Cecilia: A Regency Romance (Families of Dorset Book 3)

by Martha Keyes

  He stepped into the chaise behind the two women and took his seat across from them. He pounded a fist on the wall of the chaise, which pulled forward slowly, navigating the small space between it and the curricle ahead.

  An uncomfortable silence reigned, with Jacques staring through the small window and Miss Cosgrove looking down at her hands in her lap.

  "Thank you, Lord Moulinet," said Lady Caroline. There was no embarrassment in her tone, only genuine gratitude.

  Jacques closed his eyes to muster patience and nodded, not trusting himself to say anything more. Lady Caroline's affairs were hardly any of his business. She seemed to care very little about her reputation or the reactions elicited by her behavior. Indeed, from what Jacques had heard, she almost seemed to seek out attention, whether it be good or bad.

  Lady Caroline watched him for a moment before resting her head against the seat and maintaining silence. Perhaps she had understood that Jacques had no desire to discuss what had just happened.

  Jacques dabbed his handkerchief at his nose and the corner of his eye, which were both still bleeding slightly. What kind of story would he be obliged to concoct to account for his injuries?

  "I hope," he finally said as they entered the streets of London, "that it will not inconvenience you, Lady Caroline, if we convey Miss Cosgrove to her home first. I think we must try to avoid any hint of damage to her reputation—even if she is dressed as a gentleman—and your presence here is necessary to ensure that. I will then take a hackney and follow you to ensure your safe arrival in Grosvenor Square."

  "Of course," Lady Caroline said, nodding swiftly. "But I assure you that your escort to my home is unnecessary. I am very used to being driven around town alone."

  Jacques's eyebrows went up. "At this hour of night?"

  Her only response was a smile.

  He thought of the rumors he had heard—ones which had been impossible to ignore for how frequently they came up in conversation—about Lord Byron and her. She seemed to have not a shred of regard for scandal.

  "Be that as it may," he said, "I would feel more at ease if I could ensure your safety.

  "You already have," she said, indicating his hand, of which the knuckles were raw and puffy.

  "All the more reason to see that my efforts aren't for naught."

  She only nodded in response.

  The chaise slowed, and Miss Cosgrove's head came up to look out of the window.

  Jacques raised himself from the chaise seat, wincing—his muscles were already taut and achy.

  Out of habit, he exited the chaise and moved to put out a hand for Miss Cosgrove. But when her tentative head emerged, topped with a beaver hat, and her foot encased in tall black boots, he withdrew his hand. If anyone were watching, it would appear highly unusual for one healthy young man to assist another healthy young man down from a chaise.

  He felt his anger flare up again. It was no thanks to her foolish decisions that she was healthy. What if he had not been at the prize fight? She could have been hurt, discovered, or… He exhaled sharply. It didn’t bear considering.

  "Lord Moulinet?" Lady Caroline said.

  Miss Cosgrove turned around as well, but receiving a gesture from Lady Caroline to continue on, she started toward the house, her head turning from side to side, scanning the empty street nervously.

  Jacques raised his brows in a question at Lady Caroline.

  "My lord," said Lady Caroline, glancing at Miss Cosgrove, "you must be terribly angry. But please spare Cecilia. It was my idea, not hers." She held his gaze for a moment and then nodded and ducked back into the chaise.

  Jacques grimaced and then strode quickly to Miss Cosgrove, who was coming up on the front door.

  He watched her shoulders come up, as though she were inhaling deeply. She turned toward him, meeting his eyes for the first time. Her gaze moved to the injuries on his face, and she winced. He imagined that the brighter lights of the London streets made his wounds all the more visible and harsh.

  "May I attend to those for you, my lord?" she said.

  He shook his head, wishing he could say, "There would be nothing to attend to if not for your foolhardiness."

  But he settled for, "The Broussard servants are more than capable of assisting me when I arrive there."

  Miss Cosgrove's eyes widened a moment in panic, and Jacques felt a rush of irritation. Now she was worried about the talk her behavior might occasion?"

  "Don't worry," he said, managing to smother the acid tone which the words begged him to assume, "I will not betray you."

