by Gloria Gay
Cecilia preferred not to speak of Shackel, for the subject was distasteful to her. Lord Arandale seemed to harbor a dislike of Shackel and she could not fault him for it, for she felt the same way.
She turned away from Arandale and began walking back towards the house.
“I have been meaning to speak in private with you, Miss Sentenell. Could you perhaps delay your return to the house for a moment?”
CHAPTER 16
“Yes, of course, my lord.”
“There is a bench in that grove, let us sit.”
“My lord?” asked Cecilia, once seated. She had an idea what he was intending to say and she wanted him to say it and be done with it.
“I thought that perhaps you might reconsider my offer.”
“I…”
“I know that this is sudden,” said Arandale, “and that you were not thinking about it this very minute. But I thought that you may have made your response to my proposal too quickly before and that you might have, in the interval, reconsidered.”
“I did not make the decision in haste, my lord. On the contrary, it was well thought out. And my answer has not changed.”
“May I know at least the reasons for your rejection?”
“They will only upset you, my lord.”
“I must know.”
“Lord Arandale, please do not think I am not aware of the honor you bestowed on me and my family.”
“What are the reasons, Miss Sentenell?” asked Arandale, his face grim.
“Lord Arandale, I do not wish to cause distress if at all avoidable. Could we not pretend you have heard the reasons and go on as before?”
“You have piqued my curiosity, Miss Sentenell, do proceed, I beg you.”
“It is not pleasant, my lord.”
“Nevertheless, I must know it.”
“Well, then, if you insist, I will tell you.
“First of all, I feel you have a lot of character for some things, but not enough for others,” said Cecilia, and this time she did turn and looked fully into his eyes. “But, unfortunately, the ones lacking are the ones that are important to me. I firmly believe behavior is a direct reflection on character.”
Lord Arandale said nothing. There was a blank look in his eyes. Cecilia’s lower lip trembled but she went on,
“That doesn’t mean that what is important to me should be important to everyone. However, character, in marriage, is subjective.”
A part of Arandale’s mind, the part that was not upset at her words, noted that he had never known a girl who could use the word “subjective.”
He forced words through his tight throat.
“You have yet not given me any specifics, Miss Sentenell. I am as before, still as ignorant of the reason of your rejection as when we began this talk.”
“I cannot be more specific, my lord, it would be deemed unseemly to describe aspects of your life I couldn’t abide.”
“Your answer will remain sorely lacking if you don’t. I assure you, Miss Sentenell, I will not be affronted by your words. They will merely be enlightening. Please, do not hold back. We are not within anyone’s earshot. I give you my word of honor that whatever you tell me here will never cross my lips.”
“Very well,” said Cecilia. She took a deep breath and turned away from him. She began thus:
“The first time I saw you, Lord Arandale, was at Hyde Park. On that occasion you were driving in your phaeton accompanied by a woman who was pointed out by my aunt as your mistress, a woman by the name of Ruby de Langeliers. You turned and looked into our carriage and appeared to see us clearly. Then in the next instant, as if your impression to us of your conduct mattered nothing to you, you kissed the woman full in the mouth. Not only was the scene distasteful but it made me realize one thing, and that is that men in your position do not give up your mistress upon marriage.”
Cecilia felt the breeze whipping at the hem of her skirt and saw it skip at the edges of Lord Arandale's coat lapels. A bird chirped in the distance and there was a heavy scent of roses in the air. She felt that for as long as she lived she would remember this day. She realized that Arandale was silently waiting for her to go on.
“I have been told this is the way of the world in London and that I must accept it, that every woman in society does. Yet I will not,” added Cecilia, “For myself, for my future, I cannot be content with that. I believe there is a man who can be faithful to me and will not dream of keeping a mistress alongside me. But you, sir, are not that man.”
“Pray continue,” said Lord Arandale, when Cecilia hesitated.
“It may be that such a man does not exist. If that is so, then I shall remain unmarried, rather than compromise on something that is of extreme importance to me.”
