The Waylaid Heart

by Holly Newman

  No! It was not fair to bundle her marriage with Mr. Waddley with dismal events. She smiled slightly. Maybe it would be best to say her life with Mr. Waddley had been a time floating on a particularly peaceful and slow-moving waterway.

  "Ah! A smile," said Lord Havelock. "I was wondering if I was destined to spend the entire carriage ride with a statue, lovely though that statue might be."

  "I beg your pardon, Lord Havelock. My mind is taken up with other matters. Matters that I am sure you would consider light, but in my existence carry much weight." She allowed her laugh to titter self-consciously.

  He appeared to consider her words. "I have experienced that circumstance with my own mother and sister. I believe I may be trusted to understand and forgive."

  Cecilia's eyebrows rose and she suppressed an urge to laugh. "You relieve my mind," she managed in only a slightly strangled voice.

  He nodded but did not look her way, his eyes on his leader. "I understand Reggie has not been behindhand in soliciting your hand in marriage."

  "What would you know of the matter?" she asked carefully.

  He allowed a slight smile to pull at the corners of his lips. "From Reggie, of course. I also know you rejected him. Wisely done. He is a pleasant fribble, but easily cowed. Should you marry him, you two would no doubt flounder about. You need a firmer and steadier hand."

  "Oh? Do you have any suggestions? I ask merely for informational purposes, that I may understand the drift of your mind."

  "Of course And may I say that is wise of you. Too many young women would take offense at my words. I am pleased to see you have the maturity to appreciate receiving wisdom and guidance from others."

  "Thank you," she murmured pleasantly while her yellow kid-gloved fingers curled into talons. How could this arrogant man ever have been the shy-mannered gentleman of Miss Amblethorp’s memory? It did not seem possible.

  "There are any number of gentlemen with the strength of character you need. There is myself, of course, and I would say Sir Branstoke, though I understand he is not inclined toward matrimony—"

  "While you are?"

  "Given the proper understanding from a woman and complementary feelings, yes, I should say so."

  "I see. Anyone else? My curiosity, you understand. What about Sir Elsdon?"

  Havelock's eyes narrowed a moment. "Yes, I suppose he must be considered also, if he can be brought to forego his tendency toward levity. He can be a remarkably shrewd man. But I would not recommend that any decisions be made with dispatch."

  "I shall contrive not to."

  "You think me too blunt perhaps?"

  "No, not at all, Lord Havelock. Actually, I do not seriously consider remarriage. My health, you understand." She saw him nod solemnly and suppressed a smile. "By the by, have you seen my brother as of late? We had a slight family tiff while at Oastley, and I fear he is foresworn of my company. Silly really."

  "Yes I have, and judging from his demeanor, I should say whatever transpired, you were the victor."

  "Still pouting?"

  "I'm afraid so. Tomorrow evening a group of us are gathering to rehearse a play.”

  "Rehearse a play?"

  He looked down at her, a wry smile pulling at his lips. "It is a short piece of Sir Elsdon's devising. We humor him. You and Lady Meriton shall have to come to the performance as my personal guests."

  "We should be delighted," she cried, clasping her hands together.

  "I believe Elsdon is sending out cards tomorrow. Until then it is to be a secret. I would appreciate it if you did not mention it to him until you receive your invitation. He can be tiresome if crossed."

  She laughed. "You have my word."

  "Anyway, as I was saying, tomorrow evening we rehearse for several hours then we adjourn to my quarters for cards. Randolph has promised to attend, and knowing his head, no doubt I shall be obliged to put him up for the entire night. While in my clutches, shall I contrive to hint to him that a reconciliation would be in order?"

  "That would be most kind of you."

  He nodded as if that were understood. Cecilia smiled again, and this time it lit her eyes, for the kernel of a plan was forming in her fertile mind. She kept up a lively conversation to atone for her earlier reticence, her hands fluttering about as she talked, until she happened to see Sir James Branstoke driving Miss Cresswell. Suddenly a heavy weight felt like it was pressing upon her chest. She turned to Lord Havelock and hinted that the clouds were becoming a worrisome dark gray and that the freshening wind threatened to chill her to the bone. They contrived to arrive back at Lady Meriton's house before the threatening fat raindrops began their steady fall. Snidely she found she hoped Miss Cresswell was not similarly fortunate.

