by Gloria Gay
Yet Lord Kelly also remembered that when Arandale was in London he rode his horse, Fargo, every day at dawn. Lord Kelly wondered how he could get up at dawn each day when so many of his nights were spent in dissipation.
And to be fair, Arandale had joined Wellington's army twice too, amazingly so, the second time when Napoleon had escaped Elba.
“Well, we are getting away from the subject at hand,” said Arandale, “we are not to change society in this afternoon alone and the fact remains, that many ladies of noble birth carry on a scandalous life behind closed doors. I do not intend for my wife to be of that mettle. Thus the reason for my choice.”
The reason for his choice, thought Lord Kelly was that whoever he married, it would not be Sarah, his dead fiancé, so it mattered little who she was, so long as she filled the requirements. His life would continue the same, thought his uncle with a long sigh that he tried to suppress. Arandale would keep the usual mistresses, no matter that his wife had been chosen for her good habits.
Justin had, thought his uncle sadly, gone from youthful conceit and pride to arrogance and pomposity, and, even callousness beneath the veneer of his class.
“I have gone to great lengths to observe and carefully note Miss Sentenell's behavior in public, Uncle Harding,” Arandale was saying, “and it was everything I desired in a wife.”
“Justin,” said Lord Kelly, in an anxious voice. “I don’t understand at all. You have written this young lady’s father to propose a marriage with his daughter without even giving the girl an inkling of your intentions?”
“Well, not exactly,” answered Arandale shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “I have favored her with my company on many occasions, as I have said before. She must be perfectly aware of my intentions.” Lord Arandale then laughed. It was not a joyful laughter. It was only appropriate to his uncle’s puzzled face. Lord Arandale hadn’t laughed in mirth for years.
Justin may be thirty, thought his uncle, but he was an old man in the body of a young one.
“Does love have no room in your plans?” he asked.
“Love?” said Arandale with a dry laugh, “Come now, Uncle Harding, knowing me as you do, you didn’t think I would consider going into marriage like a moonling, now did you?”
“I guess not,”
“But don't misunderstand me, sir. I have come to know Miss Sentenell and I admit I have become very attracted to her. I could not marry a girl otherwise. After all, the few times I plan to sit across from her at the breakfast table I intend for it to be an enjoyable experience. And after all, I would not bed a girl, even for the sake of securing my heir that I was repulsed by. We have ample proof of that sort of folly with Prinny and Princess Caroline. He cannot abide her, as you well know. It is a nine day's wonder they managed to produce Charlotte.”
As he listened Lord Kelly was trying to keep from feeling sadness for his nephew. He himself would have married once because he was very fond of a girl, but she had chosen another. Then he had married a sweet girl who had fallen in love with him. He had wanted to secure his heir and she seemed to love him well enough, he had thought. His love for her would come in time. His wife, of whom he had grown fond, had died shortly after giving birth so that he was left alone again, with a babe to care for. Charles, his son from that marriage, was away at school.
In the ensuing years Lord Kelly had attempted to keep a mistress. Attempted described it well. He was not made for such an arrangement and it had lasted only a few months. Curiously, though, of the three women that had mattered in his life, it was only Sadie's face he still remembered clearly and with a feeling of loss and intense longing and regret. He had hated to cut short their relationship and had given her more than any man would have after such a short time, but he felt he was falling in love with her.
In the early years after he broke up with Sadie he ran into her now and then and stopped to chat briefly with her. He had seen her often in the park, with her little daughter, Violet, whom he would admire. Then their chance meetings faded. He had not seen Sadie or her daughter for many years.
Lord Kelly, whose important decisions in life had always been made in a high state of emotion, stared somberly at Arandale. For once in his life he was unable to utter a word. He had always been extremely fond of his nephew and mourned the changes in him the years had wrought.
This calculated way of choosing what amounted to a dull bridethis cold list of attributes he had required of her and her family, as though picking a mare at a horse sale. He, he was unable to absorb it completely, nor the fact that love seemed not to be a necessary ingredient. Lord Kelly scrutinized his nephew in the pause that followed.
