Excerpt: Cecilia and the Rake (tentative title)

The wedding of Miss Emily Armitage to the Earl of Shipton was a splendid affair. The groom was nervous and the bride radiant. There was no mother of the bride to weep through the service, but Lady Rowland did those honors with distinction. Even the weather cooperated, freezing the ground hard, then dusting the land with a fairy tale blanket of snow, so that those who wished to leave immediately after the wedding could safely do so, and those who wished – and were welcome – to stay for a while were encouraged with a ready-made excuse. In short, it was as perfect a wedding as could be expected so late in the year. The only person who found anything to complain about was the groom's aunt, Mrs. Freestone, who had been deploring nearly everything about the wedding from the beginning, starting with her nephew's choice of a bride, going through the refusal of the impatient lovers to wait until the Season started and marry in London, and ending only that very morning with acid comments on the decorations and the way the groomsman, Mr. Tyndall, had chosen to dress.

No one paid any attention to Mrs. Freestone, least of all Mr. Tyndall, who had only recently returned from his own honeymoon. Everyone else who attended agreed that it was a perfect wedding, which immensely gratified the sentimental Lady Rowland, who had taken upon herself to arrange the entire affair, both of the principals being parentless.

Even Miss Katherine Clarke, Miss Emily's schoolgirl friend and bridesmaid, forgot all her nervousness when the ceremony actually began, and this was quite a feat. She knew she looked well, her thin frame made almost elegant by her silk gown, the color of which had been chosen considerately by Emily, who knew that her brown-haired, dark-eyed friend looked her best in pink. Kitty's hair had been cut and curled by no less exalted a personage than Stubner, Lady Rowland's own maid, and delicate silk flowers had been woven into the knot at the crown. Her father had unexpectedly presented her with her deceased mother's pearls a week ago, so Kitty, normally a practical, sensible, even hard-headed girl, felt a purely female thrill when she was taken to a mirror and allowed to stare at the elegant young lady revealed in it. However, that delightful feeling didn't last beyond the doorway. Ten steps from the mirror, and she was beset with all the bats, butterflies, and hummingbirds of a bad case of nerves. Her knees jellied; her stomach forgot its place and jittered, trying to find it; all the blood left her face and pooled somewhere in the vicinity of her ankles, so she was light-headed and heavy-footed; and her tongue became so thick and cottony that it took all her concentration to observe the merest social proprieties of conversation.

Somehow she had made her way to the altar without stumbling. Once there, however, seeing her friend approach on her own father's arm (Emily's guardian being the same Mr. Tyndall who was doing the duties of groomsman instead), Kitty felt her fears slide away in the sparkling rush of joy which Emily seemed to spread all about her. There was not a jot of the envious in Kitty's nature, although she might have been forgiven for feeling it. Emily was her own age, and neither of them had a Season, but Emily had somehow been blessed with the extreme good fortune not only of falling in love, but of doing so with a man who also loved her, and a handsome, good-natured, wealthy earl at that. But Kitty had never felt overshadowed in school by her friend's beauty or vivacity, and she felt nothing but pleasure at seeing Emily, after having so lonely a childhood, find happiness here at Lakeford Hall.

The ceremony over, all parties retired to the Little Ballroom, a little-used room which had been thrown open for the occasion by Lady Rowland and was now set with tables of refreshments, including a champagne fountain. The Main Ballroom, one floor up, was already decorated and waiting for the dancing that would commence in a few hours. For the moment, however, the guests dispersed amongst the tables, exclaiming over and sampling (or, in some cases, gorging on) the exquisitely presented food and drink. The chairs and benches scattered through the room were arranged perfectly for small conversational groups, and although a string quartet played prettily at the south end of the room, few people paid the music any attention.

When Emily found her, Kitty, always a keen observer of humanity, was watching with amusement as a plump, amiable, middle-aged man, a guest not yet introduced to her, took his food and drink with him all about the room until he found the perfect spot, where, solitary, he stretched out with the obvious intention of completing his repast with a nap. Following her friend's gaze, Emily giggled. "The Honorable Mr. Berridge," she clarified. Her time at Lakeford prior to the wedding had not been wasted, and unlike Kitty, she knew every guest, from the most exalted down to the most humble. "He prefers sleep to food and food to everything else, which makes him an easy guest. Isn't he a relative of yours, Ship?" she asked, turning to her new husband, standing behind her.