Arandale caught himself turning away from Cecilia, when he felt his face redden and was afraid she might see it. He had not blushed in embarrassment since his early adolescence.
“Is there anything else?” he asked.
“I dislike to listen to gossip, my lord,” Cecilia went on, “yet one cannot entirely avoid it during the season. On too many occasions to mention, I have heard it said that you are an active member of a Brighton set where countless debauched gatherings and unseemly conduct is the norm. I do not want to delve any deeper into the activities of the Brighton set than that, my lord.”
She stood up and he with her as she did so. They were too close together in the bench and she could not tell from the intense look in his eyes if he was angry or stunned. She wanted to be away from him, away from everyone. She wished she were alone in her room in the house in London. Now she must be several days in his sister's house. Thankfully, there was a large group of people and even more were arriving. They did not have to be in each other’s company if they did not desire it.
Cecilia realized that it mattered to her that Arandale was not able to deny any of her charges. His stony silence was admission. How could he deny any of it? How could he deny he had kissed Ruby de Langeliers, a painted, high class prostitute, full in the mouth in front of everyone, when she had seen it with her own eyes?
Arandale walked back to the house with Cecilia in silence. The path through rose bushes and shaved hedges seemed interminable to Cecilia and she dared not even glance at him.
When they reached the house, Lord Arandale bowed to Cecilia.
His voice revealed nothing but courtesy as he said, “I hope to see you at the picnic this afternoon, Miss Sentenell, and at the ball this evening.”
“Yes, my lord.”
CHAPTER 17
Back in the privacy of her room, Cecilia breathed in relief. She was glad that this huge estate had so many extra rooms she had not been forced to share a room with Hedra. That, to her, would have been insupportable. Her father had been placed in a bedroom at the end of a long hallway, in the opposite end from hers.
She went to see how he was doing. She found him up already and reading by the light that came in through the window.
“Have you had breakfast, Papa?”
“No, my dear. I was waiting for you and lost sight of time.”
“Let us go downstairs, then, my dear,” said Cecilia.
After breakfast and a leisurely stroll around the garden with her father, Sir Geoffrey expressed a wish to visit the library. Cecilia left her father settled comfortably in the library and went outside again and headed to the wooded area. She was glad that she saw little of Hedra here, for Hedra was busy pursuing Arandale or trying to get closer to his relatives. This left Cecilia free to do as she pleased.
“Miss. Sentenell, a word with you, if you please.” Cecilia turned to see Lady Dalmont walking hurriedly toward her.
“Yes, my lady.”
“I wonder if you would help me with the arrangements for this afternoon, my dear.”
“Arrangements?”
“For our picnic.”
“Oh. Yes, certainly, Lady Dalmont. In what way can I be of service?”
“Oh, nothing too taxing, I assure you,�
�� said Lady Dalmont, noticing that Cecilia had excellent poise, with none of the simpering lisping mannerisms that were the vogue with the debutantes.
“I would like your opinion on the menus and the decorations of the baskets, my dear. I fear I am getting too old to keep up with the fashions young people prefer. I thought I would get a first-hand view of that from you.”
“I'm afraid I would not be of great help there, my lady,” said Cecilia laughing. “I hail from the countryside and possess little town bronze. A better choice would be girls like Lady Euphemia and Lady Selena. They dress in the first stare of fashion and keep up with the fads and fashions.”
“They would be excellent choices for consultation, were it not that I cannot stand Lady Euphemia’s simpering or Lady Selena’s lisping. And I do not believe, my dear that hailing from the country has any effect on taste. On the contrary, I notice that your taste in clothes is everything I would want in a daughter of mine, had I been fortunate enough to have a daughter. I have three sons.”
“You said baskets,” said Cecilia, thinking that if Lady Dalmont was set on her helping her, the faster she got to it, the faster she would be free to pursue her own interests. What was more, she had a feeling Lady Dalmont had suggested this in order to examine her at closer range. She had a feeling she disapproved of Arandale’s choice for a bride and wanted to see her in a more intimate setting.
