by Amanda Scott
She stared at him, amazed that he could determine what seemed to be such a bold course in the face of what would undoubtedly be incredible opposition. “But how? Papa will be furious. He expects us to live here with him and to stay at Malmesbury House in London.”
“I can see no reason for not spending a good deal of time here later on, while I learn about my inheritance,” he said quietly, “but since I have a perfectly good house of my own in London, I can think of no good reason for us to impose upon your parents whilst we are there. Nor can I think of one for permitting your esteemed father to dictate my movements or those of my wife. If you are ready, just make your excuses briefly. As soon as she sees you depart, Tani will follow to give you any assistance you might need.”
“Tani! So she knows of this already?” He nodded. “But my clothes! How will we travel? Where are we going?” It was all she could do to keep her voice down.
He smiled encouragingly. “Your clothes are packed and by now should be on their way to London with my valet and Meg Hardy. We will travel in my traveling coach, of course. And, no, I don’t intend that we shall reach London tonight. A friend has offered us the use of his house just south of Newmarket, however, so we shall have all the privacy we require without having to put up with the noise and bustle of a posting house.” She still stared at him, finding it difficult to take in his words. It had been all settled in her mind that, although she would be married to him, she would remain with her own family, and here he was, casually informing her that he was as good as abducting her. He noticed her hesitation and covered her hand with his own, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Go now, Princess. I’ll take care of matters here and meet you in the great hall in twenty minutes.”
“You can’t do this,” she muttered, glaring at him. “I won’t go.”
The expression in his eyes hardened briefly before being replaced by that glimmer of amusement that maddened her so. “I confess, my dear, I intend to leave you no choice in the matter. Have you not promised to obey me?”
“Papa won’t like this, my lord.”
“Gilbert,” he corrected gently. “And Papa has nothing to say to it, I fear. You are no longer his concern, you see, but mine. Now, don’t sit there arguing, Princess. I assure you ’tis a waste of time.”
Short of creating a scene in front of the assembled guests, she could think of nothing to do but obey him. Of course she could wrap herself in icy dignity and sit there like a rock, but that would afford her little in the way of victory and, depending upon his reaction, might well lead to a certain amount of embarrassment later, when their guests departed. The thought that he might simply pick her up and carry her out to the waiting coach flitted through her mind, leaving a small thrill in its wake. Nonetheless, she discarded the notion. He was entirely too sedentary of habit to do anything so energetic. Instead he would no doubt simply wait until things were more private and then insist that she obey. And she realized he was quite right in saying that although the duke would surely be annoyed, he could do nothing to stop Ravenwood from taking her away.
Accordingly, she excused herself to the gentleman on her left and nodded to the footman behind her chair. A moment later she had gained the relative quiet of the main corridor and was hurrying toward the stairway to her own bedchamber. A voice from behind halted her progress, and she turned to find Brittany upon her heels.
6
“MY GOODNESS,” BRITTANY SAID. “You look just like Papa when he is in a rage, as he will be, of course, but Mama says she will manage him. Do you not think this is exciting?”
“I think the whole thing is high-handed and typical of Ravenwood, to say the very least.”
“Why, how can you call it typical when you are forever saying he looks much too lazy to do anything exciting?”
Cicely was unable to answer that, but she insisted again that it was high-handed. “And did I understand you to say that my own mother has abetted him in this enterprise?”
“To be sure. And managed to keep still about it, as well,” Brittany laughed. “Meg Hardy knows, too. She was so excited, it was all I could do to see that she kept her tongue between her teeth. But of course it would not have done for anyone else to know, lest the news somehow get to Papa. He would not have ignored it, you know, and Ravenwood feared it would lead to an estrangement between them if the matter were not handled adroitly.”
“Adroitly! What about me? If my mother and sister could be told of it beforehand, why was I not informed? It is my life, after all, which is being ordered about without so much as an opinion being asked of me.”
Brittany looked a trifle conscious. “We knew you would not like it, dear,” she said in her gentle way. “However, we could not but agree with Ravenwood when he said you might cause the very stir he wished to avoid.”
