“I can’t see why not,” Cecilie declared. “It’s just lovely.”
“Cecilie, you must listen. There are men about, wicked men, who might spirit you away to Gretna Green.”
Cecilie stared at her, eyes wide with wonder. “To Gretna Green?”
Aggie nodded. “Yes, and once married you would have no recourse.”
“How very romantic,” cried Cecilie. “An elopement.”
Aggie shook her head in exasperation. “No, more like a kidnapping. There is nothing romantic about it. These are wicked men. To be married to one would be terrible.” She called on her imagination to present her with images suitably terrifying to Cecilie’s young mind. “You would have no fun, no new gowns, no pin money. You would not even get out of the house.”
Cecilie considered this. “It does sound bad, Aggie. Don’t worry. I won’t consider it.”
“Cecilie!” Aggie’s patience was worn thin. “One does not consider being abducted. One does not reason with such men.”
“All right, Aggie.” Cecilie tossed her bright curls. “I’ll be careful.”
And with this Aggie had to be content. She knew that if she pressed any further she would only aggravate Cecilie and not serve her purpose at all.
“Did his lordship say anything about my come out?” asked Cecilie, their scuffle evidently forgotten.
Aggie shook her head. “This did not seem like a good time to raise the subject,” she said with an irony completely lost on her charge.
“I have decided what sort of gown I want,” said Cecilie, eyes aglow. “I want to get to the dressmaker and order it.”
“What sort of gown have you in mind?” asked Aggie, fearing the worst.
Cecilie grinned. “It’s to be a deep deep blue with a neck cut so.” Her hands made a sweeping motion over her bosom.
Aggie stifled a sigh. “Deep blue is not a suitable color for a coming out ball,” she said softly. “And if that neckline is to dip to where your hand indicated, his lordship will never agree.”
Cecilie’s pink lips settled into a pout. “He’s so stuffy. Why did Papa have to give me such a guardian?”
“I’m sure he thought he had your welfare in mind. You know your papa always wanted the best for you.”
Cecilie frowned. “Well, his lordship is certainly not the best.” A curious look came over her face and she tickled the monkey’s ears absently. “But he has got an interesting chest. I wish that I might see it again.”
“Cecilie!” This time Aggie could not contain her annoyance. “Young ladies should not even be aware of that portion of a gentleman’s - anatomy.”
“But, Aggie, you saw it. How could you not be aware? It was so - hairy. And the hair curled in the cutest little way.”
“Cecilie! Stop that this instant.” Aggie was aware that her face had flushed red and a quite disconcerting picture of the Earl’s chest had flashed onto the screen of her memory. Vainly she tried to wipe it off. “Cecilie,” she hoped her tone was firm, “young ladies never talk about such things.”
“But why not? It’s very interesting. I wonder why young ladies don’t grow such hair.”
“Cecilie! Well-bred young ladies should not see such things. At least until after they are married.”
“But then,” said Cecilie, with the inexorable logic of the young, “it would be too late.”
“Too late for what?” inquired Aggie, intrigued in spite of herself.
“Too late to know whether or not my husband had such a chest.”
“Cecilie, one does not marry because of a man’s chest.”
Cecilie shrugged her shoulders. “Well, I am quite determined. My husband must be a good dancer, a crack horseman, and have a lot of hair on his chest.”
Aggie, by now resigned to the fact that she could not end this conversation which was taking on unreal proportions, sighed. “Cecilie, one does not see one’s intended’s - body - until after the ceremony.”
Cecilie tossed her curls. “Perhaps not. But I tell you I am resolved on this matter. I shall not marry a man unless he has a chest like that. I simply shall not.”
