Surely there was something of note here. Cece moved to the next wall and her gaze caught a promising shelf: Shakespeare. Not her first choice, but not altogether unacceptable.
Her fingers trailed along the gilded leather spines and paused for a moment on Romeo and Juliet. She shook her head firmly. She was in no mood for star-crossed lovers tonight. Cece bypassed the rest of the tragedies and the histories until her touch rested lightly on the Bard’s more humorous offerings. A Midsummer Night’s Dream? No; too fanciful. Much Ado About Nothing? No; the treatment of Hero by Claudio always infuriated her. The Taming of the Shrew? She grinned and plucked the book from its resting place. Now here was a story she could well appreciate.
She chuckled to herself and made her way back to her chamber. She would have to ask Jared what he thought of this particular play. Given their ongoing battle over her driving instruction, his views on this particular Shakespearian effort might well be amusing and insightful.
Cece turned the corner into the hall and pulled up short. Someone stood at the door to her room. She took another few cautious steps forward and peered into the dimly lit corridor. It was Sir Humphrey! What on earth was he doing with his hand on her doorknob? She started toward him indignantly, then stopped. No; far better to see exactly what the old lecher was up to than to confront him now. She flattened herself against the nearest recessed door and watched.
Sir Humphrey darted a quick glance up and down the hall. Even from here she could see his lascivious grin. Apparently even a fork imbedded in his hammy hand was not enough to dissuade this rotund suitor that his attentions were not merely unwanted but repugnant as well. Again she stifled the urge to confront him face to face. She was, after all, alone in the hall and, despite his rather ineffectual appearance, she had no idea how dangerous the nasty creature could really be.
Sir Humphrey turned the knob and tiptoed into her room and closed the door quietly behind him. Cece suppressed the desire to giggle at the thought of how any rational toes could truly support a bulk of Sir Humphrey’s magnitude. She waited, her gaze fastened on the door. Moments ticked by. She shifted impatiently. Surely he had realized by now that she was not in her bed? Damnation! What if he decided to wait for her? What if at this very moment the lustful old coot was reclining in her own bed dreaming of her arrival? And what if, unaware, she had innocently walked in on him? Shivers of revulsion coursed down her spine.
She squared her shoulders. She would give Sir Humphrey a few moments more and then join Emily in her room. In the morning, she would decide what to do about his outrageous behavior.
The door to her room opened abruptly and she pressed her back into the shadows of her doorway hiding place. Sir Humphrey stepped into the hall, casting a cursory glance at the empty walkway. He appeared quite disgruntled and muttered under his breath. She strained to catch the words on his retreat down the corridor but failed to pick up more than “tart,” “hussy” and “American.”
The nerve of the man! How dare he be indignant because she was not available for his amorous advances? Impulsively, Cece marched after him, determined to give him a verbal thrashing he would never forget, when yet another door in the hall opened. Once again, Cece shrank into the shadows.
Lady DeToulane progressed down the corridor in a casual manner offset by the assessing glances she tossed this way and that. Linnea stopped directly before Nigel Radcliffe’s room and Cece gasped. No doubt this was another attempt at assignation among the house guests.
Lady DeToulane’s head jerked upright, her hand dropping from the knob, and Cece’s heart fluttered in her throat.
“Is anyone there?” Linnea whispered sharply.
“It’s only me,” Cece said, stepping from her hiding place.
“Oh.” Linnea appeared at a loss but only for a moment. Her eyes narrowed. “What ever are you doing, roaming the halls at this hour of the night?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” Cece shrugged and held up the book. “I thought reading might help.” She affixed an expression of innocence on her face. “And what of you? Are you having difficulties sleeping as well?”
“Difficulties sleeping?” Linnea looked as if the very idea was foreign to her; then she brightened. “Yes, of course. That’s it exactly.”
Dramatically she brought the back of her hand to her forehead and heaved a heartfelt sigh. “I do have such troubles retiring at night. Rest constantly seems to evade me.” Linnea peeked out from beneath her raised hand. “It is a difficult cross to bear.”
