by Nikki Poppen
Gallantly, Alain handed her into a hired carriage. They would be able to take the carriage together since she had been fortunate enough to have a townhouse on loan for the duration of her stay. The house was in a quiet, respectable part of Belgravia, just blocks from Alain’s own lodgings.
They spoke only small talk as the carriage carried them across town. Alain pointed out sights of interest, offering to take her sightseeing soon to see the famous places up close. But underneath the quiet conversation, something more lively sparked and jumped between them. As the carriage drew to a halt, they risked one more kiss.
Alain jumped down and handed her out of the carriage, holding her about the waist longer than necessary. “I will call for you at eleven tomorrow. It’s been a remarkable evening, spent with a remarkable woman.”
Cecile bit her lip, uncertainly, hesitating for a mo ment. “Would you like to come in? Mrs. Brown will have retired.”
Alain bent over her gloved hand and kissed it, palm side up. “Oh yes, dearest. I want to come in,” he said in low, intimate tones. “But I am a gentleman and you are a lady of impeccable virtue. It would not be right.”
Cecile nodded. “Until tomorrow then”
Alain drew her close. “Tonight, Cecile, we talked of the past. Tomorrow, we shall talk of the future, our future”
“I wish it were tomorrow already.” She gave him a soft smile and fled into the house, completely aware of the message burning in his eyes.
Alain watched her until she disappeared inside the house. He paid the driver and dismissed him. He would walk the blocks to his lodgings. The energy coursing through him would not tolerate the confines of a carriage. His step was light and his heart jubilant as he set out. Cecile was alive! Cecile loved him! Plans reeled through his head in gleeful chaos. There would be letters to write. He’d need to post one immediately to Isabella and Tristan, who were rusticating in the country with their new son. There was a wedding to plan. He would marry her as quickly as it could be arranged. He didn’t want a single second to go by without Cecile by his side. There was much he wanted to show her, to do with her, and much to amend for.
The only blot on his happy horizon was the knowledge that she had stayed away in order to protect him. He should have gone back no matter the risk to his safety, no matter the minimal odds of success. If he had gone, he might have found a way to rescue her and spirit her off to England years earlier.
Alain firmly pushed the damnable “what ifs” aside. He was going to claim happiness with both hands. His life had started again after a three year hiatus and he was anxious to live it. He laughed out loud to the night. He was getting married! At last, Fate had smiled on him.
Alain discovered eleven o’clock was too long to wait in spite of London protocol that suggested strongly that a call could not be made earlier. He had risen early and ridden straight to Lambeth Palace to roust the archbishop for a special license, not caring that the man had just sat down to breakfast. By 10:30 he could wait no longer. He pulled the curricle he’d borrowed from Tristan’s unused home in town up to Cecile’s residence and bounded up the steps.
Mrs. Brown answered the door and gave him a strong perusal with her knowing her eyes. “Miss Cecile is waiting for you.” The dour woman gave a small smile of approval.
Alain stepped into the foyer and laughed. Cecile was just as anxious as he. She stood in the doorway of the drawing room, making no pretense of having been waiting for him. She was already outfitted in her gloves and hat, ready to go the moment he arrived.
“I could not wait.” She gave a Gallic shrug of her shoulders.
“Neither could I. At least I won’t have to apologize for being early.” Alain strode to her side and warmly kissed her cheek, aware that to dare more would earn Mrs. Brown’s disapproval.
The day was warm, sprinkled with a spring breeze, the perfect day for a drive through Hyde Park. They drove leisurely, Cecile’s arm tucked through his while they tooled the paths, stopping every so often for introductions. Alain was proud to introduce the vibrant beauty at his side to those they met, and Cecile was pleasant and friendly to everyone as if she’d known them for ages.
“What a perfect day!” Cecile exclaimed when they’d left the last of the carriages behind on the verge.
