by Carola Dunn
“I do not mind. I like Elspeth very much. Lord Avon—”
“Cousin Jasper.”
“Not yet! Lord Avon, I am very sorry to have disappointed your expectations.”
He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “My dear child, I am only sorry my admittedly somewhat cold-blooded approach to matrimony put you to such... inconvenience. I hope we shall be friends as well as cousins.”
“Oh, yes!” Cecily had never in all the months of courtship liked him half so well.
They returned to the ball room just in time for him to sweep her into a waltz. No one—including Iain—seeing Lady Cecily smiling up at Lord Avon could possibly have guessed that they had just come to an agreement to part.
Later on, standing up with Iain for a country dance, Cecily tried to cheer him up, to let him see how her hopes had risen. Even had the figures of the dance allowed private conversation, she could not actually tell him what had happened lest it ruin Lord Avon’s plans. Though he smiled at her gaiety and inconsequential chatter, his eyes remained sombre.
Perhaps he thought she had heartlessly resigned herself to her fate and resolved to renounce their love.
No, he would not so misjudge her. He must imagine she was putting on a show to deceive the world, hiding her breaking heart as he endeavoured to do. If only she dared assure him that their future was secure!
Not until Cecily retired to bed in the early hours of the New Year did doubts begin to creep in. She could not imagine how Lord Avon intended to carry out his promise.
If he failed to bring Iain up to scratch, she would be utterly humiliated, and if Iain applied to her father for her hand and was refused, he would be utterly humiliated. Lord Avon could not hope to persuade both his cousin and her parents. He had set himself an impossible task, and her life was ruined forever.
* * * *
Cecily woke late the next morning. She was dressing in her riding habit when Lady Flint came into her chamber and dismissed her maid.
“Well, my love, you and Lord Avon were missing from the ball room for an age last night. Have you something to tell your mama?”
“No, Mama. We were not gone so very long. We were just talking.” She kept her eyes on her reflection in the pier glass, and so saw as well as felt her cheeks grow pink.
The blush reassured her mother. “No matter, child. I expect he will wait until just before the Twelfth Night masquerade. Most guests will leave the next day so he will not have to put up with a great to-do for days and days. Gentlemen abhor a fuss. Does he ride with you today?”
“I believe not, Mama. He spoke of the New Year’s Day hunt.”
“Oh yes, it is something special, I collect. Your papa went off hours ago. Do not ride too far, Cecy, after dancing all night. You must not overtire yourself.”
“I shall not, Mama, and the sun is shining so there is no fear of a wetting.” She kissed her mother’s cheek, feeling horridly guilty for her deception.
But if she revealed that Lord Avon no longer intended to make her his bride, she would be whisked away from Felversham before his plot reached fruition. After all, there was always a chance he might succeed.
As Cecily’s doubts and fears came and went, her spirits rose and fell like a shuttlecock. Far from feeling tired, she was filled with a restless energy. She had company on her ride, for the bright sunshine and crisp air called forth several ladies and two or three non-hunting gentlemen. They turned towards the village, where some of the ladies wished to purchase ribbons to trim their Twelfth Night costumes or dominos.
“What is your costume to be, Lady Cecilia?” someone asked.
“I shall just wear a domino,” she said with regret. “Mama does not wish me to dress up.” Tactfully she did not add that Lady Flint considered masquerade costumes to be beneath the dignity of an earl’s daughter, smacking of the stage.
The tiny haberdasher’s shop had scarce room enough for everyone. Cecily, not wishing to make any purchase, decided to go outside and wait with the gentlemen, but when she stepped out they were trotting off up the street. Unwilling to stand alone in the street, she was about to go back inside when she saw Iain come out of old Johno’s cottage a few doors down on the other side.
“Dr Macfarlane!” she called impulsively.
His face lit and he came towards her smiling. “Happy New Year, Lady Cecily.”
“Happy New Year.” She was suddenly breathless. “How...how does Johno go on?”