“I beg your pardon!” Cicely grated angrily.
“Well, you cannot deny that you have been doing what you can to annoy him, Cicely, ever since Papa’s plan was made known to you. If we had told you of Ravenwood’s decision, we feared you would go straight to Papa, if for no other reason than to make matters difficult for Ravenwood.”
Cicely opened her mouth indignantly to deny it, but honesty stifled the words at birth. She sighed. Brittany was right. She would have fought him, just as she fought him over everything. And since Malmesbury had already got it into his head that the newlyweds would remain at the park, it would have been a simple matter to enlist his aid on her behalf, thus causing just the sort of scene Ravenwood had hoped to avoid. “I expect you are right, Tani,” she said then. “There is something about him that makes me want to strew his path with brambles. It’s that sleepy look, I daresay. Makes me want to wake him up.”
Brittany chuckled, stepping into Cicely’s bedchamber. “I wouldn’t count on that laziness, my dear. It seems to me that he has planned this little coup of his with military precision. Every arrangement has been made. Poor Meg thought she would never have your clothes packed in time. He told her only yesterday, you know, though he did manage to seek her out not five minutes after his arrival. Nevertheless, she was hard pressed to think how she could accomplish the task, particularly when it had to be done secretly.”
“However did she manage it?” Cicely’s traveling dress was laid out neatly upon her bed, and she let Brittany help her out of her wedding gown as she talked.
“Well, it is just as well you did not decide to search for something in your cupboards last night,” Brittany said, smiling, “for Meg had turned them all out whilst we were at dinner, and carried everything to my room. We had to take Sarah into our confidence, of course, but what with Meg threatening to throttle her and my telling her I should be most displeased if she breathed a word, we knew we could trust her to keep a still tongue. Nonetheless, the three of us were up until the wee hours finishing the task. Your trunks were loaded this morning, and the coach carrying them—and Meg as well, of course—will meet you at Lynsted Manor, where you will stay tonight. Oh, Cicely,” she said suddenly, her violet eyes welling with tears, “I shall miss you!”
“Draw rein, Tani,” Cicely returned, her own voice suspiciously gruff. “’Tis only a matter of days now before we shall all be together in London.”
“But Ravenwood said—”
“Oh, don’t be gooseish, for heaven’s sake,” snapped Cicely, not knowing whether her temper flared at the thought that they would not be together or at Brittany’s continued use of the viscount’s name. “I know we shall be in our own houses,” she went on more gently, sorry now for the hurt look in her sister’s eye, “but we shall see each other nearly every day. Ravenwood shan’t have me on a leash, after all, and if I wish to see my sisters, I suppose I shall see them. And you must come to visit me, too. All of you. Why, do you realize that I can act as your chaperone? ’Twill be prodigious fun.”
“I doubt Mama will permit it.” Brittany smiled through her tears.
“Nonsense. Why should she not? When she was indisposed during my second Season, she tur
ned me over to Aunt Uffington without a qualm.”
“What qualm could she have?” Brittany asked with a chuckle. “Aunt Uffington is a dragon of the highest order. You’d not have dared to step out of line.”
“True,” Cicely agreed ruefully, “and if our positions were reversed, I daresay Mama would never let you be responsible for me. You would be too gentle to make me behave if I got the bit between my teeth. But she knows full well that she may trust you implicitly, Tani dear, no matter what doubts she may have about me. So I’ll wager she will let you come out with me upon occasion.”
Brittany was still doubtful, but she pursued the subject no further while Cicely continued to change from her wedding gown into the soft dusky-rose, high-waisted gown with its matching light woolen spencer. With her sister’s help she managed to confine her hair in a twisted plait at the nape of her neck. Then, pinching more color into her cheeks, she drew on her gloves and stepped away from the dressing table.
She still wore her lovely pearls, and she fingered them idly while she took a long look around the spacious bedchamber. It was the last time she would stand here as the duke’s eldest daughter, she thought. Her feelings were mixed. There was a sadness at the thought of parting from her family, even from her irascible father. But there was also a sense of excitement at the new road that lay ahead of her. That the excitement was tinged with some apprehension was a matter not to be thought of just now. She had never been one to fear the future. She would not begin now.