“It could be like this always.” Alain tempted, turning the curricle towards Rutledge Pond. Alain smiled at her, his green eyes confident and merry. “I’ve planned a picnic for us” He parked the curricle beneath a spreading tree and jumped down to help Cecile. “I have all your favorites. I believe you mentioned wine and cheese last night.” Alain teased, his hands at her waist reveling at the feel of her slim form beneath the blue muslin.
“And bread. I did mention bread too.” Cecile teased in return, crying out girlishly when Alain gave her a playful twirl before setting her down.
Alain knew he should resist. They were in a public place where anyone might spy them, but the spring day and his own heady euphoria overrode his better judgment. Cecile looked far too beautiful in her blue gown with its white lace, her bonnet falling back to reveal her chestnut hair, thick and lustrous in the sun. “I love you” He whispered for her alone before he bent to claim her lips in a deep kiss, uncaring of who might see this public declaration of affection for the woman who would be his wife.
Together they spread the picnic blanket on the grass and set out the food. Alain poured the wine. Cecile cut the crusty bread he’d bought fresh that morning. She popped a morsel into her mouth and chewed it speculatively. “Hmm. It’s good enough for city fare” She offered. “I will make you real country bread”
Alain laughed at that. His mother, gracious lady that she was, would not have been caught baking bread for her baron. In fact, he doubted any of the Wickham baronesses baked bread. But his would. None of the barons had ever built a seaside resort either. He and Cecile would make their own trends. They were part of the new world he envisioned where class didn’t bar anyone from opportunities. “I can hardly wait for your bread, but the Panchettes might feel you offer competition.” Alain remarked, taking a thick slice from Cecile.
“The Panchettes! How are they? How good it will be to see them again.”
“They are well and thriving.” Alain proceeded to regale her with tales of French families in Hythe, of the Panchettes and their tea house, of the fabulous desserts their cousin made up at The Refuge for him nightly.
He leaned back on the blanket, hands behind his head, utterly content from the wine, the bread, and Ce cile’s laughter over his stories of Hythe. A man could be happy forever living on such simple pleasures. “I can hardly wait for you to be there with me, to see it at last” He was about to reach for her when a shrill voice broke their idyll.
“Dear Wickham, how good to see you!” She cooed from her seat in her carriage up on the pathway where she was surrounded by a coterie of matrons in similar vehicles, some of them accompanied by moonstruck young daughters who openly ogled him with embarrassing frankness.
He tossed Cecile a covert look of annoyance but once acknowledged, he had no choice except to rise and greet the woman. “Good day, Lady Halverston. Ladies.” He offered a hand to Cecile and helped her rise. He led her to the verge, ready to make introductions, but Lady Halverston didn’t let him get a word in before she started rambling. He expected the old biddy had suspicions about Cecile’s presence and what it foretold. Her prattle was an attempt to waylay news she would find most unpleasant. Of all the things he’d looked forward to in regards to marriage with Alicia, his new mother-in-law was not one of them. The biddy would not cow him. He would meet her head on.
“It’s not healthy for a young man like yourself to hide away in the country. We have been so worried about you. At least it looks like you’ve been taking care of yourself.” She made an aside to the other ladies, “Wickham is always so well turned out, my Alicia appreciated that about him.”
To Alain she said, “I was just telling the ladies how the new marble marker for Ali
cia’s grave has arrived at last. You know how much time we spent finding the perfect sculptor and the right marble design. I know you’ll appreciate the finished product. I hope you’ll stop by the cemetery in Kent and see it. We sent all the way to Italy for the workmanship and the Carrera marble.”
The woman affected some tears and groped dramatically for a handkerchief. “Oh my, I still get so overwrought about it. Just thinking about the tragedy still waters me up. If only you had been there that day, dear Wickham. I know you would have stopped the carriage in time.” She waved her handkerchief. “Here I am acting like a watering pot in front of your friend. After such a display, Wickham, I am afraid you must introduce us.”