  She swallowed and nodded, averting her eyes. "I am terribly sorry," she said, one of her hands resting on the iron railing. "I never thought..." she trailed off.

  "Yes," Jacques said, "that much is quite clear."

  Her eyes jumped to his, and he saw the hurt in them.

  How had anyone been deceived by her disguise? She looked every bit a woman, even in buckskin pantaloons and a brown waistcoat.

  Her shoulders came up in a helpless gesture. "I merely wanted," she said, "to be someone else for once—free of expectation or recognition." She shut her eyes and shook her head. "You cannot possibly understand what it is like to be valued for one thing only—something you have no control over."

  He felt a bit of his anger melting away. "I understand more than you know."

  She looked at him doubtfully and then said. "It was one night—one night where I could forget who everyone wants and insists that I be."

  Jacques grimaced and shook his head. "Don't you see? Tonight you only traded one mask for another."

  Her shimmering eyes held his, and he felt his anger ebb and an impulse to take her hand and comfort her—and then berate her at length for putting herself in harm's way.

  "The most important thing," he said, reminding himself as much as her, "is that you are safe. Allow me to call on you tomorrow with Letty. She has been missing you terribly."

  Miss Cosgrove laughed weakly. "I saw her not three days ago."

  "Ah," said Jacques with a half-smile, "but that is an eternity to Letty." He bowed to her and turned back toward the chaise.

  When Jacques entered the morning room to inform Letty that the curricle awaited them outside, she cried out at the sight of him.

  "Good heavens, Jacques! Whatever has happened to you!"

  Jacques smiled and put out a hand to help her up from the chaise she sat on, perusing the latest edition of La Belle Assemblée. “That must be the most unhandsome greeting I have ever received. I think I look quite well today, for your information."

  Her eyes widened even more as she came to a stand and had a closer view of the injuries. Jacques was only glad that she had not been there to see them the night before.

  The servants had done a fine job of minimizing the damage, though, with the use of poultices and creams.

  "Really, Jacques, what on earth happened? I saw you at dinner last night, and your face was perfectly handsome."

  Jacques threw his head back in a laugh. "You become more offensive by the minute, Letty. I assure you that I am quite all right. But Miss Cosgrove is waiting for us, so let us not make her wait any longer."

  Letty pursed her lips and furrowed her brow as if she would persist, but she followed Jacques out to the curricle.

  When Miss Cosgrove entered the morning room in Belport Street, she looked calm and collected—a contrast from her remorseful and anxious demeanor the night before.

  Letty greeted her with an energetic embrace, and Jacques bowed with a smile he hoped was free of any reserve.

  "Wait a moment," Letty said, looking back and forth between Jacques and Miss Cosgrove with suspicion. "You do not seem at all surprised by Jacques's face which, as far as I can tell, has been mauled by some creature or other!"

  "Good gracious, Letty," said Jacques. "Have done with the insults! Perhaps Miss Cosgrove simply possesses a mind of higher caliber than yours—one less preoccupied with appearances." He shot Letty a significant and chastising look.


  She laughed aloud. "Cecy?" She waved a hand. "No one could be more preoccupied with appearances!"

  Jacques watched Miss Cosgrove, who attempted a laugh.

  Letty seemed to realize that her words had caused offense rather than amusement, and she walked over to Miss Cosgrove. "Oh dear, I have said something unkind, haven't I? Oh, forgive me, Cecy! You know I didn't mean it that way."

  Miss Cosgrove patted Letty's hand. "You have spoken truth, Letty. Only it is a failing that I am working to rid myself of. That is all." She smiled and winked at Letty, who watched her through narrowed eyes, as if she didn't know whether to believe her cousin’s nonchalance.

  A servant set down a tray of biscuits on the nearest table, and Letty took one from the platter. "I suppose I must believe you, but I hope you will believe that I am very sorry for my wicked words, and that there is no one I love more than you!" She took a bite from the biscuit. "In any case, you must absolutely help me solve the mystery of Jacques's injuries, for he seems intent on keeping all the most exciting secrets from me."

  Jacques sent an apologetic glance at Miss Cosgrove, whose conscience-stricken expression had reappeared, then smiled at Letty teasingly.

