Allison Lane

by A Bird in Hand

  It made sense, she decided as she collected her tools – the window was again sealed. Grandfather’s bequest was reasonable, for they would not bring in a great fortune until long in the future. In the meantime, she loved books. Fosdale did not. Stripping them from the earldom inflicted a minor but well-deserved cut on Fosdale – payment for his mistreatment of his wife and daughters.

  But even a minor infusion of money was most welcome in her present situation, for it could help her escape marriage. Or had he meant it to be a dowry? Everyone knew she would never find a match without one. She was too plain to attract a gentleman’s eye. But if Grandfather had expected her to use the library as a lure, he would be disappointed. She would sell what she could – a stab of regret accompanied the vow, for the books were old friends she would miss dearly – then use the proceeds to complement her other earnings. She could leave Ravenswood at last.

  If the books brought enough money.

  But surely they would! She did not need much. And Mr. Randolph would hardly have mentioned them if they were not out of the ordinary.

  Stifling her excitement, she went to check on John. Planning her future could wait until she knew her income. Fate might play tricks on her if she jumped too quickly to conclusions.

  Mr. Randolph remained in her thoughts as she climbed the stairs, for he was unlike any gentleman she had ever met, as he had proved often since his arrival. Where was his arrogance? Not only did he respect her knowledge of healing, he had stepped in to care for John. It was an unusual attitude even for an upper servant, and his position placed him above ordinary employees. Sheldon was nearly as haughty as Fosdale. She could not imagine him befriending a coachman, let alone nursing him. So Mr. Randolph was unique.

  Or was he? A frown twisted her face as she slipped into John’s room. Had he decided that projecting an image of meekness and humility would convince her to wed him? He had not mentioned marriage since arriving, but she knew he had not abandoned the idea. If she was to maintain control over her own future, she must stop thinking kindly of him. And she should certainly stifle any feelings of warmth when he entered a room.

  * * * *

  Cecilia stopped in the doorway of the morning room. “Where have you been keeping yourself?” she demanded. “I haven’t seen you in days.”

  Elizabeth set down her book. “Symington’s coachman has been gravely ill. His fever has finally broken, but it is too soon to predict recovery. I do not like the sound of his cough.”

  Cecilia shrugged. “Unfortunate, but that is the way of things.”

  “It need not be,” snapped Elizabeth. “If Fosdale did not treat the servants worse than slaves, John would not have been left in the cold and wet. If he dies, it will be from a full day of neglect rather than his injuries.”

  Cecilia knew enough to back off when Elizabeth used that tone of voice. “Mama is suffering a migraine today. She had hoped that having a gentleman in the house would enliven things, but we have seen nothing of our guest, despite that he is recovered.”

  “Hardly. His arm is broken, and he was suffering from exposure. He must stay abed a week if he hopes to avoid an inflammation of the lungs.”

  “Meg claims he is quite handsome.”

  “And how would Meg know? Mrs. Hughes and Sheldon are caring for his lordship.”

  “She peeped into his room this morning.” Her bland tone confirmed that Cecilia had sent her maid on that very errand. Symington was not housed in the family wing.

  “You are not taking a page from Fosdale’s book, I hope,” she said sternly. “That would be unconscionable. Flirt all you want once he ventures downstairs, but I will not tolerate compromising him.”

  “I would never do anything to hurt him,” she protested. “I merely needed to know if he was a gentleman I could like. And he is. Meg claims that he is elegant as well as striking. I will fix up my blue gown. When he sees me in it, he will fall madly in love with me. I will see London at last!”

  “Just don’t throw yourself at him,” she warned. “Anyone of his rank will be accustomed to ignoring importuning females. And consider his character as well as his looks and title. A gentleman has complete control over his wife. He can lock her away for life, and no one will raise voice in protest.”

