“I see Lord Sutton is quite popular,” Eunice observed at an appropriate break in the conversation.
“Agreed,” Lord George said. “In fact, if I may beg your pardons, I should like to speak with him myself.”
The women watched as Cecil burst into laughter with such gaiety that he threw back his head in mirth.
“Apparently he finds Sir Reginald’s joke quite witty.” Olivia leaned toward Eunice and said in a voice too low to be heard by anyone else, “He won’t be so amused when he sees the bill for this evening’s frolic.”
Eunice raised her eyebrows but refrained from further comment.
Olivia tugged at Eunice’s sleeve. “Come. Let us see what is so amusing.”
By the time they reached the throng, Cecil was holding up a rabbit’s foot for inspection. “This charm brought me luck just the other day. I won more than a hundred pounds at the gaming tables.”
“Then you can afford to buy all of us a round of drinks the next time we see you at the games,” Milton said.
“If you ask me to buy your ale, you must fear you will be losing your shirt, my friend.” A round of robust laughter answered Cecil’s observation. “But indeed, I welcome the chance to provide my friends with cheer.” He lifted his glass.
“Hear! Hear!” the men responded, mimicking his gesture.
Eunice watched the men in their exchange. They looked happy, perhaps in no small part because of the effects of strong drink. But Eunice could sense unhappiness behind Cecil’s facade. What could he be hiding?
❧
The supper bell rang.
“Is it midnight already?” Milton asked.
Cecil looked at the clock on the mantel. “Indeed it is. Time has passed us once again.” Cecil patted his belly in anticipation. He looked about the room, watching the guests exit for the dining room. He was thankful that no one would expect to eat dinner seated, as no room in the house could hold so many people at once unless everyone stood. What a delightful dilemma. He was well aware that at least two other balls were being held in London on this night. The fact that so many people remained at Olivia’s for supper showed that Olivia and he were highly ranked among their friends and acquaintances. Olivia had served him well again. He would have to think of a way to thank her.
After supper, Cecil watched to see if Eunice’s chaperone would ever leave her side. To his distress, he found that the woman was like a leech—unwilling to let go unless pulled away by force. But he knew just the force necessary.
“Milton,” he said, “why don’t we make Miss Norwood’s chaperone feel more welcome?”
His friend lifted his nose in disagreement. “Whatever for?”
“Consider it an act of charity.”
“An act of charity for whom? Her chaperone or yourself?”
“You know me too well.” Cecil sent him a sly smile.
“And so does Olivia.”
“Olivia is my concern, not yours. In any event, I can name at least two women who consider you their concern.” Cecil nodded once to his friend, knowing his planned flirtation with Eunice would be kept a secret.
“Very well. I shall use my utmost charm to distract the, ahem, lovely fairy godmother.”
After watching Milton head toward the unwary chaperone, Cecil lingered near the window. He shuddered as a wind with a bitter bite of cold blew through the gaps between the glass and wood. But before he could move away, several other guests cornered him. As they talked, Cecil peered over their shoulders. How long could Milton keep the old crone occupied? If he didn’t excuse himself soon, he would never have a chance to get Eunice alone.
Finally breaking away, Cecil managed to glide through the crowd and get close enough to Eunice to tap her on the shoulder. “I see you have no refreshment. Might I procure you a glass of lemonade or cup of tea?”
“No, thank you very much. I have already enjoyed refreshments from your most delightful table. But perhaps Auntie May would like a glass—”
“No. I mean, my friend shall attend to her needs.” Cecil nodded toward Milton and May. Her aunt was waving a lace fan back and forth with frantic motions and tittering like a schoolgirl, a sure reaction to Milton’s considerable charm.
“Yes, I can see he is captivating, indeed.” She arched her dark blond eyebrows in doubt. “My aunt is not easily fooled.”
“Then she has chosen her companion for conversation wisely.” He extended his crooked arm toward her. “I notice you are charmingly flushed. Might we take this moment to revive ourselves with a bit of fresh air in the garden?”