  "You are powerless to wrest my secrets—"

  "It is my fault," Miss Cosgrove said.

  Jacques's mouth hung open, a biscuit at his lips, and he stared at her. Letty, too, looked at Miss Cosgrove with confusion.

  "Whatever do you mean?" Letty said with an uncertain laugh.

  "It was my folly that caused his injury," she said simply.

  Letty looked back and forth between them and reared back slightly. "Well, you must positively not leave me to guess what you mean, Cecy! How in the world should you be responsible for Jacques's face looking like a bruised tomato?"

  Jacques sent her a look of feigned offense and then said, "Miss Cosgrove, there is no need at all for you to—"

  "I allowed," Miss Cosgrove said determinedly, "myself to be convinced to accompany Lady Caroline to a prize fight."

  Letty's eyes bulged, and her jaw hung agape. Finally she said, "And Jacques was in the match?"

  Miss Cosgrove tilted her head from side to side. "Not exactly. At least not at first. It was Lady Caroline's idea that we attend dressed as gentlemen, so I borrowed Tobias's clothing, and we were quite unknown"— she cast a hesitant glance at Jacques —"until we saw Lord Retsford, and, knowing how I dislike him, Lady Caroline decided to teach him a lesson."

  Jacques looked to Letty, whose eyes were alight with excitement and awe.

  "Teach him what kind of lesson?" she said.

  Miss Cosgrove sent another darting glance at Jacques. "Well, she wished for me to tell him exactly what I thought of him—"

  Letty gasped. "Surely you didn't!"

  "I surely did not," returned Miss Cosgrove, "for I am not so very lost to reason as to suppose that such a thing could have ended well. We settled instead for walking past him, and Lady Caroline bumped into him as we did so—purposefully, I believe." She took in a large breath and sighed. "One thing led to another, and the crowd began chanting for the marquess and Lady Caroline to engage in their own fight. the marquess was only too happy to oblige."

  Letty's hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes shifted to Jacques, and her hand came down slowly. "And you saved them by fighting him yourself," she said in an awed voice.

  "He did."

  Jacques scoffed, feeling uncomfortable at the way Letty seemed to be enjoying the tale—and the role she had apparently cast him in.

  Letty's head shook from side to side slowly as she stared wide-eyed at Jacques, clasping her hands together. "How very romantic."

  A slight blush stole into Miss Cosgrove's cheeks, and she avoided Jacques's eye.

  Did it embarrass Miss Cosgrove to think that there might have been something more to his actions than mere chivalry?

  "I imagine," Miss Cosgrove said, "that romantics were very near the last thing on Lord Moulinet's mind as he was struck again and again by the marquess."

  Jacques reared back. "You make it sound as though I were constantly assaulted by the marquess, with never a blow returned."

  Letty's head whipped around to him. "Were you knocked unconscious? Did Cecy have to...revive you?"

  Jacques let out an impatient noise, his own neck and face heating up. "I must clearly speak to your mother about your consumption of romantic novels, Letty! I was decidedly not knocked unconscious."

  "No," said Miss Cosgrove simply with a small smile, "the shoe was rather on the other foot, in fact."

  Jacques wondered if it was possible for Letty's eyes to open any wider without causing her injury.

  "You won?" she said.

  Jacques nodded, trying to suppress a laugh. "And your surprise is yet another example of the sure protection you provide against my ever developing an overinflated opinion of myself."

  "Well," Letty said significantly, "I am very sorry to have missed all of the adventure. And I think it is terribly selfish of the two of you to have kept it all to yourselves."

  Jacques and Miss Cosgrove exchanged meaningful glances.

  "It was not an adventure, Letty," said Miss Cosgrove severely, "but a piece of folly which could very easily have ended in a complete loss of my reputation." She paused a moment, and a smile trembled at the corner of her mouth. "Though I must say that it was very satisfying to see someone teach the marquess a lesson, and part of me wishes that he knew I was there to witness his defeat."

  Jacques smiled responsively. He sympathized with her sentiment. It had been satisfying to him, too.

  "But alas," she said with a discontented sigh, "I am afraid I shall have to continue being civil to him."

  "And Lady Caroline the initiator of all this adventure..." Letty said dazedly. "She is a wonder, isn't she?"

