. Even if her mother was not best pleased.

  “Cecilia,” she hissed, one time when they were alone, “how many times must I remind you that young gentlemen who wish to speak with you deserve the courtesy of being looked at, at least. Your behavior is hardly kind.”

  Cecy nodded. Yes, it was true. But giving false encouragement was not kind either.

  So now she sat listening as the other young ladies of the party gathered in the drawing room engaged in paper crafts, coiling strips of paper into curls to attach to a card. Cecy’s effort lay on the table before her, her ends a little more ragged than the others, but the effect was still pleasing.

  “Oh, you are clever,” Miss Fairley said, her words and expression holding nothing that suggested insincerity. “I wish I could do mine so well, but I find myself quite out of patience.”

  Her sad sample suggested that was so.

  “I could show you if you like,” Cecy offered.

  “Oh no.” Miss Fairley waved a hand of dismissal. “I find I do not truly care for such things. I am here because my mother insists I secure a match by the end of this next season, as I have four younger sisters who must all be brought out in the next few years.”

  “I am the middle of three sisters,” Cecy began. “So, I can understand—”

  “Really, it is a tiresome bore to be the eldest of one’s family,” Miss Fairley continued, as if Cecy hadn’t spoken. “One must always be setting an example, or being instructed in such and such, whereas my younger sisters seem to be able to get away with whatever they like. They can be so saucy and impertinent, daring to answer back when I try to offer the slightest hint as to how their unbecoming behavior might reflect on the rest of us. It’s like they do not even care!”

  Cecy murmured her sympathies.

  “Yes, it is a trial, Miss Hatherleigh, I’m so glad you understand. You cannot know just how tiresome they can be, to have one’s younger siblings forever wishing to borrow one’s best gowns. Why, Horatia, my youngest sister, just this past week was practically begging to wear my new primrose silk, then when I refused, she took it anyway. And then do you know what she did?”

  Cecy shook her head no.

  “Then she had the nerve to return it the next day, hiding it in my closet so I would not know. Only when I went to wear it for the Huntington ball, I found it had the most enormous stain on the bodice! Of course, when I asked who had done such a dreadful thing, she denied it, until Letitia, my second youngest sister, said she had seen Horry trying it on, so of course my mother was most upset which made Horry fall into tears and say how very sorry she was, which would have been forgivable if she had received some form of punishment, but because my mother felt sorry for her she was still allowed to go to the ball anyway! There, have you ever heard of anything so dreadful?”

  Again, Cecy demurred.

  “I could not believe it, and I have refused to speak to her since. She is obviously extremely deceitful, and so conniving that she can wrap my mother around her little finger, which just goes to show that the lot of the eldest sister is not one to be envied. Oh, I’m sure you’re not troublesome to your elder sister, you’re such a meek little thing—you don’t mind me saying so, do you?—but so many other young ladies of my acquaintance seem to feel the exact same way.”

  Was that because so few of them could offer opinions that might be heard?

  “Anyway, I have the burden of making an eligible match, and I had wondered about Lord Robert, although I do think he appears a little squinty-eyed, but then I heard that Lord Abbotsbury is coming!”

  “Lady Aldershot mentioned—”

  “He is said to be worth ten thousand a year! And he’s bringing a friend. Oh, I hope it is another like he.”

  “Have you met Lord Abbotsbury?” Cecy was finally able to say.

  “Oh no. But I had met his cousin, the one who used to hold the title but was shot. Of course, it was terribly sad and must have been a great shock for them—”

  “I imagine it was.”

  “—but what a wonderful surprise for him!”

  “For the man who was shot?”

  “No, don’t be so silly. I meant for the new marquess.”

  “Perhaps not so very wonderful if he cared about his cousin,” she offered.

  Miss Fairley blinked. “Well, one doesn’t want to get morbid about these things. Anyway, it will be such a pleasure to meet him. Lord Abbotsbury—the one who died, I mean—was so good-looking, so strong, with broad shoulders that certainly knew how to fill out a coat, if you know what I mean.” S
he tittered. “And I would imagine any cousin of his would have to hold some of these same qualities, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I could not say.”

  Miss Fairley sighed, adopting a sorrowful look. “He was quite simply one of the handsomest young gentlemen I have ever had the good fortune to meet. And so athletic, a complete out and outer, which is why his death was such a shock.”

