“I doubt I shall be able to restore my arm to its socket.”
Robert abruptly released him. “Yes, of course. Carried away. You can’t know how—how—Gad, I’m so relieved. I just kept sinking lower and lower the longer you were gone, until I thought I’d just better hang myself.”
“‘Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.’”
“Well, if you say so. But I thought I would die. I don’t know when I’ve spent a worse night.”
“I’m tired, Robin. I want to go to bed. Can we just get this letter done?”
“Yes, yes, absolutely. This minute.” Robert plunked himself down at the desk, tore out a stack of paper, picked up a pen, and waited.
“Mind you don’t spoil all my pens. And no blots.”
“Yes, Julian,” was the docile reply.
As it turned out, Lord Robert spoiled a dozen quills, because not one but two letters needed to be written. After Julian had examined the first and pronounced it tolerable, he had gone into a queer sort of trance. Then, in an equally queer voice, he had reminded Robert of Cecily’s aunt.
Though the young pair had not eloped, they had caused the widow considerable distress. She deserved a personal apology, of course, but an advance note—properly penitent—would be needed, if Robert expected to be admitted to speak to her at all.
This note turned out to be far more difficult than the first, with Julian revising every word a hundred times and ordering sheet after sheet torn up. At last the thing was done.
It was sent to the widow midmorning, with a request for an appointment in the early afternoon.
Shortly after noon, a frantic Robert received word that Mrs. Davenant would await him at two o’clock.
He arrived at one-thirty, and was left to cool his heels the full remaining half hour before he was shown into the drawing room.
“You intend to seek Lord Glenwood’s consent, I trust?” the widow asked after she’d listened composedly to Robert’s incoherent apologies.
“Yes, ma’am. That is, if you don’t object. I know I’ve given you every reason to dislike me, but you must know—”
“I don’t dislike you,” she said coolly. “I’ve never disliked you, Lord Robert. That was an unfortunate misunderstanding. If you truly care for my niece—”
“Oh, I do. Believe me, I’d die to make her happy. Really, I would. She’s the finest girl in the world!”
“Yes. Well.” She paused and Robert waited anxiously.
Really, he thought, she was as bad as Julian for dragging a thing out and driving a man distracted.
“Are your parents aware of your intentions?” she asked finally.
He assured her there would be no trouble with his family. They’d be delighted. Julian had written this very day—a wonderful letter. “But he’s so clever,” Robert went on. The words just come to him, you know. That is... well, he spoke so highly of Cec—of Miss Glenwood. And when they meet her, I know they’ll love her. They can’t help it. No one could,” he said fervently.
That earned a small smile. “Very well,” she said. “I shall ask Cecily to step down to speak with you.”
“Oh, Mrs. Davenant!” Robert shot up out of his chair, and forgetting altogether who she was, yanked her up from hers and hugged her. “Thank you,” he cried. “You really are splendid. Julian was quite right. That is—” Hastily, he let go and blushed. “I beg your pardon.”
She flushed a bit as well, but she nodded with her customary cool politeness, then turned away to summon her niece.
Lord Robert was given a very generous half hour alone with his darling., though the door to the drawing room was left open and a servant hovered nearby. When the young man finally took his leave, Cecily ran upstairs to her aunt’s sitting room, hugged her a dozen times, and told her she was the sweetest, kindest, most understanding aunt a girl could ever want—even a horribly ill-bred, ungrateful girl like herself.
“I only want you to be happy, Cecily,” said Lilith.
“Yes, Aunt, and I shall be,” said Cecily. She dropped onto the footstool and gazed thoughtfully at her aunt. “Though I do wish you’d be happy as well.”
“Naturally, I am, dear. You have been a great success, and now you will marry a very suitable young man who loves you dearly. That is all I could wish for.”
“Is it?” Cecily took her aunt’s hand and squeezed it. “Is it all you wish for? Don’t you ever wish for yourself?”
The aunt’s posture grew more rigid.