Aggie could think of nothing more to say. She knew from experience that it was futile to try to change Cecilie’s mind. She could only hope that this was some temporary whim of hers. As far as she was concerned, thought Aggie, it was not the chest itself, but the fact that it belonged to his lordship, that she found so disconcerting. She opened her mouth to caution Cecilie against informing the Earl of this new resolve, but she closed it again without doing so. It was dangerous to tell Cecilie that something might prove annoying to his lordship. For, should an occasion arise in which she wished to annoy him - as it well might - she would immediately revert to the use of such weapons. And in this case, at least, it could only work to her detriment. The Earl was a hard man, with a volatile temper, quite unused to dealing with temperamental young women. But the most important thing was that he held the power. And in any contest, no matter how uncomfortable Cecilie made him, the Earl was bound to best her.
Aggie sighed again. There was no way to make Cecilie realize this. The next days were going to prove very exasperating, Aggie thought. And she would be caught in the middle: between a willful recalcitrant child and a proud strong-minded lord. It was not at all a pleasant prospect.
Chapter Four
The next several days passed without much incident, but Aggie did not really relax. How could she, when she had always to be alert so that Dillydums did not escape to roam the house or Cecilie to take to the sidewalks? Still, she appreciated the relative calm while she waited for the storm she knew was coming. And come it did.
They had been in London roughly a week when after luncheon one day Bates appeared. “His lordship wishes to see you both in the library,” he announced.
Cecilie made a face, but kept silent and rose dutifully enough to follow her companion. Inside the library door Aggie paused. The Earl was at his desk, his gaze intent on a ledger. As the rustle of their gowns announced their presence he raised his head. “Good day.”
It was impossible to detect anything from his tone and Aggie found herself scrutinizing his face for signs of his mood. “Good day, milord,” she replied.
His lordship nodded toward some chairs. “Please be seated. We have a great deal to be discussed.” He paused, awaiting a reply, but none came. “I have set the date for your come out,” he continued. “Lady Bakiston has agreed to take the whole thing in hand. Who could ask for a better person to direct things?”
To this entirely rhetorical question Cecilie replied, “I could. I appreciate your putting yourself out for me,” she continued with perfect composure. “But it is actually quite unnecessary. Aggie is quite capable of handling the whole thing, so you may give Lady Bakiston my thanks and tell her we don’t need her.”
Denby’s expression never wavered while Cecilie spoke. When she had finished, he merely smiled dryly. “I have already engaged Lady Bakiston. She has her plans well underway.”
“I do not want Lady Bakiston to plan anything,” cried Cecilie. “This is my come out. Aggie and I have it all arranged.”
The Earl regarded her soberly. “Lady Bakiston is most experienced in such matters. You and Miss Trimble are a couple of innocents in from the country. You don’t know the situation. She does.”
“That is unfair,” cried Cecilie. “We have made plans already.”
“You will have to forget them,” said the Earl, fixing steely eyes upon her. “Lady Bakiston knows exactly what to do.”
“No!” cried Cecilie, jumping to her feet. “You can’t do this to me. I don’t want some old dragonish dowager ruining my come out.”
“Miss Winthrop!” The Earl’s tone was not loud, but it was quite forceful. “Either Lady Bakiston manages the come out or there will be none. Do you understand?”
For a long moment Cecilie stared at him in amazement.
“Sit down. Miss Winthrop. Now.”
Cecilie sat. Watching her, Aggie was
not fooled. Cecilie was not beaten, she was merely biding her time.
“Lady Bakiston will handle all the arrangements,” continued his lordship in a conversational tone. “This afternoon you are to go to Madame Dimond’s on Bond Street to be measured for your gown.”
Aggie waited for the explosion, but none came. “When can we talk to Lady Bakiston?” asked Cecilie with deceptive composure.
“It will not be necessary for you to be in contact with her at all. She is quite adept at planning such affairs.”
Aggie sensed that his lordship desired to keep rumors about Cecilie’s character from circulating among the ton. Once let that select group decide that she was eccentric and his task of finding her a suitable husband would be doubly difficult.
The Earl consulted his timepiece. “In an hour I shall accompany you to the dressmaker.” He eyed them quizzically. “If you have any more questions, I shall answer them then. In the meantime I shall finish my accounts.”
His eyes met Aggie’s briefly, but she saw no warmth in them. Perhaps she had been fortunate, she told herself as she rose to her feet, not to have made an alliance with Denby. Who could have imagined that the tender glances and soft whispered words hid a man of such studied coldness?