“I remember Baronet Sentenell now,” he said to chase away disquieting thoughts with practical ones. “There is a peculiar condition of his estate.”
“A peculiar condition? What do you mean, Uncle?”
“Well, not peculiar, really. Miss Sentenell has no brothers, unfortunately. The entailed property is to go directly to a cousin of her father’s, Alex Shackel. But the girl will hardly be left destitute. As a matter of fact, she has a considerable fortune on her own, I believe, although I do not know the particulars. I should think the father would be anxious to have her settled before he dies.”
“I know of this already,” said Arandale. “She has a substantial living that comes to her from her grandmother on her mother’s side.”
“Not that you are in need of any of that,” said Lord Kelly, “fortunately.”
“No, but I would not wed a girl who had no fortune, either,” said Arandale.
Lord Kelly thought back to a time when Arandale, as a young man, had possessed disarming charm, in a wholesome, happy way. None of that kind of charm was visible now. There was charm enough, the kind that attracts experienced women and envy in men. But the guilelessness was gone, disappeared into that long ago past. It had died the eve of his wedding to Sarah.
CHAPTER 5
The memory of that terrible afternoon flashed through Lord Kelly’s mind. Arandale’s bride-to-be lying lifeless on the street like a rag doll. Arandale had been unable to utter a single word as he lifted the crumpled body from the mud on the street to where she had been thrown by a two thieves who had been running from Bow Street Runners. Sarah had stepped out of the carriage and right into their path. Her head had smashed against the cobblestones.
She had died instantly. Her eyes had stared ahead in a way that Lord Kelly had never forgotten, while a dark pool of blood formed behind her. Arandale had lifted her and pressed the back of her head to his chest as though in doing so he would close the gaping wound with his body. The dark blood had spread on his white silk shirt like a huge red poppy, while Sarah’s beautiful sky-blue eyes stared, lifeless.
Lord Kelly had gone back into the house with Arandale.
Arandale had never been the same person after that night. He had dedicated two years of his life to finding the men responsible. He had found them in the end and he had seen to it they went to the gallows.
Lord Kelly shivered, and suddenly felt pity for Cecilia. She would be compared to Sarah at every turn and would be found wanting every single time.
Arandale seemed oblivious to his looks, thought Kelly, but he must be aware, for he was pursued relentlessly each season. He was the Earl of Arandale and his lands and fortune had few rivals. Torrey Vale, his county seat in Surrey was a hundred and fifty thousand acres at least.
It was hardly fair, thought Lord Kelly, whose glances at the mirror the last ten years had given him little pleasure, that a man should have all that Lord Arandale possessed and also be of such arresting looks. But he was fond of him, almost as much as he was of his own son.
And one could not envy Arandale, a shell of a man who squandered his life. He glanced at Arandale, who was thoughtful. He wondered if he should ask him about Sir Geoffrey's heir, to distract him from his thoughts.
“So, Sir Geoffrey's heir, Alex Shackel, do you know him?” he asked Arandale.
&nb
sp; “I may have seen him at White’s now and then,” said Lord Arandale, “a pale, stocky man with a pointed beardand unpleasant, is he not? I hear he is a ruthless sort of man. Do you know him?”
“Slightly,” answered Lord Kelly. “I witnessed an encounter he had with Lord Bevlyn. They almost came to blows, and a good thing it ended,” said Lord Kelly, “for Shackel is reputed to be a dead shot and excellent with the sword. He will have more contact with you if you marry Miss Sentenell,” added Lord Kelly. “I imagine he has contact with the family, if he is Sir Geoffrey's heir.”
“He will have no contact with me, however much contact he has with the family. And once I am married, he will have no contact with my wife. And as far as he being a dead shot, Uncle, let him not tangle with me, for I do not vouch for the condition he would be in after he did.”