Cece struggled to appear appropriately sympathetic. “I can well imagine.”
“No, no, it’s quite beyond imagining.” Linnea swept her arms outward in a wide gesture to encompass an entire world of woes. “The inability to sleep dominates one’s life. It preys on the mind, sapping one’s will and energy.”
She placed an arm around Cece’s shoulder and gently steered her away from Nigel’s room.
“It sounds quite horrible,” Cece said, suspecting Linnea’s growing tirade more a fiction to hide her true purpose in the hallway than a product of any real affliction.
“Indeed.” Linnea nodded seriously. “Horrible is something of an understatement. You are so very lucky to still be young enough to avoid such ailments.” She stopped before Cece’s door. “This is your room, isn’t it?” Cece nodded. “How old are you, my dear?”
“Nearly twenty-one.”
“As old as that,” Linnea murmured. “Well, you still have some good years left.”
“Thank you,” Cece said dryly.
“Not at all.” Linnea waved a dismissive hand, then reached for Cece’s doorknob. “I, on the other hand, am old enough to be…well, shall we say an older sister. An older and much wiser sister. Husbands, no matter how wealthy or amicable or mature, do tend to age a woman. Still…”
Linnea leaned toward Cece in a confidential manner. “I am scarce past my thirty-second year and I feel I too have some good years left.”
Cece bit her lip to hide her grin. “Undoubtedly.”
Linnea nodded and opened Cece’s door. “I have never been one for reading, yet this idea of yours of using a book to get to sleep has definite possibilities.”
Cece raised a curious brow. “I’m surprised you haven’t thought of it before.”
“Yes, well…” Linnea cast a surreptitious glance at Nigel’s door, and Cece wondered what he would think of Linnea’s newfound literary interest. “There is no time like the present to try something one has never experienced before. You run along to bed now.”
Firmly, Linnea nudged Cece into her room. “Do try to get some rest, my dear. I simply could not bear it if I thought yet another person in this house was suffering the way I am.”
“Do you need directions to the library?”
“The library?” Confusion colored Linnea’s face.
“The room with the books?” Cece prompted.
“No, no.” Linnea shook her head briskly. “No need for that. I’m sure I shall find it with no difficulties whatsoever.” She pulled the door toward her. “If this works, you will have my undying gratitude. Good night.” The door snapped closed behind her.
Cece’s long-suppressed grin broke free. Wicked thoughts flew through her mind. If I have her undying gratitude, just what does Lord Radcliffe receive?
Cece counted slowly to ten, then quietly opened her door the barest crack. Linnea stood by the door to Nigel’s room. She glanced around swiftly, turned the knob and stepped inside.
Cece’s amusement at the nighttime antics was tempered by astonishment. Certainly she had heard of illicit arrangements like this between unmarried—and often married—ladies and gentlemen. She was a modern woman, after all. Still, coming face to face with Sir Humphrey’s advances and now Linnea’s indiscretions was contrary to her upbringing, to the beliefs and values she’d been raised to accept. She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully and considered what she’d observed thus far. Perhaps being a modern woman required some reassessment.
The sou
nd of another door opening in the corridor brought her to her senses, and she stared to see who the latest player was in this late-night game of hide-and-seek. Emily came into sight. Cece gasped. No, not her sister! Emily was far too young and innocent to enter into such nocturnal activities. Sibling protectiveness surged through her. Cece threw open her door and pulled her sister into her room.
“What on earth are you doing?” Emily said indignantly.
“What am I doing?” Cece drew herself up in her best older-sister manner. “The question is, what are you doing?”
Emily threw her an annoyed glare. “I thought I’d try to find the kitchen and get something to drink. I couldn’t sleep.”
“That seems to be an epidemic to night,” Cece said under her breath.
“What?” Emily’s eyes narrowed. “What did you think I was doing?”