“Don’t you ever wish to be with someone who loves you dearly? Even if he doesn’t quite know it. Because they never do, do they?” she asked, half to herself. “We have to tell them everything.”
She came out of her abstraction with a grin. “I must tell you, Aunt, this Season has been extremely educational. I had no idea men could be so confused and impractical. They will wander about aimlessly, making themselves cross and unhappy, and it never occurs to them what the trouble is. Or if it does, they won’t speak of it, because it isn’t dignified—or something. Do you know, Lord Robert was thoroughly astounded when I told him I cared for him?”
“Was he?” Lilith asked faintly.
Cecily nodded. “Did you ever hear anything so ridiculous? Almost as ridiculous as his not knowing he cared for me.” She stood up. “Thank heaven that’s over. He’s much more sensible now.”
“I’m glad to hear it, dear.”
“Well, I should like to speak more with you, Aunt, but I know Sir Thomas is coming, and you probably have a great deal to discuss with him. I suppose he’ll want to set a date at last, now I’m off your hands. But we can talk tonight, can’t we, after we come home?”
“Yes, of course we can. As much as you like, dear.”
“Downs?” Sir Thomas repeated as he took the cup and saucer Lilith held out to him. “Well, that is very good, I suppose. Excellent family, of course. He has been a bit wild, but he is young. I daresay he’ll settle down soon enough. Married life is marvelously settling—when, that is, the characters are well-suited.”
“And when there is deep affection.”
“Indeed, yes. Mutual regard and respect—that is the foundation.”
“Oh, Thomas.” Lilith put down her cup and rose from the sofa.
He jumped up. “My dear, what is it? Have you qualms about the match? If so—”
“No. That is, not about Cecily.” She folded her hands before her and raised her chin. “It’s about us, Thomas. There’s no way to work up to it tactfully, I’m afraid. I cannot marry you.”
“Lilith! What is this?” Angry scarlet mounted his neck and ears.
“I cannot,” she said. “I cannot be your wife. I married once without love. I shall not make that mistake again.”
He was obviously striving for patience. “Come now, Lilith. We are not a pair of moonstruck children. Infatuation is no basis for a marriage—not a sound one. You know that as well as I, surely.”
“I know our basis is not a sound one—not for me, at least. I’m not what I thought I was—or what you think me. I know I’ll make you unhappy, and myself as well. To marry you is to injure us both.”
With an effort he regained his self-restraint, and the angry colour subsided. “You have been ill,” he said, more judiciously. “You are overwrought, and a few natural anxieties—perfectly natural, my dear—seem insurmountable obstacles. You want more rest. It is all these late nights, hurrying from one noisy place to another, and too much rich food.”
“I have been... unwell,” she said slowly, “but I am not so now. I have been troubled, but it’s my conscience troubles me. In my heart of hearts, I knew I was wrong to accept you. I pray you will forgive me for having done so. I did not know my own heart.”
“You didn’t know Brandon then, is what you mean,” he snapped.
Her features hardened to marble.
His hands clamped together behind his back, Thomas began to pace the carpet.
“You think I’m blind,?
?? he said heatedly. I’m not. I’d heard enough of him. He must make a conquest of every woman he meets. Yet I saw no great harm in my future bride’s cultivating one who has the ear of the world’s most powerful men: Castlereagh, Wellington, Metternich, and not only our own Regent, but half the monarchs of Europe. Knowing you, I saw no danger in the acquaintance. And so I told my sister. Lilith Davenant, I told her, would never lose her head over such a man. But you have, it seems.” He paused to glare at her. “Now you will throw your life away. For what? A libertine who’ll make love to you at ten o’clock and lie in the arms of a ballet dancer at twelve.”
Lilith let him rage on. He was entitled. She had insulted him deeply, betrayed him repeatedly. He could devise no words harsher than those with which she’d already flogged herself. Nevertheless, no words either could produce would ever change her heart. She stood, and endured, and when it was done and he’d gone at last, she ordered a bath and calmly walked up to her room to prepare for the evening ahead.