  “You always suspect the worst. I could understand banishing someone like Charlotte Warringer, but no one would ever do such a thing to me.” Charlotte was now thirty, without a single offer to her name, for she lacked looks, fortune, and a pleasing character. “Everyone I meet adores me. They forgive me anything and fall all over themselves to fulfill my every desire.” She stared dreamily into the fire.

  But the protests raised Elizabeth’s suspicions. She grimaced. “Listen well, Cecilia.” She paused long enough to banish censure from her tone. “Flirting with the squire’s sons and bandying words with Sir Lewis are quite different from entering London society. Everything I have read indicates that standards of behavior are much stricter in Town. Foibles are harder to forgive. No gentleman will tolerate feeling forced.”

  Which was yet another reason she would not wed Mr. Randolph, despite finding him most agreeable. Men dominated their wives even without the excuse of coercion. Having to bow to outside pressure would raise enough frustration to turn dominance into abuse. But belaboring the point would only increase Cecilia’s determination, so she changed the subject. “Sadie Deacon returned yesterday. Her daughter was safely delivered of a healthy son.”

  “Again? That makes four.” Her voice conveyed boredom, for she claimed to despise any topic but London. But she couldn’t hide the interest in her eyes.

  “Four it is. The oldest is a mischievous lad whose curiosity often leads him astray. In the last month alone, they have rescued him from two rooftops, a pig sty, the millpond, and a cheese press.”

  “Cheese press?” Cecilia couldn’t stifle her laughter.

  “He caught his finger in one of the holes.”

  “Will he live to see adulthood?”

  “Who knows?” She shook her head. “Mrs. Hughes also heard that Sir Lewis’s mother has recovered from her chill. He will return within the week.”

  Cecilia’s eyes lit with pleasure that she immediately twisted into frustration. “What am I to do, Elizabeth? He will offer for me. How am I to survive Papa’s wrath when I turn him down?”

  “Why not accept him? If anyone is likely to cater to your whims, it is Sir Lewis, for he genuinely adores you. And you have always enjoyed his company.”

  “Hardly.”

  “Of course you have. Remember that picnic last summer? You spent nearly an hour on his arm, laughing.”

  “He does tell the funniest stories,” agreed Cecilia with a smile. “His mother’s dog must be a wonder. Imagine him opening doors and gates by himself.”

  “And digging up every bulb she planted in her garden.”

  Cecilia giggled. “But he looked so contrite, she couldn’t scold him.”

  “So why not accept Sir Lewis?”

  “I don’t want a life of funny stories and comfortable walks. I need excitement – and a husband whose kisses make me swoon.”

  “That sounds horridly uncomfortable and quite exhausting. But what are you about to let even Sir Lewis kiss you?”

  “I course I would never welcome his kiss!”

  “Then how do you know its effect?”

  “One doesn’t need to experience something to know how it feels.” Cecilia made a face. “Stop trying to dictate how I should live my life. We are nothing alike. Your idea of fun is boring.”

  “And yours is pure fantasy. But Sir Lewis is real. Be honest with yourself.”

  “I am honest. Sir Lewis is as tied to this valley as Papa. If he truly adored me, he would take me to London.”

  “Have you ever asked him to?”

  “No, but he often refuses my requests.”

  “Only the silly ones that you make just to exercise power. And his refusal to make a fool of himself tells you much about his character.
It should also serve as a warning. He is a confident, mature gentleman, like most of those in Society. Young cubs may enjoy playing your childish games, but men will not.”

  “Childish!”

  “What else can you call demands that serve no purpose other than to make gentlemen appear silly? Look into your heart, Cecilia. You care for Sir Lewis more than all the others combined. You were in alt when he carried you home the day you twisted your ankle.”

  “Of course, for being in a man’s arms is most satisfying. But that means nothing. I would have felt the same with any gentleman. And I need more than one admirer.”

  “You have everyone in the valley enamored, as you well know.”

  “But they do not count, being too far beneath me. Even Sir Lewis is beneath an earl’s daughter. I must find at least a marquess, for my beauty demands that I marry up. A duke would be even better.” Her eyes glowed with cunning.