  Jacques frowned. "Lady Caroline is a very amiable woman, Letty, but hers is not an example I would ever wish you to follow."

  "Ever?" said Miss Cosgrove, taken aback. "You are too harsh, surely."

  Jacques shook his head. "She cares not a shred for what anyone thinks of her behavior, and it leads her to indiscretion after indiscretion."

  "Perhaps," said Miss Cosgrove, her chin up, "but that is what is so wonderful about her—that she is entirely unconcerned with what society says or thinks of her. Besides, I thought you despised those who conformed too strictly to society's expectations."

  Letty nodded, looking to Jacques for an explanation.

  "It is more than that," he said grimly. "Lady Caroline takes pains to flout society. It may look like freedom, but it is actually a veiled overconcern with society's expectations—an obsession that drives and determines the decisions she makes, based off what will shock and scandalize. That is not freedom."

  Letty and Miss Cosgrove were both silent, and Jacques hoped that his point had been taken.

  "Lady Caroline escapes the majority of undesirable consequences," he continued, "because of the protection her title and connections afford. If anyone of less influence than her tried to attempt what she does"— he grimaced and shook his head —"they would be cut and ostracized."

  His argument met no resistance, and he breathed an inward sigh of relief. The last thing he needed was for Letty to follow in Lady Caroline’s footsteps—or to be obliged to rescue Miss Cosgrove from doing so again.

  Jacques picked up his pace as he walked Bond Street. The pantaloons he had worn to the prize fight had been stained past saving by a mixture of blood, sweat, and dirt, so he had spent the morning commissioning a handful of pieces of clothing. What good was coming to London if one didn’t take full advantage of the skilled tailors there?

  His wounds were healing more quickly than he had anticipated—a fact for which he was grateful, as he found it very uncomfortable to satisfy people's questions about their origin.

  He had sworn Letty to secrecy about what Miss Cosgrove had revealed concerning the impromptu match between him and Lord Retsford, and he hoped that she would be wi
se enough to keep her vow of silence.

  He was brought up short by a standing figure blocking his way.

  "Ah," said the man, "Lord Moulinet."

  Jacques looked up to see the sneering half-smile of the marquess, whose face still contained bruising and swelling from their encounter at Harford. Jacques stifled a resigned sigh and nodded his greeting.

  "My congratulations on your victory the other night," said the marquess. "You caught me on an evening when I was not at my best."

  Jacques inclined his head. "I am sorry if you felt that the circumstances of the fight were unfair, my lord. I bid you good day." He moved to walk around the marquess, but the man moved to prevent him.

  "Forgive me," said Lord Retsford, "but there is something very familiar about you that I cannot for the life of me seem to place." He smiled humorlessly at Jacques, who frowned.

  "Fear not, though," continued the marquess, "I am determined to solve the mystery. ‘Something is rotten in the state of Denmark,’ I think."

  Jacques swallowed and clenched his jaw, forcing a smile. "Perhaps the stench is not coming from me, my lord." He nodded again and took a wide step to the side, allowing him to pass by the marquess undeterred.

  He felt his heart beating rapidly. Whether the marquess had indeed pegged Jacques for an impostor or whether he was simply determined to do his reputation harm, the fact remained: Jacques had secrets which, if ferreted out, would be his ruin.

  His only consolation: no one among the society they kept knew of his charade.

  13

  Cecilia scanned the room full of dominos, noting how her vision seemed constricted by the slits of her eye mask, creating a black frame around her line of sight.

  It was Letty's first time to a masquerade, and her buzzing excitement had brought an appreciative smile to Cecilia's face. Her wide-eyed admiration of Ranelagh Gardens had induced a wave of nostalgia in Cecilia for the time when she had felt awe and thrill at such sights. It was only months behind her and yet seemed distant.

  Letty was unrecognizable under her silver mask, which covered her entire face, while Cecilia had chosen to wear the same costume she had worn at the last masquerade she had attended: an Egyptian half-mask with gold braiding around the edges and black braiding around the eye slits. She had no desire to be completely anonymous. After the incident at the Harford prize fight, the thought of anonymity left a bad taste in her mouth.