It was not until they had reached the safety of their room that Cecilie spoke. “The man is insufferable!” she cried as the door closed behind them. “Who does he think he is?”
Aggie sighed. “I’m afraid he meant what he said. Things will be his way or not at all.”
“It’s so grossly unfair,” Cecilie blurted out.
“Much of the world is unfair,” commented Aggie. “Especially to women. Men have the power - political, economic, and legal. There is little you can do to fight that.”
She was painfully aware that the tears in Cecilie’s wide eyes were real ones. “You have led a very sheltered life, my dear. All men are not like your papa. They simply will not care about your feelings.” She felt the tears rise to her own eyes at the thought of Denby’s duplicity. “But perhaps things will not be so bad. After all, the Earl has his reputation to consider. If he gives a pinchpenny ball, it will only reflect on him. And this Lady Bakiston evidently knows exactly what to do. I’m sure things will run quite smoothly.”
Cecilie considered this. “I suppose so,” she finally conceded. “But he needn’t be so toplofty about everything. He acts like he was God Himself.”
Though Aggie found this description of his lordship somewhat accurate, she did not think it fit to indicate so. “I expect we shall have to learn to live with his lordship,” she said softly. “It seems unlikely that he will change.”
Cecilie nodded absently. “No, I don’t suppose he will. He seems far too stubborn for that. Well, at least we won’t have to deal with this Lady Bakiston. She’s probably an inferior type who gets paid for her efforts.”
“There is nothing wrong with a gentlewoman being paid for her efforts,” said Aggie softly. “We must live, too, you know.”
Cecilie smiled. “Oh, I know that, Aggie. And anyway, you are not an inferior type.”
Aggie accepted the statement in the spirit in which she was sure it was intended and smiled. “Well, we had best get ourselves in order. I doubt that his lordship is much of a man for waiting.”
Cecilie giggled. “No, I don’t suppose he is. My, how very fortunate for womankind that his lordship has elected to remain single. How terrible it would be to be leg-shackled to such an arrogant bully.”
As she turned away to change her gown and redo her hair, Aggie smiled wryly. What would Cecilie say if she knew that once her companion had contemplated that very fate - and not with horror, but with delight!
* * * *
When they descended the stairs at the appointed time, Cecilie seemed suitably subdued. Aggie, however, felt that she would not draw an easy breath until they had returned to the house on Grosvenor Square. It was most often when Cecilie was quiet like this that she suddenly erupted into a tantrum.
The Earl came out of the library and stood at the bottom of the stairs watching them. Aggie felt her breath quicken as his eyes slid over her. She must get over this foolish kind of reaction, she told herself firmly. The Earl’s only relationship to her was as Cecilie’s guardian. She would think of him in that light and no other. Still, as she reached the foot of the stairs and his eyes met hers, a strange quivering sensation ran down her spine. His eyes swung away before she could drop hers and she wondered momentarily at the warmth in them. But then he had turned to take his curly brimmed beaver and York tan riding gloves from the waiting Bates. “I’ve no idea how long we shall be,” he said to the butler. “I have never before gone shopping for a gown for a come out.”
Bates nodded and smiled, “Yes, milord.”
Denby offered his arm to Cecilie and she took it with a slight but charming smile. Following behind them, Aggie was not at all fooled. When Cecilie turned on this much charm, it was always with some particular intent in mind; and today, Aggie knew, it was because of the gown. Cecilie had conceded in the matter of Lady Bakiston, but, precisely because she had, she would be less inclined to give in on the matter of the gown. Aggie foresaw a furious battle and more embarrassing and caustic comments from his lordship.
“Is Madame Dimond’s a very fashionable establishment?” inquired Cecilie.
The Earl nodded. “Fashionable enough; I believe the Duchess of York patronizes this shop. But then, perhaps you know.” His lordship sent a swift look in Aggie’s direction, a look that she pretended not to see.