“Quite nicely, though whether it is due to exercise or the ginger and willow-bark tea I cannot tell. He puts down the improvement to a daily mug of cider.”
Cecily laughed. “Mulled, in this weather, I trust.”
“The weather may be responsible, come to that. Cold and dry is better than dampness for some rheumatic complaints. But you must be chilled, standing here.”
“I just came out of the shop.” And his very presence warmed her. “In spite of the frosty air, the sunshine is delightful.”
“Yes, on a day like this one notices the snowdrops and winter aconites and Christmas roses, not the leafless branches. On a day like this it’s almost possible to believe in the future.”
How she wanted to tell him his cousin was working for their future! “You must never lose hope,” she said seriously.
“That’s what I tell my patients. Come, I don’t want you to join their number. Go back inside—or ride home with me.”
“A race? I know the lie of the land now, and Shadow’s ways.”
“A race! Yes, why not?”
They retrieved Shadow from the groom who was walking the ladies’ mounts, and Hippocrates from the church railings. As they rode down the lane towards the fir plantation, Cecily felt as if she had known Iain forever and could talk to him about anything in the world—except for a direct reference to their love and Lord Avon’s plans.
She wanted him to know why she had been prepared to settle for a loveless marriage, to make sure he understood she was not influenced by his cousin’s rank and wealth, only by her parents’ wishes.
She told him about the stillborn babies, about the little brothers and sisters who had died in infancy. “Only I survived,” she said, “so I have tried to make it up to Mama and Papa, to be just what they wanted me to be.”
“A very paragon of all the virtues, and the graces too. Don’t tell me they are dissatisfied?”
“Oh no! They are all that is loving, and I love them dearly as well. Mama has not even chided me for playing chess and billiards, and romping with the children on Christmas Day, and only a little for helping Ben Diver the day we arrived.”
“Shocking sins indeed!”
“She did not say a word when I sang those ballads instead of an aria, though she considers them ungenteel.”
“They were deservedly popular with your audience. Your singing was admirable.” Softly he sang, “‘Why should I not love my love?’“
Cecily glanced at him, but his gaze was fixed straight ahead. “One cannot always live one’s life to please others,” she said, the broadest hint she dared give.
“No, else I had not become a physician, but it must ever be an object to strive not to grieve one’s nearest and dearest.”
Did he mean her, or himself? Was he saying she must marry Lord Avon so as not to grieve her parents? Or that he must renounce her so as not to grieve his cousin, his uncle, and his aunt? Either way or both, Cecily honoured him for the sentiment though she vehemently disagreed.
Vehemently but silently. She was unaccustomed to argument, and no rebuttal came readily to her tongue.
They turned in among the firs. In the shade the air struck cold and by wordless mutual consent they urged their mounts to a canter. A few minutes brought them back into the sun, where they drew rein on the edge of the wood.
“A race to the stables?” Iain asked with a somewhat forced smile, his eyes shadowed by the brim of his hat. “Or rather, since it will not do to gallop into the yard, to where this track meets the carriage drive?”<
br />
“Yes. Come on, Shadow!”
Again they galloped neck and neck. Cecily urged Shadow on but failed to gain an inch. As they approached the crest of the hill, she asked herself why she was trying to outpace Hippocrates. Suppose Lord Avon’s plan failed and this was the last time she would ever be alone with Iain? To shorten it thus was sheer folly!
She slowed Shadow to a walk. Iain and Hippocrates promptly fell back beside them.
“I thought I felt Shadow stumble. I was afraid she might be lamed.”
Iain studied the mare’s gait for a moment. “I cannot see any limp, but perhaps you had best walk her the rest of the way.”
Thankful, Cecily nodded. “Do you count horse-doctoring among your skills?” she enquired archly.
He laughed. “Not I, but I can spot a limp as well as any farrier, if not diagnose the cause.”
“Elspeth told me your chief interest is in treating children.” She had not spoken of it before, since it touched too closely on the painful subject of his plans for the future.