Eunice looked about her as if seeking permission from an unknown source. “I must confess, the air has become considerably heavy over the course of the ball. I had no idea one could stuff so many people into a town house, even one as grand as this.”
Cecil let out a chuckle as he led Eunice through a side doorway and toward the back garden without the slightest expression of doubt or hesitation from his prey. Obviously, the little country mouse was naive enough for his conquest to be an easy one. Pity. Once the thrill of the hunt was past, the excitement would be mitigated to a great degree. Still, being well acquainted with a new and beautiful neighbor before she settled into the country would be to his benefit. He saw her first, so he could play the possessive lover should any of the other local bachelors prove to be any competition. And what a sweet arrangement—to have a new lady ensconced in the country awaiting his arrival, offering a pleasant diversion in between afternoons of hunting.
Cold air hit Cecil in the face as soon as they went outside. Eunice shivered and drew her shawl more closely around her shoulders. Cecil wanted to put his arm around her, knowing he could easily use the frigid night as an excuse, but her stiff posture made him decide against such an attempt.
He watched Eunice’s gaze cut to a couple embracing in the shadows. Cecil recognized both parties. Out of discretion, he steered Eunice away from their direction toward a bench near the far left corner of the small garden. The bench benefited from the illumination, however dim, of a nearby streetlight.
“I do believe I am refreshed now. The air has done me well,” Eunice said, even as she continued to follow his lead. “Perhaps we should go in. Aunt May might be worried.”
“She is in good hands with Milton, I assure you. I fancy she has not a care in the world at the moment.”
“Perhaps. But she does tend to worry.”
“You are blessed with such a conscientious and caring relative.” Cecil guided her to the bench and invited her to sit. With a reluctant motion, she agreed.
Her shiver was visible. “I should not complain, but this bench is terribly cold.”
Cecil sat beside her and noticed that the chilled wood hardly offered a tired body comfort. Yet if he suggested that they stand, he feared she would desert him. “We shall be warm if we tarry but for a moment.”
“I suppose.” She nodded. “I do welcome the chance to sit awhile. There are so many people here. Olivia has introduced me to everyone in London, it seems. I have not had a moment to spare.”
“So I noticed. You are already quite popular.”
Eunice cast a modest gaze toward her knees. “They are being kind since I am Olivia’s cousin, I surmise. At least, that is what Aunt May tells me.”
“Your aunt must need spectacles not to see such obvious loveliness.”
“Spectacles?” The sound of her gentle laughter echoed against the red brick walls of the garden. “You are too kind. My aunt tells me that modesty is a much more valuable virtue than beauty.”
“And she is your maiden aunt, I presume?” He couldn’t keep the sneer out of his voice.
“Yes.” Her tone indicated she registered no insult. “The victim of a long-lost love. That is all she ever tells me. ‘Too long ago to think about now, dear,’ she always says.”
“Pity.” He hoped against hope that his voice didn’t indicate his lack of sincerity.
If Eunice noticed the barb, her unchanged expression didn’t in
dicate so. “My auntie is quite kind. I adore her dearly. You see, she raised me from the time when I was but an infant, after both of my parents were taken in a carriage mishap.”
“Please accept my condolences.”
“Thank you. I would like to say it is quite all right, but, of course, it is never quite all right to lose one’s parents at such an early age. But the Lord Jesus, in His wisdom, knows best.”
The Lord Jesus. He seldom appeared in Cecil’s conversations outside of his obligatory attendance at church. Hearing His name spoken with such ease in everyday speech seemed odd. Cecil marveled at how Eunice seemed comfortable with whatever decision she believed He made on her behalf. Still, why would He decide to take a little girl’s parents away from her? “Not every young woman would be so resigned to her fate as you purport to be.”