  "Plaguey weather, ain't it? A good night to stage King Lear, I should think, what with all its references to rain and wind," Sir Elsdon cheerfully observed as he settled across from Cecilia and Lady Meriton in the commodious carriage he'd borrowed for the evening from one of his many friends. He took his beaver hat from his head and brushed the raindrops from its flat brim before resettling it rakishly on his red-gold locks. "So what's that they say? About April showers and May flowers? Never could remember poetry. Anyway, shouldn't complain, I'll warrant."

  Cecilia smiled slightly. "I'll grant you that; however, I find such weather to be deleterious to my health. Brings on colds and chills, you know, and sometimes the most putrid sore throats."

  "Oh, please, Cecilia, don't go borrowing trouble," said Lady Meriton.

  "No, I shall try not to, only I have felt so remarkably well the past few weeks, I cannot help but be wary."

  "I would think there shouldn't be any harm in that. Makes you careful, that's all," offered Elsdon.

  "Why, thank you, Sir Elsdon. That's kind of you to say and such is my thought as well."

  "Stands to reason. I daresay you're like one of those hothouse flowers, the kind that take special handling. I understand the result to be well worth the effort."

  Cecilia could not help but pink with pleasure, even though she was certain his words were contrived for just that effect. She believed Randolph's friends were making a play for her atten-tions, in all probability to satisfy a wager. Nonetheless, she was woman enough that she couldn't help but be pleased. Sir Elsdon was a genial gentleman with a quick wit and ready smile. Doubt-lessly excellent traits for a gamester.

  She tittered and coyly looked aside. "La, sir, I shall make certain I do not take your words seriously. They are too nicely done, by half."

  "It is easy when the subject is worthy."

  "I believe I shall count myself fortunate that we have arrived at our destination, and I do not need to respond to that," she said, laughing warmly.

  "I am desolate. And here I thought to dazzle you with honeyed words. What is a courting gentleman to do?" he asked, swinging out of the carriage and turning to offer her, then Lady Meriton, his hand.

  Cecilia chose not to respond to his outrageous sallies for fear he would cause more blushes to rise in her cheeks. Of all of Randolph's friends, he was the easiest to be with. That gave her a thought

  "Do you know if my brother plans to attend this party?"

  "Don't believe he does. Spoke of having an intimate little supper with a friend."

  "Ah, Miss Angel Swafford by any chance?"

  His rusty-colored eyebrows rose. "Now how would you know that name?"

  She laughed. "The evening of the opera a very inebriated young man mistook me for her rival and thought to steal me away from Randolph by informing me of Miss Swafford's exist-ence."

  "Nutley," he murmured, nodding. "And that's how you came to be in the company of Branstoke?"

  "He, ah, relieved me of Mr. Nutley's presence," she explained, handing her cloak to a footman.

  He frowned, thrusting out his lower lip. "Yes, well, you shouldn't have been left alone. I told Randy so, too. No malice in him, but sometimes quite a knuckleheaded fellow. Oh, excuse me, didn't mean to disparage your own brother like that
. Not done. Bad Ton, y'know."

  "Please, do not apologize. I well know my brother."

  "Good, then for the nonce: Illiterate him, I say, quite from your memory."

  "Yes, Mrs. Malaprop," she said, laughing.

  Still smiling, she went through the receiving line, greeting the Waymonds. Afterward, she found herself solicited for dances by numerous gentleman. Lord Havelock surprised her by asking for the waltz. Without knowing quite how it happened, she found herself enjoying the ball. That is until a twinge of uneasiness trickled down her spine. Instinctively she turned to find Sir Branstoke regarding her through his raised quizzing glass. Seeing he had her attention, he came forward.

  Silently, Cecilia ground her teeth in vexation. Sir Branstoke was one gentleman she was not happy to see or speak with. He upset her equilibrium far too readily and made her feel the stuttering schoolgirl.

  "Have you had an opportunity to speak with Mr. Thornbridge?" he asked.

  "No, I have not Though I suppose you have. No doubt you have discovered everything and are here to tease me with it."