She was glad she had asked. Eagerly he expounded on his hopes for founding a clinic and investigating the way various remedies affected children differently from adults.
“You should not have got me started,” he said ruefully as they rode under the stableyard arch. “My friends avoid the topic, for I can go on for hours.”
“It is all fascinating,” Cecily assured him. “If you had started thirty years ago, perhaps I should have half a dozen brothers and sisters now.”
“Perhaps.” Reminded of the reason for her compliance with her parents’ every wish, Iain fell silent.
He handed her down from the saddle without mishap this time, without any excuse to take her in his arms—just as well as grooms and stableboys were about. Nonetheless, their eyes met.
Cecily read love, sorrow, and understanding in his gaze. He thought she still meant to marry Lord Avon! How could she explain he had misinterpreted the purpose behind her words?
As a groom approached, Iain said hurriedly in a low voice, “We may still be friends when you are Lady Avon?”
“We shall always be friends, I hope, whatever may happen!”
“Then I must be satisfied. Excuse me, pray, I have to drive into Bath this afternoon to see a few patients who do not trust my locum.”
He turned away. Cecily trailed alone and disconsolate into the house.
She loved him more than ever, and she no longer had the least doubt that he loved her. If Lord Avon failed, she would just have to find a way to abduct Iain and get herself so thoroughly compromised there was no choice but for them to wed.
Resolute, yet shaken at the prospect of such outrageous behaviour, she fervently prayed Lord Avon would succeed.
Chapter 8
For the next three days, Cecily was on tenterhooks. Twelfth Night was nearly upon them. If she were not betrothed to Lord Avon by then everyone would be all agog for explanations. He said nothing to the purpose, and they were never alone together. The only assurance she had that he had neither forgotten nor neglected his promise was his response to a pleading look: a murmured “Have faith!”
Since the phrase was accompanied by a teasing smile, she was far from reassured.
Twelfth Night at Felversham was a democratic occasion in the ancient tradition. Under a king and queen chosen by lot, high and low, young and old mingled in disguise to dance and feast in the ball room, the portrait gallery, and various nearby apartments.
Decorum was preserved by the knowledge that the Duke’s democratic principles were not so enlightened that he would hesitate to dismiss any dependent who stepped across the line. Masks were no excuse for licence.
Though Cecily was not in costume, her Mama had permitted her to have tiny star-shaped spangles sewn all over her gown, which was the intense blue of the evening sky when stars first appear. It was the colour of her eyes, visible through the black silk mask concealing the upper part of her face. Most of her hair was hidden by the hood of her watered silk domino. As she moved the changeable silk revealed the shades of sunset: pink, peach, and flame.
“The Queen of the Night,” said a highwayman, materializing beside her as she entered the ball room.
“She was a villain,” Cecily protested, laughing, as she recognized Lord Avon.
“What better match for a villainous Gentleman of the Road?” His eyes gleamed mockingly through the holes in his mask. “Meet me by the First Duke at the stroke of midnight, fair Queen. I shall wave my Magic Flute and turn into a Fairy Godmother. Or perhaps a pumpkin or a pirate, who can guess?”
The crowd swirled around them and he was gone.
As partner succeeded partner, known and unknown, Cecily watched for him, but there were several highwaymen present and the one who danced with her was someone else. What was he going to do? Surely he did not expect to force her parents’ and Iain’s hands with a public announcement that she and Iain were engaged to marry?
They would deny it. Nothing but public humiliation lay that way.
Iain stood up with her, sober in a plain black domino. Cecily was too agitated to enjoy the dance, and his hazel eyes were anguished. Clearly he expected to hear this night that she was betrothed to his cousin. When the music ended, he pressed her hand and whispered, “Courage!” before relinquishing her to a waiting Harlequin—whom she promptly abandoned.
“Do you know the time?” she asked him.
“Nearly midnight.”
“I am sorry, I must...I am engaged for the next set.” She slipped away through the throng.