“Certainly! I did not mean, Justin, that he would best you in any encounter. I only meant that he would not back out of anything, or at least, that is what I’ve heard. The more I think of him, the more unpleasant things I recall. He is much in the company of Lady Rolande, these days,” he added.
Arandale formed his hands into a spire, “I would not waste any more talk on him, Uncle Harding. Well, now,” he added, “I will soon introduce you to my betrothed.”
“You are certain of her compliance, then?” asked Lord Kelly and added hurriedly, on seeing Arandale’s look, “but of course you have her compliance. She will be honored beyond her wildest dreams.”
But Lord Kelly did notice that the frown that had appeared on his nephew’s eyes had not yet disappeared. Feeling guilty at his own little inward burst of satisfaction at having, if only slightly, perturbed his nephew’s inscrutable mind, he was silent.
Lord Arandale, the frown having disappeared from his eyes gazed again at his uncle.
“You must think me a brute, Uncle,” he said, “but it's not as bad as it looks. I did request of the father a suitable courting period. The length of the season, I suppose, or perhaps even before the season ends.”
At that moment a footman came in to deliver an express for Lord Arandale.
“It seems we can say we have this business under way,” said Lord Arandale with satisfaction as he glanced at the heavy velum. “The letter is from Sir Geoffrey.”
Lord Kelly began to rise. “I suppose you want your privacy, Justin.”
“No—no—stay, Uncle Harding. You don’t mind if I open this, do you?”
“Not at all,” said Lord Kelly, resuming his seat.
Lord Kelly looked at his nephew while he opened the letter and saw him scan the letter quickly. He saw also how Lord Arandale’s face suddenly turned to an unhealthy, blanched hue as his fingers began to crumple the paper slowly, while he stared hypnotically at it.
Extremely uncomfortable at having witnessed this, Lord Kelly fidgeted in his chair while a heavy silence hung in the air.
After what seemed an age Lord Arandale looked up. His gray eyes were darkened with fury and a nerve trembled along the line of his jaw.
“It seems,” he said in a slow voice, “that Miss Cecilia Sentenell has seen fit to reject my offer of marriage.”
“But how can this be?” asked his uncle, aghast.
Lord Arandale tossed the crumpled letter to his uncle. “Go ahead, read it. Sir Geoffrey, it appears, did not feel a lengthy explanation for the rejection of my suit was necessary, even for the sake of convention.”
Smoothing out the crumpled letter, Lord Kelly ran his eyes over old-fashioned spidery handwriting:
Lord Justin Alanston, Ninth Earl Arandale
Grosvenor Square, London
Dear Lord Arandale:
I feel extremely favored by the honor you bestowed on my family when some weeks past you asked my permission to court my only daughter, Cecilia. At that time you acceded to my request that she not be made aware of my permission to court her but rather, that you would become acquainted with her and then, at a propitious time, you would then make her aware of your courtship. I expressed this to be my wish as I explained to you then that knowing my daughter she would oppose the courtship of someone she did not know, as she has had a mind of her own from a very early age. A few weeks went by and the one time we spoke about this again, you assured me you were becoming acquainted with Cecilia and had seen her and had conversations with her on many social occasions. Some days ago I received your missive in which you expressed your belief that enough time had gone by and that you wanted now to make a formal declaration of marriage to Cecilia.
I therefore feel incalculable regret in having to parlay unfortunate news. I have communicated your request to my daughter and she feels she must decline (although also aware of the honor you bestow on her.) She has given as reason for her rejection her desire to choose her future husband herself.
I regret that I must therefore cancel the courtship you desired remain unspecified pending your offer of marriage, as Cecilia has been quite explicit in her denial. I cannot now agree for the courtship to continue when she is now aware of it and wishes to end it. I hope that you will endeavor to understand that I asked my daughter to give your proposal careful thought and she has taken the previous two days to consider it, at the end of which she expressed her desire to decline.