  He looked at her in surprise. "On the contrary. After your words of yesterday I made certain I did not interfere. I would have thought you would have gone immediately to Dr. Heighton's."

  "I would have," she grudgingly conceded, "however, Dr. Heighton would not allow me to visit. He claims his residence is not a place for women. He suggested I visit Mr. Thornbridge in the country at his father's home."

  Branstoke frowned. "Odd. I had not received that impression from Dr. Heighton. Well, are you?"

  "Am I what?"

  "Going to visit Mr. Thornbridge in the country?"

  She flushed. "I would, but I must admit I do not know where his people come from."

  "Ah—" said Branstoke, his face clearing and a slight smile turning up the corners of his lips.

  Cecilia groaned. "Do not tell me. You know where he comes from."

  He shrugged in apology.

  "Excuse me, Sir Branstoke, but I feel another of my dreadful headaches coming on. Somehow, that seems common around you," she snapped. With disregard for appearances, she whirled around and left him, his laughter trailing behind her.

  Cecilia made her way to the corner of the room where the dowagers and matrons sat gossiping. Carefully she pulled Lady Meriton aside. "Do you think we might leave?"

  Her aunt breathed a rasping sigh of relief. "I would be most happy to. I fear I have succumbed to that malady you claimed this weather fosters. I feel awful. I have not been able to do a single cutting all evening for my hands are weak and my head too achy for plain sight."

  "Jessamine! Why did you not tell me? Of course, we will go. Let me but inform Sir Elsdon." She settled her aunt on a chair in the corner then sent a servant in search of him. Sir Elsdon was not to be found. Neither was Lord Havelock.

  This was an interesting turn of events! Her eyes sparkled at the knowledge and she set off in her own investigation, or would have if she hadn't recalled her aunt. She bit her lower lip in frustration. She had to see to Jessamine's well-being.

  She went down to the front hall to ask a footman to obtain a hackney for her and Lady Meriton.

  "There is no need of that," said a languid voice coming out of the shadows. It was Branstoke. "I am on the point of leaving myself. My carriage has already been called. It will be here directly."

  Cecilia compressed her lips at the thought of being beholden to this gentleman, but concern for her aunt stilled her too-ready tongue and would not let her reject his offer. "Thank you," she whispered. "I'll tell her we are ready to leave."

  She hurried back up the stairs, refusing to consider how circumstance again had him managing her life. Tenderly she guided Lady Meriton down and saw her cloak wrapped warmly about her. She ignored Sir Branstoke as best she might. To her chagrin, he did not seem to notice. Then her argument with the man flew from her mind for her aunt was truly feverish.

  A worried frown creased her fair brow. She settled next to Jessamine in the luxurious carriage, keeping close to her to help warm her. A silent Branstoke tucked fur throws about them both. At the Meriton townhouse he helped them to descend and by unspoken silent agreement he half-carried, half-led the weakening, feverish woman up the stairs and into the hands of her efficient dresser while Cecilia trailed helplessly behind.

  In a shaky voice Cecilia offered her gratitude. "Truthfully, I am not much good with illness," she said apologetically.

  A touch of his normal humor returned to his gold-flecked eyes. "Those who are rarely ill, seldom are."

  She flushed, but refused to be drawn into another argument with him. "It is a wet, cold night. Would you care for a glass of port or something before you go back out into it?"

  "Thank you, but no. As you say, it is a wet, cold night, and I do not care to leave my men and horses standing in it. Goodnight, Mrs. Waddley."

  "Goodnight," she murmured, watching him leave.

  Cecilia plumped the bed pillows behind Lady Meriton, then solicitously urged her aunt to lay back against them. Even after a night's rest, her aunt was no better, perhaps worse, She pulled up the counterpane, tucking it warmly about Jessamine while smoothing out the wrinkles.

  "Isn't that more comfortable? Here, let me place this tray on your lap. I've prepared a special medicinal tea with honey from one of Great Aunt Martha's old recipes. It will help you breathe easier and soothe that raw throat," she said coaxingly.

  "Thank you," rasped her aunt, carefully balancing the tray. Shaky hands grasped the cup and guided it to her mouth. She cautiously sipped the steaming drink. "It is good!" she exclaimed.