The Highwayman awaited her by the First Duke’s portrait. He took her hand. “Come, down the backstairs. Quiet, and hurry.”
“What...? Where...?”
“The child—the gamekeeper’s brat—has hurt himself and is crying for you.” Lord Avon’s eyes glinted with deviltry behind his mask.
Cecily refused to believe Ben had come to grief just at the time when the marquis had arranged to meet her. She recalled her father’s mention of Lord Avon’s youthful peccadilloes, and tales she had heard of the riot and rumpus kicked up by young blades with nothing better to do. What was he up to?
“Don’t turn missish on me now!” he said impatiently. “Do you or don’t you wish to—”
“Yes, yes, I am coming.”
He rushed her down a narrow, dark stairway. At the bottom he took a warm cloak from a hook on the wall and placed it around her shoulders.
“Where are we going? Where is Ben?”
“He stayed at home. I’ll take you there. You can go up before me on Caesar.”
The black Thoroughbred was already saddled and waiting just outside the side door. Cecily decided she had no choice but to trust Lord Avon. She let him toss her up onto Caesar’s withers. He swung into the saddle behind her and they set off into the night.
The frost had broken and a mild, blustery wind, such as breathes a balmy promise of spring even in January, tossed diaphanous rags of cloud across the haloed moon. The canter across the moonlit park would have been almost unbearably romantic if only the hard chest Cecily leant against was Iain’s, not Lord Avon’s.
With a chuckle he said, “You will have to claim you were abducted by a masked highwayman.”
* * * *
Iain tore himself away from Cecily and went to find a punch bowl to drown his sorrows, to dim the vision of her eyes full of love and hope.
What did she expect of him, that he would toss her over his saddle-bow and carry her off into the night, like the knight in one of her beloved ballads? Did she not understand that would be a betrayal which must damn him forever in his own as well as the world’s eyes?
Why the deuce was not Jasper with her? He must intend to announce their betrothal at midnight, the witching hour—unless he had shied off at the eleventh hour. Was Cecily to suffer the public humiliation of his failing to come up to scratch?
Iain gulped a glass of punch. As he turned to pour another, a Goddess of the Hunt, all in green with bow and qu
iver, accosted him.
Of the several Dianas present at the hunt-mad Duke’s entertainment, this one turned out to be Elspeth. Drawing him aside, she said urgently, “Iain, the little boy has hurt himself, the gamekeeper’s son. He has broke his splints and injured his arm again, I collect. You must go to the rescue.”
“Oh Lord! Where is he?”
“I am told he was left at home with his elder sister for fear of just such an accident in the crowds.” She scurried along beside him as he thrust through the crush towards the stairs. “He climbed a ladder, I believe, and fell forward when he caught his foot in the top rung. I am not perfectly sure. It sounds odd, but his sister brought the message and doubtless she was out of breath and in a fright.”
“There is a ladder to their attic room. Tell his parents I’m on my way, Elspeth.”
“If I can find them in this squeeze!”
The stables were deserted, but he was used to saddling Hippocrates for himself. A few minutes later he trotted under the archway.
Despite flying clouds, the moonlight was bright enough to risk a canter once he had ripped off his mask for better vision. As he rode, uncomfortable on horseback in evening dress, Iain tried to fix his mind on the medical problem ahead of him. His thoughts kept drifting back to the revelry he had left behind.
Even now Jasper and Lady Cecily must be receiving the congratulations of well-wishers, for the Marquis of Avon was an honourable gentleman and would never cry off at this late stage. Iain did not see how he could bear to go back to add his felicitations. Perhaps he would ride on from the gamekeeper’s cottage to his home in Bath and write to Jasper from there.
Cecily, secure in the knowledge that she had done her duty, would understand. She would be grateful to be spared facing him until she had forgotten—
“No,” he cried aloud, “she cannot forget!” She would mourn their love, though she let it die and—as duty and honour demanded—turned her affections to her husband.