Guilt at her initial suspicion flooded her. She really should have known better than to even question Em’s activities. Why, of the two sisters, Cece was the one more likely to go forging ahead without a thought to propriety or good sense. Cece was the one most apt to throw caution aside and act on emotion. Cece was the one with the impulsive nature that had more than once gotten her in a great deal of trouble. Still, in this improper atmosphere it did no harm to look out for her younger sibling.
“Nothing of any consequence,” Cece said airily. “But there is a great deal of activity going on in this hallway to night and it would be prudent to be alert.”
“What kind of activity?” Curiosity tempered with suspicion shone in Emily’s eyes.
“You simply would not believe it, Em.” Cece leaned forward eagerly. “First Sir Humphrey attempted to waylay me in my room—”
Emily gasped. “The beast! Are you all right?”
Cece waved aside her concern. “I wasn’t there at the time. Then Lady DeToulane crept to Lord Radcliffe’s room—”
“No!” Emily’s eyes widened with shock.
“Yes indeed.” Cece nodded. “She tried to tell me she had difficulties sleeping.”
Emily snorted disparagingly. “The very idea. To think she would attempt to fool you with such a feeble excuse when her true purpose was so blatantly obvious.”
“What on earth do you know of such goings-on?” Cece said warily.
Emily cast her sister a superior smile. “You’re not the only one who is well aware of the realities of modern life, as well as the relationships between men and women. I do not agree with half of your so-called progressive ideas, but I think it’s advisable to know what one is facing.”
Cece’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’ve been reading.”
Emily nodded smugly. “Of course I have.”
“I never suspected,” Cece murmured, staring at her sister with newfound respect. “I am impressed.”
“Thank you.” Emily tossed her a self-satisfied grin.
“Obviously there is no need to explain to you why you cannot be wandering the halls at this hour.”
“Obviously.” Puzzlement drew Emily’s brown together. “Just for the sake of clarification, explain it to me anyway.”
Cece sighed. Regardless of what Em thought about herself, regardless of what she read, she was still an innocent. And Cece wanted to keep it that way. “We wouldn’t want you caught up in any kind of disgraceful activity. Your mere presence among such indiscreet occurrences could involve you, however indirectly, in scandal.”
For the first time Emily appeared distinctly apprehensive. “What should I do?”
“I suggest you give up any idea of going anywhere other than your own room, and when you get there lock the door behind you. I’ll watch to make certain of your safety.” Cece opened the door a crack and peered out. “I believe the coast is clear.”
“Thank you.” Emily breathed a grateful sigh. The sisters stepped cautiously into the hall and turned toward Emily’s room. A door creaked farther down the corridor. The girls exchanged frantic glances and leapt for the sanctuary of Cece’s room. Swiftly, they pulled the door nearly closed, leaving it open the merest inch; not wide enough to be seen, but more than sufficient to provide a clear view of the hall.
Sofia Cresswell crept quietly down the corridor, paused at a door, then silently turned the knob and entered the room.
A strangled gasp emanated from Emily.
“The hussy!” Emily threw open the door and indignantly started toward the room Sofia had just entered. Cece grabbed the collar of her robe and yanked her back, snapping the door closed behind her.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Cece demanded.
Emily planted her hands on her hips. Outrage stormed in her eyes. “Do you know whose room that tart went into?”
Cece racked her brain, but the answer eluded her. No doubt her sister’s unexpected ire clouded her mind. “I don’t—”
“It’s Quentin’s,” Emily said sharply. “That—that—that creature is in Quentin’s room.”
Cece studied her sister carefully. “I know this kind of behavior is shocking, but why on earth—” Realization dawned on her abruptly. “You like him, don’t you?”
Emily raised her chin a notch. “I more than like him.”
“You’re not telling me you’re in love with him?” Cece stared in astonishment. Why hadn’t she seen this coming?
Emily nodded slowly. “I don’t know for certain. It does feel like it could be love. I’m not sure that he sees me as much more than a child. I certainly have the oddest sensations around him. A strange yearning, an annoying frustration, complete and total confusion—”
“Oh dear.” Cece shook her head despairingly. “That’s love, all right.”