Cecilia had become aware, during her time in London that few ladies ever bothered to personally oversee the decorations of baskets or any other things at picnics or dinner. These things were left to the housekeeper to do. The housekeeper was given directions and she followed them.
“They are to bring the baskets to me shortly, together with the silk ribbons and other adornments,” Lady Dalton was saying.
The baskets and materials for the decorations of them were brought to the large sitting room of Lady Dalton’s boudoir by two footmen and she and Lady Dalton settled down to decorate the baskets, Cecilia found that she actually enjoyed the task. She had a good eye for color combinations and aesthetic arrangements and there was a wide choice of ribbons and flowers with which to decorate. Lady Dalmont, on seeing how well she decorated the first basket, wisely left her to direct and followed Cecilia’s directions as they both worked assiduously at the baskets. After two hours of work, Lady Dalmont suggested they break for a luncheon that was to be brought to them.
Lady Dalmont was surprised at herself. She had been prepared to dislike Cecilia, being prejudiced against her merely because she wanted to have no contact with Lady Rolande and had expected Cecilia to be a copy of Lady Rolande.
“What is your connection to Lady Rolande, my dear,” she asked as they sipped their tea in a room the likes of which Cecilia had never before seen. It was decorated with pastoral murals and a window that overlooked the fields and woods beyond and the rolling hills before the horizon line. It was a room of exquisite beauty and grandeur.
“I had not known her before last summer,” said Cecilia, “She wrote Papa three years after my mother’s death, asking if she could call, as she had some mementos of my mother she wished to share with us. I had not known that she and my mother were childhood friends, for Mama had never mentioned her. But then, Mama hardly ever returned to Derbyshire after she married Papa.”
“What mementos did she have?” asked Lady Dalmont.
“There was a miniature of her and Mama as young girls.”
“And did it resemble your mother?”
“Oh, yes. It was Mama, all right. Lady Rolande as a young girl beside her was not as distinct, but then I wouldn't have known what Lady Rolande looked like as a girl. She made a gift of the miniature to Papa and we were very happy to obtain Mama’s likeness.
“Lady Rolande became a great comfort to us at a difficult time. Even though it has been three years since Mama’s death, Papa has still not become reconciled to our loss and his health has deteriorated to an alarming degree. Lady Rolande secured for him a medicine provided to her by a physician, a medicine that has greatly improved Papa's health. We are extremely grateful to her for that. Papa was almost bedridden and he is now able to move about.”
“Are you friends with her daughter—what is her name, Miss Gamine?”
“Hedra and I are of dissimilar characters, my lady, but I try to get along with her for Papa’s sake. I cannot imagine what would have become of Papa if Lady Rolande had not come into our lives.”
“And how did you and Arandale meet?”
The question got Cecilia by surprise and she blushed furiously. She turned away from Lady Dalmont, stood up and went to the window.
“I was introduced to Lord Arandale at the first Almack’s ball of the season, my lady,” said Cecilia without turning to look at her. She skipped the actual first time she had seen Arandale, which had been at the park, where she had seen him in the company of his mistress. She didn't want to let on that she had formed an opinion of Lord Arandale and it had been most unfavorable.
“And what do you think of my brother, Miss Sentenell?” asked Lady Dalmont bluntly.
“Never mind,” said Lady Dalmont on seeing Cecilia’s startled look, with a short laugh. “You are excused from answering. That was too inquisitive, even for me, Miss Sentenell. I dearly hope you and he may become better acquainted, for my brother can sometimes give exceedingly wrong first impressions.”
When Cecilia said nothing to this, Lady Dalmont added: “See here, Miss Sentenell, we are almost finished with the baskets. Come, help me to finish them off and we can then take a stroll in the garden.”