“I suppose I’m ready to go downstairs,” she said slowly.
Brittany gave an encouraging smile. “Are you a little frightened?”
“Not frightened, exactly,” Cicely answered after a thoughtful pause. “Just … well, just curious about what lies ahead, I suppose.”
Brittany stepped quickly forward and kissed her cheek. “It will go well with you, my dear. I know it will.”
At that moment the door opened and the duchess entered. “Are you prepared to leave, Cicely dear? Ravenwood has spoken with your father, and I must say he seems to have taken it a good deal better than anyone might have expected.”
“You mean he is not livid, ma’am?” Cicely asked, eyes wide.
“Not a bit of it. Ravenwood seems to have known just how to manage him.”
“Well, how on earth …” Cicely began, only to break off when her mother flushed suddenly and looked guiltily at Brittany. But there was no help to be had from that quarter, for Brittany looked quite as curious as Cicely did. “Mama,” said the latter firmly, “precisely what ruse did Ravenwood employ to make Papa agree so easily to his plan?”
“Well, he said …” began the duchess, only to have her words fade away when her courage failed her.
“Mama.” There was warning in Cicely’s tone that her temper was rising. The duchess regarded her unhappily.
“You will not like it, dearest.”
“Of course I shall not,” Cicely agreed calmly. “Has he not already proved himself capable of anything? What did he say?”
“I am certain he only thinks it will be better if the two of you have some time alone, away from the rest of the family, so that you might learn to know each other better.”
Cicely stared at her for a moment speculatively. Then she frowned. “I daresay that’s very likely true,” she said, “but I shouldn’t think that would weigh very heavily with Papa when he has got it into his head for us to live here. Ravenwood said something more than that, did he not?”
The duchess looked increasingly uncomfortable.
“What else did he say, Mama? No, no, do not look to Tani for assistance. Pray, ma’am, I do not mean to be uncivil, but I have a strong interest in knowing what Ravenwood said, after all.”
The duchess took a deep breath to steady her nerves, but although she attempted to meet her eldest daughter’s purposeful gaze, she could not seem to do so. At last, staring at a bedpost, she practically blurted the information that Ravenwood meant to use their time together to teach Cicely who was master.
“What?”
“Ravenwood never said such a thing, Mama,” Brittany laughed over Cicely’s protest. “You must be making that up.”
“Well, to be sure, I did not hear their conversation,” the duchess admitted, gazing doubtfully from one to the other, “but those were the words your papa used when he described it to me. Ravenwood seems to have told him that it will be far easier for him to deal with Cicely if she cannot run to her family every time they have a falling out. And I must say, my dears, that is quite true. It will be better for both of you to get to know each other quite privately, without any interference from us, however well meant it might be. Your papa seemed to see that, too, you know, although what he said was that it will give Ravenwood more scope to see that … that is, to—”
“To put me in my place!” Cicely snapped. “Well, Ravenwood will soon find he has much mistaken the matter if he thinks to rule the roast entirely. I can promise you that. I have already shown him once that I can take care of myself, and, if necessary, it will afford me vast pleasure to remind him of the fact.” She paced angrily to the window, muttering, “Master, indeed! As though I were a puppy or a slave girl. Well!” She turned, glaring. “I am neither, Mama, and so he shall learn before he is very much older!”
“Cicely! Dearest, only calm yourself, and think what you are saying. Ravenwood is your husband now. He must be obeyed.”
“Fiddlesticks! Ours will be a modern marriage, and so I shall tell him. He will no doubt expect to have his amusements, you know, and what’s sauce for the goose—no, he’s the gander, is he not?—well, ’tis of no importance. What is important is that I mean to enjoy myself, and I’ve got no intention of catering to the whims of that … that …”
“Cicely!” The duchess was shocked. “Surely you cannot mean that you will … that you expect to entertain … that … that—” She broke off helplessly, and Cicely grinned at her distress.