  “You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said.”

  “Of course I have, but you are the one who knows nothing.” She glared. “Why are you so set on ruining my chances?”

  “I nev—”

  “It’s obvious.” Cecilia allowed no interruption. “You know no man will have you, so you are trying to destroy my happiness as well. Your insistence on denigrating London and Society is no more than the sour grapes of a spinster long on the shelf. You’ve twisted the polite world into a collection of disapproving autocrats so you can justify avoiding it. Are you hoping to chain me to Cumberland so I will become your companion for life? Well, it won’t work. Symington will expose your perfidy, for he is a real London gentleman.”

  Elizabeth shook her head, pushing aside her pique. Cecilia didn’t mean to be cruel. Lashing out was her way of shoring up her fantasies. But further discussion would be pointless, for Cecilia never listened when in this mood. And there was no way to predict how desperate the girl was. To keep Cecilia out of mischief, she would have to assign servants to guard Symington’s room.

  Cecilia was again lost in her fantasy world of balls and handsome princes who would vie for her affections. Her dream London was a place where she could do anything with impunity.

  Foolish child.

  * * * *

  Cecilia paused outside Symington’s door and straightened her gown. This was the best chance she would ever have. With Lewis due back at any moment, she could not afford to wait until Symington joined them for dinner. And it would work out in the end. Elizabeth’s prattling only sought to thwart her. But she need not entertain the same fears as the antidotes. And she had no intention of sacrificing a glorious future just to keep her spinster sister company.

  She was reaching for the handle when the door swung open. Mrs. Hughes stepped into the hallway, a ferocious frown twisting her face.

  “And where do you think you are going, young lady?” Her disapproving tone hadn’t changed a bit since the first time she had caught Cecilia up to mischief at age two.

  “Nowhere.”

  “You know better than to enter a gentleman’s bedchamber,” snapped Mrs. Hughes. “Do you wish to ruin your reputation? Mr. Randolph is playing chess with his lordship and won’t welcome an interruption.”

  “I—” Her face revealed her frustration.

  “Lady Elizabeth warned me you might try one of your tricks,” continued the housekeeper. “I’ll be posting a footman to keep you out of this wing until the gentlemen leave.”

  Cecilia fled, slamming her bedroom door and throwing herself across the bed in tears. How could Elizabeth be so cruel? Everyone hated her. Her father was scheming to tie her to this wretched valley forever. Her mother was so wrapped up in dreams of her own London triumphs that she cared nothing for her children. But Elizabeth was the worst. Fate had finally provided a chance to escape, to live, to enjoy life. Yet Elizabeth was determined to throw the opportunity aside.

  There had to be a way.

  Drying her tears, she paced the floor. How could she talk Symington into taking her to London? Elizabeth had probably warned the man to avoid her. She was scheming to keep them apart – there was nothing wrong with his health beyond Elizabeth’s stubborn insistence on keeping her in Cumberland. She might even reveal Sir Lewis’s offer to prevent Symington from making his own. And her father would back—

  She stopped, one hand over her mouth as realization surged through her breast.

  She had forgotten Mr. Randolph – easy to do when she had never met the man. But Meg claimed that he had to marry Elizabeth. Thus she was no longer in a position to attach Symington and his fortune. Why should Papa encourage Sir Lewis when he could do so much better?

  Smiling happily, she went in search of her father.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Mrs. Hughes tells me that Lord Symington is determined to leave his room today,” said Elizabeth when she found Mr. Randolph ensconced in the library the next morning. Now that John’s crisis had passed, the scholar spent much of his time there. “Can you convince him to postpone it for another day or two?”

  “I doubt it.” He shrugged. “He has hated being confined to bed since a childhood illness kept him there for three months. Rising will not affect his arm, his fever is gone, and he suffers no other injuries – as you would know if you checked him yourself.”

  “I cannot, except in an emergency, as you well know. Treating male tenants can be forgiven, but problems always arise from treating the upper classes.”