“No,” replied Cecilie, just as evenly. “The last time I was at Oatlands we talked mostly of animals. The Duchess is quite fond of them, you know. It was she who told me where to buy Dillydums.”
“I see.” The Earl’s tone revealed nothing, but Aggie could not help wondering. Did he think the child was lying to him? She herself had never accompanied Cecilie and her father to Oatlands. Indeed, she had been quite grateful for the brief periods of peace thus granted her. Life as Cecilie’s companion left her little time for her own concerns. At first, of course, that had been good. It left her less time to brood over deceptive looks in smoky gray eyes and whispered words that had meant nothing to the whisperer.
She shook herself out of this mood of reverie. Only a fool would believe that Cecilie and his lordship were going to agree on a gown. And Aggie was no fool.
The ride was a short one. Now and then Cecilie exclaimed over some sight on the teeming streets, but mostly they rode in silence. As they neared Bond Street more and more fashionable ladies began to appear on the pavement. Aggie grew suddenly aware of bonnets and was soon convinced that theirs were rather out of style. In her case this was of little moment. She would, however, have to speak to Denby. Cecilie would need new things, not only for the ball, but for other occasions that would follow. “Milord?”
He turned to her and she felt herself coloring up. “Yes, Miss Trimble?”
“Since we are going to be at the dressmaker’s, perhaps it would be wise to order more than one gown. If Cecilie is to be going about, she will need some new things.”
The Earl regarded her gravely, then nodded. “That was also my thought,” he said. “Since we are here, we might as well attend to it all.” His eyes slid down over her gown, causing that strange quickening in her breast; and he seemed about to speak again. But he did not.
She watched him help Cecilie descend and then he offered her his hand. She did not want to touch him; she knew instinctively that to do so would be dangerous. But she could not very well ignore that outstretched hand, nor could she explain such rudeness on her part to the waiting Cecilie, who knew nothing at all concerning her previous acquaintance with his lordship. So Aggie laid her gloved hand in that which was offered her - and even through two pairs of gloves she felt the warmth of his fingers. As soon as her feet touched the ground she withdrew her hand with a mumbled, “Thank you, milord.”
Cecilie was fairly trembling with eagerness and Aggie smiled a
s Denby led his ward into the shop. This was Cecilie’s first visit to London, and one of her constant topics on the journey, and before, had been the gowns she was going to buy.
Madame Dimond herself met them inside the door, her round face beaming with delight. “Ahhhhh, Milord Denby. Such a long time I have not seen you. You are well, n’est-ce pas?”
The Earl nodded. “Quite well. This is my ward. Miss Cecilie Winthrop. And her companion Miss Agatha Trimble.”
The little modiste, whose body was as round as her face, bobbed and nodded. “You will come this way, s’il vous plait. We will sit in the comfort.”
She led them into a small room furnished with comfortable chairs. Aggie meant to seat herself unobtrusively in the back, but somehow she ended up with the Earl on her left and Cecilie on her right.
“And now,” said Madame Dimond from her place between the Earl and Cecilie, “you will tell me for what you want this gown?”
“Miss Winthrop is coming out,” replied the Earl. “I think something in ivory satin. Not too décolleté. You understand.”
“Ahhh yes,” murmured the dressmaker. “I have here the pattern book. Something like this. The little cap sleeves, the self-ruching at the neck and hem. It was a gown such as this that I made for Lady Alicia Temple, some few years back.”
The Earl nodded, a strange look crossing his features. Aggie felt a shiver go over her. Denby knew this Lady Alicia, knew her in a very special way. That was instantly clear to her. But what else could she expect, she told herself severely. Long ago she had realized that she meant nothing to this man, that his whispered words of promise were nothing but lies. Naturally he had sought out other women; that was the way such men behaved.
She grew suddenly conscious that everyone was looking at her. “We are asking how you think about this pattern,” said the dressmaker. “You see how the skirt flounces here.” She pointed with a stubby forefinger.
Aggie nodded. “I think perhaps we should ask Cecilie,” she replied. “She is the one who will wear it.”
A Matter of Honor Page 4