“Perhaps I am resigned because I do not believe in the fate that you mention.” Her eyes grew wide. “Do you, Lord Sutton? Do you believe in fate?”
He wasn’t sure how to answer. Certainly fate—or dumb luck—played a great part in his continued success at the gaming tables. More so than his skill at cards, although he liked to tell himself he played with the brilliance befitting a son of the empire.
“I beg your pardon,” she answered. “You were gentleman enough to show me to the garden out of kindness, and here I am asking for a discussion of the most serious sort.”
Cecil marveled at this woman. He was unaccustomed to any member of the fairer sex asking his thoughts about life. Miss Eunice Norwood’s concerns obviously reached far beyond what dress she would wear to the next party, how many invitations she received each season, how to style her hair, or how to coax the master of the house into granting an increase in her household allowance. Cecil fancied himself a man who would be offended by a woman who offered serious discussion. To his surprise, he found her refreshing.
“No, I am the one who begs your generous indulgence,” he replied. “You pose a thoughtful question. One that deserves my best answer.”
So, how would he answer her? What would she want to hear?
He opted for diplomacy. “I believe that the Lord used fate to bring you here tonight. I believe He wants you here in this garden, with me, on this evening.”
“Oh.” Her voice was soft. Her raspberry-colored mouth formed a serious line as she contemplated his answer.
At that moment, he had never seen a woman—any woman—look more appealing. He leaned toward her. If his lips touched hers, surely they would soften into a much less earnest form. He felt his eyelids become heavy as he drew closer, closer, closer. . . .
Cecil didn’t know which brought him out of his dream state more rapidly—the burning sting of her openhanded blow to his cheek or the sharp sound of the slap ringing throughout the garden.
In a flash, Eunice was upright on her feet. “I beg your pardon.” Her voice, so gentle only moments before, grew harsh. Before he could respond, she lifted her nose toward the night sky, turned on her heel, and hastened back to the ball.
Two
Even as he rubbed his burning cheek, Cecil threw back his head and laughed. So the little country mouse possessed a degree of spirit—and innocence, too, it would seem.
“Methinks the lady misunderstood my intentions,” he muttered a little too loudly in hopes that any possible witnesses would form the impression that his pride remained intact.
Suddenly, Cecil felt the chill of the air once again. Did he shiver because Eunice exited so abruptly, taking the warmth of her body—and soul—with her?
He watched a couple in the shadows break away from one another. First the lady went back into the house. The gentleman followed soon after, though not too soon.
Ah, the intrigues of romance!
Was he past all that, now that he was getting a little older? Though well beyond his third decade of life, Cecil fancied himself a handsome man, still able to charm his way into any woman’s good graces. He tried to remember the last time he had been spurned. He could not.
Yet in the moment she slapped him, Eunice had shown him that perhaps he was not as gifted as he thought.
No matter. He knew someone else who was just as warm. Even warmer. Olivia. She knew of his ways. She understood him. He never spoke of how she liked to have her fun as well, a discretion that was part of their unstated agreement to tolerate each other’s foibles and ramblings.
Despite the comfort he took in such thoughts, Eunice’s rejection, along with her earlier mention of little Cecilia, reminded him all too clearly that he was no longer as young as he once was. His prig of a younger brother, Tedric, had managed to marry first, taking Cecil’s intended to the marriage altar. Surely Abigail would provide Tedric with several sons as heirs, whereas Cecil had not done his duty to God or the empire by producing any heirs to his title.
Even Milton’s query about making an honest woman of Olivia struck him. Were the powers of fate—or the wisdom of God—announcing that the time for him to take a wife had finally arrived?
If so, then marrying Olivia was the only answer. She would be the perfect wife. After the party, he would offer her a proposal of marriage. Surely she would be grateful, and his proposal would lay to rest any accusations her cousin Eunice might decide to bring about as a result of his failed flirtation. Would a man who planned to propose try to kiss another on that very same evening? Olivia would find such a notion ridiculous. No matter that he had only decided to propose well after midnight.