  “I thought you cared nothing for Society’s opinion.”

  “I don’t, but dodging Fosdale’s demands is an annoyance I can do without.” She glared at him.

  “What was that in aid of? I have never criticized your healing skills.”

  “No, but you agree with him about—” She broke off in confusion. This wasn’t the time to raise the issue of marriage, though it tied in with what she needed to say.

  Mercy, screamed a voice in her head. But there was none. She had to continue, even though it meant exposing her family in a worse light than before.

  She sighed. “If Symington is determined to rise, you must warn him to take care.”

  “He will do nothing strenuous,” he assured her, interrupting as she fumbled for words.

  “I am sure he will be most circumspect, but that is not my present concern.” Again she paused. “My sister is rather silly in many ways, as I am sure you have noticed.”

  He shook his head. “I have not met her, for I’ve been dining with Se—Symington.”

  “Now that he is up and about, you should remain with him at all times.” She blushed.

  Randolph raised his brows.

  “As I said, Cecilia is rather silly about many things, for she is still quite young and naïve despite having reached the advanced age of twenty. She has formed an unfortunate image of London – romanticizing both Society and the City – and is most unhappy about missing a Season. Our neighbor has offered for her, but though Fosdale accepted the connection, nothing has been signed.”

  “Are you implying that she will throw herself at Symington?” He frowned.

  “I have no objection to flirtation and would not interfere if he feels an attraction for her. She is a good girl at heart and has a core of common sense if she could just get past this obsession with her fantasies. But I fear she will force him into an offer. The servants have already caught her near his room. They sent her away, of course, for she had no legitimate reason to be there.”

  “How did they happen to catch her?” he asked sharply.

  “I instructed Mrs. Hughes to post someone in the hallway.” Her flush deepened, burning her cheeks. “I know Cecilia rather well, but I cannot abide such an abuse of hospitality.”

  Randolph dropped his gaze, forcing his body into a more subservient pose. His last doubts about Elizabeth’s intentions were gone, but he now suspected that she really would run away rather than accept a forced marriage. This new threat made it impossible to correct his own identity. Fosdale would immediately apply unrelenting pressure on Elizabeth,
which would make winning her hand much harder. And revealing himself would expose him to Lady Cecilia’s scheming.

  Thus he must remain Mr. Randolph, but he also had to protect Sedge. “Thank you for the warning. Can you perhaps coax this neighbor into settling his affairs?”

  “He has been in Carlisle since his mother took ill last month. I heard that he is expected back shortly, but that will merely make Cecilia more determined. You will warn him?”

  He nodded.

  “Good. The servants can hardly trail Symington whenever he leaves his room, and I cannot watch Cecilia. One of the tenants has a putrid sore throat.”

  He glanced out the window, where another storm raged. “Should you be out in this?”

  “Illness does not wait for fair weather. But there is little to fear. The Wilsons live nearby, and in the opposite direction from the river.”

  She left.

  He returned the collection of Donne’s essays to its shelf, then went to warn Sedge.

  * * * *

  Sedge glanced through doorways as he wandered along the hallway. After a mere half hour of exploration, he was feeling shaky. But he wasn’t about to return to bed. It felt too good to be on his feet again.

  He shifted his sling into a more comfortable position.

  This was the strangest household he had ever visited. Except for a footman not far from his room, he had seen no servants. And most of the furnishings were the dark, heavy styles of earlier centuries.

  This sitting room was typical, he decided, sinking into a chair and leaning back with a sigh of relief. He was weaker than he had expected.

  The half light provided by stormy skies revealed faded upholstery and threadbare carpet. Even the draperies seemed tired, sagging where threads had snapped.

  The Manor would have been spectacular seventy-five years ago, he decided, assessing styles with an experienced eye. Most of the public rooms had been redecorated about then. But little had changed in the years since. His eyes followed the egg-and-dart molding that edged the cornice, noting the plethora of spiders’ webs.