“No, no, Mama, that’s too bad of you! How could you think a daughter of yours would play her husband false?”
“Well, of course,” hedged the duchess, “I did not truly believe it, dearest, only you sounded so vehement, you know, so … so angry.”
“I am angry,” Cicely acknowledged, “but I’ve no intention of cuckolding Ravenwood.” The thought sent a sudden, unexpected shiver down her spine, but she braced herself against the discomforting sensation and continued glibly. “I certainly know better than to break such a hard-and-fast rule as to do so before the succession is secured at any rate.”
Brittany chuckled, but their mother was not amused. Before she could make further protests, however, Cicely insisted that it was past time for her to meet Ravenwood in the great hall. Gathering up her fur-lined cloak, she took a last look around her bedchamber. Then, with-a sigh, she turned toward the door.
The three descended the stairs together to be met by the rest of the family and a number of the guests. Other guests could be heard outside on the drive. Ravenwood looked up with a smile and stepped forward to meet his bride. Cicely glared at him, but he seemed not to notice, merely drawing her arm through his.
She kissed her mother and each of her sisters, then turned to the duke. Surprisingly he put out a hand and, when she placed hers within it, gave it a squeeze and pulled her nearer, looking directly into her eyes. Ravenwood stepped back, giving them a moment’s privacy.
“You have made me a proud man today, daughter,” Malmesbury said gruffly.
“Th-thank you, Papa,” she replied, much moved by the unexpected words of praise from him.
He patted her shoulder. “See that you behave yourself, now. We’ll all see you in London.”
“Yes, Papa.” She leaned forward impulsively and kissed his cheek. The hand on her shoulder tightened briefly, and then he stepped back. “Good-bye, Papa.” She gazed up at him.
“God be with you, child.”
Sudden tears sprang to her eyes, and she turned away quickly, barely aware of Ravenwood’
s hand at her elbow until his grip tightened, slowing her pace as they emerged onto the broad veranda under the high, pedimented portico. The guests assembled below, along the steps and drive, cheered their appearance, waving and shouting as they proceeded down the broad stone steps to the waiting coach. There was a general surge toward them; then, moments later, everyone stood quickly aside as Tom Coachman whipped up the team of magnificent bays. No one was so crass as to throw old boots, although the custom was one rapidly gaining favor at less genteel weddings. Instead they were sped on their way by an even louder chorus of cheers and good wishes for their future happiness. There were also one or two bits of shouted advice to which Cicely wisely turned a deaf ear.
Once they reached the main road, their pace slackened, and with the tall iron gates behind them, Cicely leaned back against the plush crimson squabs and forced herself to relax. She was well aware that her husband, seated opposite with his back to the horses, was watching her lazily. He wore the same outfit he had worn for the wedding, and he looked very well in it. Dark pantaloons fit skin tight over bulging calf and thigh muscles. His jacket was dark, as well, and certainly had required the efforts of someone besides Pavenham to urge it over those broad shoulders. As usual, his waistcoat was a thing of glory. Today he had chosen a cream-colored silk creation, embroidered with pink and gold roses and twining green leaves. He wore it over a white silk shirt, and again, both shirt and intricate neckcloth bore touches of fine lace. His gold-tasseled Hessians gleamed in a shaft of sunlight that had strayed through the glass window of the coach, and as she looked up again a ray of the sun sparkled on his signet ring, reminding her of the symbol of his possession that weighted her own left hand.
Glancing up still farther, she saw that he still watched her. His gaze held hers for a brief moment, but then she looked away again when he did not speak. Thus, for a time, she continued to ignore him. She was still thinking about her mother’s words, but she couldn’t think of a way by which she might introduce the subject of his conversation with her father without making him think she had more than a casual interest in the subject. From time to time she glanced at him, only to encounter that lazy look, which made her glance away again. It occurred to her that this was the first time she had ever been alone with a man in an enclosed carriage. By rights she ought to have been nervous, but she was not. Inwardly seething, she decided it was her anger with him that kept her from behaving like a shy miss.