“Lady Halverston, I would like to present Mademoiselle Cecile,” Alain offered, unmoved by the display of tears. If anything, the display had prompted his disdain instead of his sympathy.
“The actress who’s been performing at the Royal Opera House? How lovely for you to find someone to pass the time with, Wickham.”
“The violinist,” Cecile ground out with the barest civility. Alain gave her arm a gentle squeeze, counseling restraint. He was fully aware of what the woman implied and how she insulted Cecile with her comments. But it was not Cecile’s place to respond. It was his, and he would.
“What was that? Violinist? Yes of course, if you pre fer.” The woman said airily, clearly suggesting she found the terms one and the same when it came to any woman performing in any manner at the opera house.
“Lady Halverston, I believe I failed to mention earlier that Cecile is my fiancee. We intend to marry in Hythe as soon as possible. I have a special license from the archbishop himself, issued just this morning.” Alain was all smiles and charm as he delivered his news.
Lady Halverston spluttered the requisite good wishes and Alain let her recover her dignity as best she could. He nodded his farewell and turned Cecile back to the picnic blanket.
But the spring magic of the picnic was lost. Cecile was quiet, the earlier joy gone from her face. Alain knew she was hurting from the woman’s comments.
“I am sorry. She is a difficult woman.” Alain apologized at once.
“She’s a mother without her child. Her grief must be very great,” Cecile offered quietly, folding a cloth napkin around the remainder of the loaf.
“It’s true she doted on Alicia. I fear she wishes to chain me to those memories as well. Every time we meet, there is always some indelicate reference to the tragedy our families shared,” Alain said in equal quietness. “I was fond of Alicia, but it took meeting you for me to realize I didn’t love her, not the way I imagined I would love a wife. It is you I want, you I can imagine being with.”
“Alain, are you sure? Can these people accept that the Baron Wickham married a poor French girl of insignificant origins?”
Alain sensed the significance of her doubt. He wanted to shake her and tell her the doubt was utter silliness, but he could see that it was all seriousness to her. He must handle this gently or risk losing her out of some sense of self sacrifice that prompted her to protect him.
“I can’t believe the determined French girl I met in Paris would let such a minor thing as other people’s opinions get in the way of what her heart wants. Your heart wants me. It is not arrogant to say it. It is true. You cannot tell me the passion in our kisses is that of an idle affair or that we could be happy apart. These people’s opinions cannot be our undoing.” He pressed.
“Have you considered that I love you too much to watch you suffer? There would be no joy in being your wife knowing that I brought you the scorn of your friends,” Cecile said softly.
“Then love me a little less. I do not want another woman sacrificing herself for my benefit.”
“What do you mean?” Cecile bristled and Alain wished he could retract the sharp words.
“Walk with me and I will tell you.” There was a duck pond not far and they set out in that direction.
“My sister, Isabella, whom I have mentioned to you before, married a man-her first husband-in order to save the family title for me,” Alain began as they walked. “She hardly knew him. He was in his fifties. She was nineteen. He was a rich marquess and he fancied her. My father was a good man but he had no head for business. He made some investments that overextended our funds, to put it simply. Isabella had a decent marriage with him but it was not the marriage she wanted.” Alain explained. “I knew why she did it. It was for me, so that I’d have something other than debts and a meaningless title to inherit. I would have had to have found an heiress or an occupation if it hadn’t been for her.”
“Between your heroics and my sister’s sacrifice, the two of you risk reducing me to feeling quite useless” Alain sighed. He bent over to pick up small pebbles and toss them into the duck pond.
Cecile rewarded him with a half smile. “That explains why you feel so responsible for everyone. I think you’re trying to prove yourself without understanding you already have. Don’t you see? It is because you’re so worthy that people want to sacrifice for you. You shouldn’t view it as a curse or a ghost to battle”
“Nonetheless, I love you Cecile, and I can’t settle for the martyrdom of giving our love up simply because there might be hardships.”