“It’s not at all what I expected,” Emily said forlornly.
“I’m sure it gets better,” Cece said staunchly, adding under her breath, “it has to.”
“What do I do about that?” Emily gestured helplessly in the direction of Quentin’s room.
Cece furrowed her brow in concentration. “Obviously we must get her out of there before anything untoward occurs.”
“How?” Emily nearly wailed the word.
Cece cast her a condescending smile. “Simple, Em. We knock on the door.”
Cece pulled open her own door and took a resolute step toward Quentin’s chamber just as the door to his room unexpectedly opened. This time it was Emily who jerked her sister back into their hiding place. Cece stood, Emily kneeling below her, and both girls watched the unfolding scene in rapt attention.
A sleep-ruffled Quentin ushered a protesting Sofia into the hall. “I am flattered, my dear, truly I am, but I choose to keep my chambers to myself on this occasion. When I wish a lady, even one with charms as noticeable as yours, in my bed I will let her know. In addition, I prefer to be the visitor, not the visited. I am not particularly fond of unexpected guests in the middle of the night.”
“But, Quentin…” Sofia leaned against his chest and fluttered her eyelashes up at him in a gesture of coquettish adoration. Cece could have sworn a growl came from her sister, below. “I thought surely after all we shared to night…”
Quentin gently but firmly disentangled her clasping arms. “Sofia, we sat next to one another at dinner. We chatted amicably before and afterwards. You and I shared little more than total strangers.”
“But I thought…” Sofia pouted prettily.
“I believe you did not think at all.” Quentin cast her a cool look. “I would suggest returning to your chamber at once before we attract any attention here. I cannot imagine what your father might say.”
Sofia tossed her loose blond hair over her shoulder in a gesture of defiance, but even in the dim light Cece could see her face had paled. “My father lets me do what I wish. Still, perhaps it is best to end this.” She lowered her head and peeked up at him flirtatiously. “Another time perhaps?”
“Sofia, I have run into my share of young ladies like you before,” Quentin said patiently. “I have learned firsthand, and through the similar experiences of frien
ds, precisely what the end result of an evening such as the one you propose would entail. I have no desire to acquire additional obligations or responsibilities, and I do not intend to satisfy any claim of dishonor with a forced marriage.” He smiled politely. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Quite,” Sofia said with an angry glare. She spun around and flounced down the hall.
“Good night,” Quentin called softly, and chuckled at the retreating figure. He turned to step into his room, paused and swiveled back to the empty corridor. “Good night, Emily. Good night, Cece.”
The sisters slammed the door shut and stared at each other with horror.
“How embarrassing,” Emily said, a stricken look on her face. “I am mortified.”
“Nonsense, Em, we did nothing wrong.”
“We eavesdropped on a private conversation.” Emily groaned.
“Don’t be absurd,” Cece said confidently. “It was quite inadvertent. Besides, this hallway to night is more public than a train station, with all the comings and goings.”
“It does seem to be busy.” Emily frowned in concern. “Do you think we should tell Mother and Father about all this?”
“Dear me, no,” Cece said quickly. “In fact, it would be best if we kept this entirely to ourselves.”
“Do you really think so?” Emily asked dubiously.
Cece nodded briskly. “Yes indeed. I think the wisest course is to completely ignore it. I have no idea if this kind of activity is typical in British country houses, or if this is just an unusually licentious gathering. Regardless, for the moment let us pretend we have seen nothing.”
“If you insist,” Emily said doubtfully.
“I do.” Cece opened her door and cast her glance up and down the hall. For now, it appeared quiet. She gestured at Emily to go ahead. “I will watch to make certain you reach your room unmolested. And, Em…be sure and lock your door behind you.”
Emily nodded and hurried to her room. Cece waited until her sister disappeared behind the closed door and she heard the click of the lock, then turned, closed and locked her own door behind her.
The Princess and the Pea Page 15