  She quickly handed it back to Cecilia as a coughing spasm shook her frame. When she finished, her voice was husky, but clearer. "You shouldn't be here, my dear. I don't like you risking infection."

  "Stuff and nonsense," returned Cecilia briskly, handing her back the cup. She watched as her aunt sipped more of the hot liquid. "You know as well as I that for all my counterfeiting, I don't have a sickly constitution."

  "And I do? Illness is foreign to my nature as well, but ill I am." She set the cup down on the tray and absently plucked at her coverings. "It makes me terribly mawkish to be so low. And today I expect a load of Oastley ale to arrive. It needs to be locked away in the cellar lest it be consumed too readily by the servants. Can you see to it, Cecilia? My chatelaine is on that table," she said, pointing to a burl wood sideboard.

  Cecilia crossed the room to pick up the key ring. "What is this key to?" she asked, singling out an especially large brass key.

  Lady Meriton sneezed. "That's to Cheney House. Mother insists I have a key. It is her way of subtly reminding Randolph that though he lives there, Cheney House is not yet his."

  "A wasted effort." Cecilia crossed back to her aunt's bedside. "Randolph needs to be cracked over the head. Subtlety is useless."

  Lady Meriton's laugh ended in another coughing spasm. She collapsed back against the pillows. "I am not good company for you, my dear. It would make me feel better to see you get out in the fresh air. Perhaps you could find me a new novel at Hatchard's or Bell's?"

  Cecilia laughed and sat down on the edge of the bed. "All right, I promise I shall leave you to the tender mercies of the servants this afternoon; but I shan't change my mind about attending Lady Orrick's gathering this evening."

  "Cecilia, please go. I'm sure one of your callers would be only too happy to escort you."

  "There you are mistaken, for it is my understanding they have plans for the evening."

  "Plans? Is there a card party planned, or some debauchery?" Lady Meriton suggested with a laugh.

  "Neither. I have it on the best authority that they are rehearsing a play."

  Lady Meriton groaned. "Do not tell me Sir Elsdon is organizing another of his amateur theatricals?"

  "Yes, and I understand this play is one Sir Elsdon wrote himself",

  "Oh, no!" exclaimed Lady Meriton, torn between laughter and exasperation.

  "I th
ink you have the better of me and know something I don't. Has he written other plays before this?"

  "Not exactly, but I do remember a ghastly rewrite he did of a Shakespeare play two or three years ago. All who saw it were shocked, and a trifle angered. Fortunately we were all kept laughing too much for there to be lasting malice."

  "I don't think I've heard this tale. Please, tell me more! It may serve to prepare me for whatever he has in store for his audience. We have already received invitations, the first issued, I understand." She refilled her aunt's cup from the china pot then moved the tray onto a bedside table.

  "It was a parody of sorts, though Sir Elsdon swore we were maligning him greatly to consider it such."

  "What did he do, make a comedy out of Hamlet?"

  "No, nothing so broad as that. He rewrote King Richard III, making that beastly king seem saintly and divinely led."

  "Gracious! A Herculean effort! How successful was his interpretation?"

  Lady Meriton rolled her eyes. "It was a bit much to accept, though it was all done with verve. Some characters were pricelessly drawn. The two murderers were wonderful, but there, I'll admit he didn't alter the play drastically. Now that I consider it, I believe Randolph played one of them."

  Talkers are no good doers.

  The line echoed in the passageways of her mind. It was the line Mr. Waddley recorded in his journal. It was the line Randolph tossed off at Lady Amblethorp’s musicale. It was a line from King Richard III!

  "Cecilia, are you certain you are feeling well? You're looking terribly pale," worried Lady Meriton.

  "What? No, I assure you, I'm fine. I'm afraid my mind was wandering, trying to recall what I could of the play. It will be interesting to see what Sir Elsdon has devised for his new theatrical. Were Mr. Rippy and Lord Havelock in that earlier production as well?"

  Her aunt nodded. "Lord Havelock played Buckingham and Mr. Rippy, along with Randolph, bounded on and off stage in several different guises. It seemed to have a cast of thousands, and a very socially mixed lot it was, too. But that's common for any of the plays he decides to produce. This is an annual event with him, and has quite become a favorite with the ton."