Cecile nodded. “That woman today was overwrought, but she spoke a truth we both must face. I’ll never be one of them. Plenty of them will resent me for it.”
Alain winked reassuringly. “But not me, Cecile. Not me” He sealed his promise with a kiss that spoke the depth of his devotion. Cecile was breathless when they parted.
“Is it true you have a special license?” Cecile asked, the twinkle returning to her sherry eyes.
“Let us leave for Hythe in the morning so I can prove it to you” Alain answered. “I cannot wait longer than I must to have you as my wife in all ways”
The journey to Hythe took a frustrating four days by carriage, stopping at inns and doing everything by the book to appease the watchful eye of Mrs. Brown, who took her role as secretary and chaperone to Cecile more seriously than Alain would have liked.
But as the village drew near on the fourth day, excitement mounted in him, mixed with anxiety.
Had anyone asked him, Alain would have classified himself as a confident man who was well aware of his charms and habits. Today his confidence was strangely lacking. What would Cecile think of the sleepy little town? True, it wasn’t so sleepy anymore since the resort had been built. But it wasn’t London or Paris, or even Brighton. Perhaps he had exaggerated Hythe’s quality, built up her expectations too much. Would the Panchette’s bakery and tea room appeal to her? It was a little place, nothing at all like Rules and the fine restaurants of London. Would The Refuge meet her expectations? It was a Tudor-style manor with decidedly male and rustic airs about it.
He’d once been certain the young girl he’d courted in Paris would have loved Hythe. But the sophisticated, self-made woman who traveled around Europe entertaining in the homes of the elite might find his home lacking, his town boring. What could possibly appeal to her about the middle-class resort he’d established?
They approached the hill overlooking the seaside town, and Alain had the carriage pull off the road. “We’re nearly there, Cecile. Come and see Hythe from the cliff. It’s my favorite vantage point.” He handed her down from the carriage, pride and nerves mingling unpleasantly in his belly.
Cecile smiled at him softly, and he wondered if she divined the source of his apprehension. “I will love it because it is yours, Alain.” She assured him.
At the cliff edge she gasped in delight. “Oh Alain, it is all you told me and more. She pointed with a hand. “Is that the hotel? The one where Etienne works?”
“Yes.” Alain beamed, proud that she’d spotted the building he’d so diligently poured his heart into. He stood behind her, an arm about her waist, and directed her gaze with his free arm. “There’s the Panchette’s tea house, two buildings down from the hotel on the right.”
Cecil
e sighed and leaned against him. “It is as I dreamed it would be”
Alain felt the tension seep from him and they stood there in silence, letting the blue sky and the spring weather work their magic. Hythe gleamed jewel-like below them and the Channel sparkled beyond the rim of the town. The feeling of homecoming coursed through his veins. With his resort a success and Cecile in his arms, he was complete-not again but perhaps for the first time ever.
Behind them, Mrs. Brown coughed discreetly to indicate the need to move on. Cecile turned in the arc of Alain’s arms, smiling up at him and twining her hands about his neck. “We’ve seen your town, now take me to your home, mon Cheri”
The Refuge was not far and they were there within minutes, Cecile’s head poking out of the carriage in her eagerness to see it. Alain laughed at her obvious impatience but did nothing to pull her back inside, letting her enjoy the excitement. He loved that everything was fresh and new when seen through Cecile’s sherry eyes.
The carriage turned onto the parkland drive leading to The Refuge and the anticipation of being at journey’s end seized him as well. The rambling Tudor-styled structure came into view. Cecile popped her head back into the carriage, her eyes wide.
“Alain, it’s huge! From your descriptions, I imagined it was a hunting lodge, maybe a five-room cottage, which would have been big enough for me.” She was nearly breathless with her discovery.
“It is small compared to the estate in the Lake District.” Alain said easily. Their conveyance rocked to a halt in the half-circle drive and Alain let her take in the Tudor estate for several moments before ushering her indoors.