They worked quietly for a while, each with their own thoughts. Cecilia was thinking that she liked Lady Dalton a lot and Lady Dalton thinking that the more she became acquainted with Cecilia the more she liked her. She wouldn't be averse to her marrying Arandale if she could find a way of removing Lady Rolande from her life. Yet she realized that Lady Rolande was really not a problem because Arandale was certain to take an instant dislike to her if he came to know her well. She smiled as she realized that anyone that Arandale gave the cut to was really out of his life completely.
Cecilia was glad to be off the subject of Arandale and delved with enthusiasm into the completing of the rest of the baskets.
“It will be a jolly picnic,” said Lady Dalmont. “We are going up to Hill Arbor, where there is a wide view of the estate. Come dear. Our work here is done, let us go for our well-earned stroll.”
As they walked down the well-tended path bordered with spring flowers and numerous butterflies skipping among the flowerbeds, Cecilia looked up and saw Arandale walking toward them.
“Ah, Arandale,” said Lady Dalton, “Ms. Sentenell and I have just finished decorating the baskets for our picnic this afternoon. I'm glad you have joined us in our stroll. I promised Ms. Sentenell a leisurely walk to show her our new flowerbeds and the grotto. But I fear I have become quite exhausted from the work at the baskets and must beg you to take my place. Would you object to that Miss Sentenell?”
CHAPTER 18
“No, of course not,” said Cecilia. She was certain none of this had been planned but that instead, Lady Dalmont, noticing an interest on the part of Arandale, had taken the occasion to further his suit, not being aware of their unfortunate meeting in the early morning.
“To the grotto it is,” said Arandale as Lady Dalmont left them after kissing both their cheeks, holding Arandale’s left hand and Cecilia's right in a sudden impulsive gesture.
“You need not show me the grotto, Lord Arandale, if you are not so disposed. I can see it another day,” said Cecilia as Lady Dalton walked away from them.
“Today is as good a day as any,” said Arandale, with extreme courtesy, as he gave her his arm.
“The grotto is one of the prettiest sights in Rolling Hills, Miss Sentenell, and the gardens and fountain nearby are quite a treat for the eyes.”
When Cecilia hesitated he said, “Let us put a closed door on the morning’s events, Ms. Sentenell. I assure you I sha
ll not importune you with my suit anymore.”
Cecilia blushed at his words and took the proffered arm. She felt again that pleasurable tingle skipping along her arm and even a tightening of her belly and she suppressed a sigh.
There was such solitude as to make them quite removed from the world. Cecilia could hear the chirping birds and the buzzing of bees and breathed the scent of myriad flowers. The sun’s rays slanted down on them and a skipping breeze teased her hair while the warmth of the sun on her face gave her suddenly such a feeling of wellbeing she was very glad to be alive.
She looked up at puffy white clouds that seemed to have been placed there merely to decorate the blue sky.
“What a beautiful day,” she said.
“Yes, it is beautiful. Quite like a gift,” said Arandale as they headed down the flower bordered path toward the grotto, and he remembered that this was one of the few days he had been up before noon in the last dozen years.
He looked at Cecilia as she walked beside him and was suddenly ashamed that he had wasted half his life, living mostly at night in drinking and gambling and, as his father would have said, “Whoring”.
When they reached the grotto Arandale told Cecilia the story behind it and she listened raptly, for he had a fine voice.
“There used to be an actual cave here before this area was flooded, about two hundred years ago,” he said, “so it must be down below still, filled up with earth. It was considered a sacred cave back then and the village people used to come here to pray. An ancestor of Lord Dalmont, reading the family history once, thought to build a grotto where the original cave had been, and so it has stood for at least fifty years.”
“And the village people no longer come here to pray?”
“Well, the land is private property now and the legend mostly forgotten, except for some mummers occasionally, who come down here sometimes as an echo of the past, around Christmastime.”
“I like the story,” said Cecilia. “There are still flower offerings, I see.” She looked inside the small recess where only two people could fit at once, standing side by side.