Olivia was sure to be overcome with joy that the moment had arrived after all these years. He anticipated her response—a quick acquiescence, a ceremony within the year, and an heir less than a year after that. He smiled to himself.
Yes, a marriage proposal was a good idea. A very good idea. He rose from the bench and headed back inside with the greatest of haste.
As he reentered, he discovered that the partygoers were leaving. Olivia was bidding the last stragglers, the couple he had seen in the garden, adieu. The musicians were packing up their instruments after a long night. Cecil realized he had lost his chance to announce their engagement that evening. No matter. The development would provide a delightful excuse for another festivity, an event sure to be as triumphant as tonight’s. Judging from the ebb and flow of the crowd, the most desirable people in London had attended Olivia’s ball last. Even better, Cecil could tell by their prolonged stays that some of the guests had not attended either of the other two events being held in London that night. The success of the evening reflected well upon Olivia’s status as a hostess and how favorably she was regarded by London society.
After the last guests had departed, Olivia rushed toward a seat beside the dimming fire in the parlor. Though tiredness made her face appear ten years older than her twenty-nine years, a look of contentment shadowed her features with an element of rapture. She sat down and sighed.
“You deserve a rest, my dear.” Cecil sat beside her. “The ball was quite a success. I offer you my congratulations. Never let it be said that you are not the most gracious and popular hostess in the city—perhaps in all the empire.”
“You do speak in hyperbole tonight.” Despite her small chastisement, her face reflected a glow that showed his words pleased her. She looked at the ceiling, which was just below the room where Eunice and her aunt were to sleep. “I wonder what my cousin thought about the evening’s festivities. She seemed to be having a delightful time, but, suddenly, she disappeared a half hour after supper without bidding anyone a good evening.” Olivia leaned closer to him. “Did you perchance notice any upset?”
He hoped Olivia didn’t already know what had transpired between him and Eunice in the garden. “Why do you ask me? Surely your cousin spent the greatest portion of the evening with you and your aunt.”
“Indeed.” Olivia sighed. “I suppose there is no cause for alarm then.”
He breathed an inward sigh of relief. Good. If anyone had noticed anything in the garden, word hadn’t gotten back to her. “Surely they are both tired a
fter such a long journey. Obviously, your aunt and cousin are enjoying a restful slumber in the comforts of the bedchamber you so graciously provided for them tonight. Such fine entertainment.” He paused. “They certainly never could have enjoyed such an evening of lavishness in Dover.”
“True.”
“I suggest we dispense with any worries and instead end this successful and glorious night on the cheeriest of notes.” Suddenly nervous, he became conscious of the crackling fire. Determined to go on, he leaned toward her and took her hands in his. He realized he liked how familiar they felt. “I have a question for you.”
When she peered upon his face, her eyes narrowed just a bit. “What is it?”
“I should have asked this long ago. . .in fact, when I was young enough to consider presenting my proposal on bended knee.” He took in a breath to continue.
“Proposal?” She startled, then composed herself. Her face held a look of rapt anticipation.
“Then you know what I plan to say,” he said, relieved that he wouldn’t have to pose the question in its entirety.
She released his hands and clapped hers together, reminding him of little Cecilia when she expected a gift. “Oh, this is too delightful,” Olivia said. “Do go on.”
So she wasn’t going to make this any easier on him. He supposed she deserved to hear the question asked in a proper manner. After all, she’d been waiting a long time. “Olivia.” He choked.
“Yes?” She cocked her head to one side and looked at him out of the corner of her eyes. Clearly, she was enjoying his discomfort. “Are you certain you wouldn’t like to get on your knees?”
Afraid she might insist if he tarried, he blurted, “Olivia, will you marry me?”
She set her back flush against the chair and laughed aloud.
Irritability flowed through him. “I fail to see the humor in my proposal. My question is quite serious.”
Lady And The Cad Page 2