  Sensing Miss Fairley could easily continue in this vein for quite some time, Cecy gently moved the conversation to other matters, enquiring if Miss Fairley was previously acquainted with many of the other houseguests.

  “Oh, I have met a few of them at various affairs, but none of them hold much interest. No, I’m afraid I simply must meet Lord Abbotsbury, and I am so pleased he will be here this afternoon.”

  Cecy nodded. “It will be good to have another face.”

  “Two more faces, for don’t forget he brings his friend. Oh, I wonder if his friend will be as handsome as he.” She smiled. “Now, Miss Hatherleigh, don’t forget to let those of us whose fortunes might not be quite so handsome as yours have a chance to speak with him. Really, I consider it most unfair that young ladies of handsome fortune are often regarded as prettier than those without—which is not to say that you are not extremely pretty, Miss Hatherleigh, for indeed as soon as you walked in the room, I said to Mama, ‘Look, Mama, she is very pretty, is she not?’ and Mama agreed, and she should know, seeing as she often is said to have the prettiest daughters in Essex—but I do think it strange that a fortune makes one somehow of greater interest and worthier of receiving a young gentleman’s attentions than those poor creatures who are not quite so blessed.”

  What was she supposed to say to such a speech? Cecy said nothing.

  “Oh, I simply cannot wait to meet Lord Abbotsbury! I am sure you think it most shocking in me to be so interested but I cannot help but think he is bound to be thrilling!”

  But the greatest shock revealed not too many hours later was not the magnitude of Miss Fairley’s disappointment, when the handsome young marquess she had envisaged turned out to be very plain and not above medium height. Cecy would have found her stupefied, open-mouthed dismay comical, had it not been for the shock she had also received.

  For the new Marquess of Abbotsbury’s friend was none other than Mr. Amherst.

  After completing his bows to his hostess, whose air towards him was decidedly cooler than the welcome she had offered Simon, thus suggesting his presence was not the pleasure she had spoken it as being, Ned turned to the other guests. They were a mix of young ladies and gentlemen he only vaguely knew, save for the young lady of chestnut curls whose jaw sagged when he had entered the room.

  “Cecy!” What a welcome, dear sight she was. He hurried towards her, conscious her eyes held a glow. “How wonderful to see you again.”

  She blushed, and murmured reciprocation, and he was instantly reminded of his mother’s warnings about not trifling with the affections of his young neighbor.

  He drew back, and turned to her companion, whose startled gaze at Ned’s companion would be almost amusing if he did not suspect it derived from something rather like disappointment. Simon was not shy about owning his less-than-handsome looks, nor the fact his interest in lepidopterology was not usually returned by young ladies, but he still felt for his friend when young ladies made their disapprobation so very plain.

  He waited, offering bows and polite greetings as the introductions continued, until they were escorted to their bedchambers and encouraged to wash and change for dinner.

  “We shall dine at six, and Lord Aldershot is very particular about punctuality, so it would be wise to be here before then.”

  Ned exchanged glances with Simon. It seemed their host’s portion of geniality was rather less than that possessed by their hostess.

  Fortunately, they had descended the stairs by the time the dinner gong rang, and were conversing when the other dinner guests descended the staircase. His gaze sifted the young ladies, searching, searching—

  There.

  His breath hitched. The overhead chandelier brought a sheen to Miss Hatherleigh’s curly tresses, so much so they appeared to crackle with fire. The spangles adorning her pale pink gown shimmered, drawing his eye to the neckline, to her little waist, making him swallow. His little neighbor, his little friend, was utterly lovely. She glanced up, caught his glance, and again that blush suffused her porcelain skin. Conscious her mother was scrutinizing him, he shifted, pretending interest in Miss Fairley, who seemed to take this as great encouragement, and began to speak with him about other house parties she had attended. Fortunately, her running commentary did not require much in the way of either encouragement or responses, and he was soon able to relax from that unnerving reaction before.