With no more to discuss, although anxiously willing to meet with you and to relay this in person if it is so your wish, I again thank you for your kind offer and the great honor it carried with it. I await your reply to this letter as confirmation that you have read it and I am, ever respectful,
Geoffrey Brightly, Baronet Sentenell
Of Brintelway Hall, Nottingham
April 3rd year of our Lord 1816, London
Beads of perspiration had appeared on Lord Kelly’s forehead as he read the letter. He refolded it, smoothing out the wrinkles again, thoughtfully. He was afraid to look up. He wished he had not thought to call this morning and had instead called later on in the day. But for a twist of fate he would have missed this scene and not been a reluctant witness to his nephew’s humiliation.
Lord Kelly knew Justin well enough to know this was a humiliation of the worst kind, more so as there had been a witness to it. Yet in the back of his mind, he was not altogether sorry that Cecilia Sentenell had rejected his nephew.
She had instantly risen in his mind from the vaguely dull girl he had envisioned her to be to someone to reckon with.
Lord Kelly gazed guardedly at his nephew. Yes, he believed that Lord Arandale’s first lesson in humility was long overdue.
“Well,” said Arandale after a few uncomfortable moments, “I have a meeting at Jackson’s Boxing Salon, Uncle Harding.”
“Ah, yes, my son, I too must leave,” said Lord Kelly rising, embarrassingly aware of the tremor in Arandale’s voice. “You may be perfectly certain, also,” he added without glancing at him, “that what transpired here will never cross my lips.”
“Of course,” said Lord Arandale, dully. “Thank you for coming by to wish me a happy birthday, Uncle. I hope to see you soon.”
CHAPTER 6
Lord Arandale lived the following two weeks in a state of silent, smoldering rage. He appeared at none of the functions, and the daily stacks of invitations languished unopened. He went to Bath for a few days. But all he did there was to stare unseeing at the few country families in the pump room, those too unfashionable to attend the London social season.
He then went to Torrey Vale, his county seat, and instead stared at the vast spread of his lands, gave curt orders to the servants who fearfully tried to stay out of his way, and made everyone from the butler down hopeful that he would soon return to London.
One afternoon, as he was riding his horse, he realized that the tight sensation he felt constantly in his chest was the desire to see Cecilia Sentenell again.
He realized that only by doing this would he be able to ease the upheaval that her rejection of him had caused in his life. He abused her in his mind, from her name, which he considered ugly, to her looks, which he c
onsidered run of the mill.
Once he had seen her, he decided, he would be able to docket her in his mind as the dull girl with the dull “Cecilia” name and be thankful that she had rejected him and saved him from the lifelong tedium of her company.
Though he had not planned to be much in the company of his wife, once married, he now envisioned a life leg-shackled to a governess type of girl whose disapproval of him was always reflected in her eyes. Yes! Miss Sentenell had mercifully saved him from her company!
On arriving in London, Arandale directed his valet to open his mail and give him only the invitations for balls that were to be held in the following days.
* * *
Unaware of the agitation she had caused in Lord Arandale’s life, Cecilia Sentenell was one afternoon consulting with her maid on the appropriate hair style to be worn for the ball at Almack’s that evening, the third of the season. The thought of Almack’s brought to her mind her first ball at the same locality and a vague uncomfortable feeling made her shiver slightly.
It was at that ball that she had been introduced to the Earl of Arandale and the thought that she might run into him at the ball this evening made her suddenly apprehensive. She was not unaware that Lord Arandale must have been stunned at her refusal of his offer of marriage and would have given anything to be assured that it had not affected him in any considerable way. Still, a proud man such as the earl, she thought, must not have expected such an exalted offer to be refused.
She would not, of course, confide in anyone about it. Instinctively she had known she could not confide in anyone. Though she was not experienced in the ways of the ton, she was beginning to realize that the only way to keep a secret was to keep it locked in her head. Only she and her father, apart from Arandale, knew about it.
Even had her father not thought of keeping it secret, which of course he would, being a reserved man of few intimate friends, Cecilia had fearfully pressed upon him how important it was for him to keep it from Lady Rolande and her daughter Hedra.