  Their host’s punctiliousness extended so far as to insist on the proper ranking of gentlemen to attend the young ladies into the meal, although the uneven number of gentlemen to ladies left some gentlemen without escort. Simon, he noted, had been paired with Lady Aynsley, a pairing which gave both pleasure, judging from their easy conversation. As the second son of an earl he had also been provided with a partner, a Miss Hastings, a pretty young lady from Sussex whose dress and manners were quite unexceptionable. Indeed, so unexceptionable were they that he suspected she had been well schooled in the art of never raising a topic that might tinge on the interesting, let alone have any knowledge of what scandals a young gentleman could fall into. His lips tightened. Judging from the pointed stare he was receiving across the table from a lady of older age and angular nose not unlike his companion’s, he gathered the lady might be Miss Hastings’s mother, and someone who may have more of an idea about his less-than-stellar reputation.

  Offering her mother a bland look, he returned his attention to the quite excellent meal, enjoying the braised ham and haunch of venison. His partner’s chatter soon proved so inconsequential he was able to steal a look at the other guests around the dining table. They consisted of a mix of lesser nobility and upper gentry, save for Abbotsbury, whose title clearly made him the most desirable parti among the guests. They were all clearly prepared to enjoy themselves, considerations for such things as riots over two hundred miles away equally clearly unimportant.

  His attempt to introduce the subject had been met with scorn and admonitions to not “spoil the party with matters of no consequence to us” before the conversation quickly shifted elsewhere, leaving him ruing his lapse of manners. It seemed nobody here cared, save for himself, of course, and Abbotsbury, and (he suspected) Cecilia Hatherleigh, who sat between the son of the house, Lord Robert, and the son of a viscount from Lancashire named Giles Bettingsley.

  He studied her surreptitiously. She was demure, the glowing look she had offered earlier now gone, her expression when talking to Bettingsley dimming at his abrupt comments, until her countenance suggested she found her dining companions dull dogs indeed. The strain lining his heart fractionally eased.

  Eventually, after the dessert course, the conversation wound to a pause, which saw the ladies follow their hostess to the drawing room while the gentlemen reclined at their ease. Offers of port and snuff he refused, sure both were being offered from sheer politeness rather than from any real degree of hospitality.

  After securing a fresh glass of wine, Simon managed to snag the chair beside him, and say in a lowered voice, “Well, perhaps this visit shall need to be extended beyond what I originally planned.”

  “Yes?”

  “We shall have to see, but I believe I certainly fell on my feet.” He grinned. “It seems Lady Aynsley does not at all object to the idea of her daughter married to a marquess.”

  Ned blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Miss Cecilia Hatherleigh. I understand you are neighbors, but not terribly close, or so Lady Aynsley said.”

  “Did she?” he asked in a flat voice.

  “Yes. Anyway, she was telling me about Miss Cecilia, who I have to say I think is one of the prettiest of the y
oung ladies here tonight, but from what little conversation I have managed to exchange with her so far, I think she might also perhaps be one of the kindest.”

  “She is.” To both qualities.

  “It is rare to meet a young lady who cares for more than the fashion of her gown.”

  “She is perhaps a little more serious than some.”

  “You know her well?”

  “I have long considered her like the little sister I never had.” Although whether he could own as much now …

  “Good, good. Well, if that’s the case, then you will not mind if I can see if she might be tempted to look my direction instead of yours?” He coughed self-deprecatingly. “I know I have little in the way of outward charms that might appeal, but I still hold out hope some young ladies do not care solely about appearance.”

  Ned swallowed. “She is very good-hearted. You … you would be a good match.”

  “But not one you would like?” The gray eyes watched him shrewdly. “I will refrain if you prefer—”

  “No. No, she is not for me.” Something within protested the denial. But hadn’t her parents made that very clear? And she was too good, too innocent, for the likes of him. Simon was truly far more deserving of her heart, and would be guaranteed to love her as she deserved.

  Simon studied him a moment longer, forcing Ned’s smile to relax to approximate an appearance of veracity, which brought an ease to his friend’s face. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. You will have to convince Miss Hatherleigh.”

  “Then you might need to pray she does not mind my talking with her.”

  His face ached in the affixed smile, even as he nodded his agreement. That would be one prayer he would be very loathe to pray.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  HE WAS HERE! He was here! Oh, how her heart sang. But how challenging it was to not reveal to all the world just what his presence meant. She would not give her mother any reason to suspect Cecy was not obeying her wishes to put him out of her mind. Yet how could she, when she could not help but be aware of him, could not help but notice where he sat, to whom he spoke, the agreeable timbre of his voice, to note his laughter, the surprising sound of which made her quickly glance at him then away, sure she had not heard it sound so full in such an age.