"I believe so, but don't ask me to trot out the family tree and explain where he fits in it. Sometimes I think I'm related to a quarter of all England," he replied cheerfully. "Kitty, you look lovely. If I weren't already so besotted with my girl, I'd marry you instead."

A few weeks of being a guest at Lakeford and in the company of Lord Shipton made Kitty able to take this compliment in the spirit in which it was given, and she promptly retorted, "Divorce her quickly, while there is still time, and I'll run away with you."

Their laughter was broken up by the arrival of five more people to their group. One was Kitty's father, who, if Kitty were forced to acknowledge had any faults at all, did not have a quick sense of humor. He was escorting Lady Rowland, and the lady, clinging to his strong arm, looked – as usual – ready to faint delicately away. Her tottery state did not prevent the gentle flow of words from her lips, however. "Oh, Squire Clarke, how very thoughtful of you. The perfect place for my spirits to recover, and next to your pretty daughter, too! I am sure this weakness will shortly pass, and with care, will not go into one of my sick headaches. Just give me the assistance of your arm to help me sit. You are so very kind. Katherine, dear, I don't need to ask how you are, you are glowing," she said, settling herself beside Kitty in a rustle of silk and lace and a cloud of expensive scent.

Behind the pair were Lady Rowland's two daughters, Mrs. Harding and Miss Cecilia, and the eldest's husband, Mr. Harding, looking sardonic and bored. Cecilia murmured, "Mother, I told you, Miss Clarke prefers to be called Kitty."

Lady Rowland ignored this as if Cecilia hadn't spoken, and went on in failing accents, "I am so glad tonight will see the end of all this. Not that I have minded helping you, my dearest Shipton! Indeed, I have quite enjoyed myself," she said, a truth that no one who had been in the Hall during the past month needed to be told. "But no one who hasn't prepared for a wedding can understand the immense amount of planning to be done, the hundreds of details, the preparation... well, it's exhausting. And in my state of health, of course, doubly so. But I do not regret a single moment."

She drew breath, and Shipton stepped in hurriedly. "Nor should you, ma'am. The magnificence of this affair will be the talk of the countryside for miles around for years to come. Everyone else will measure their own entertainments against yours. They will say, I did my tables like Lady Rowland for the Shipton wedding, or I have decorated in Lady Rowland's style from the Shipton wedding, or This entertainment will be the best since Lady Rowland's at the Shipton wedding."

His best efforts to stem the tide of Lady Rowland's words, however, were unavailing. She did, indeed, blush, rap his arm gently with her folded fan, and thank him for his words, but she then picked up her thread as if it had never been taken from her pretty little hands. "I certainly hope it will be remembered, and with pleasure, for a little time to come. But the effort has been such a strain. My nerves have been on edge for so long, I thought they would shatter at any time. I've never been strong, as you know, and an affair such as this takes so much of my strength that I will barely rise from my bed, I'm sure, for the next few days. I feel so faint at this moment, and I've lost all feeling in my legs. I haven't been able to eat a thing since yesterday..."

"Which is why you feel faint," Mrs. Harding broke in.

"Perhaps you are right, love, but how could I? With so much to be done, and my nerves in such turmoil."

Emily and Shipton made an excuse about needing to see to their other guests, and evaporated into the crowd. Kitty's father disentangled the ribbons of her fan from around Lady Rowland's wrist, opened it, and fanned her gently, his expression concerned. "Shall I bring you some refreshment, Lady Rowland? I am sure that, amongst all this, there is something that will tempt your appetite."

"I sincerely doubt it, but if you would be so kind...?"

"It will be my pleasure and my honor." He handed the fan to Kitty, obviously expecting her to continue his ministrations to the lady, and went off, a tall, straight man with his head held high to spot any appetite-tempting dishes.

Kitty stared at the fan, trying to resist the temptation to blow the lady beside her into a wind-tossed mess, or simply rap her over the head with it. Before either of these whims reached more than the surface of her mind, Mrs. Harding took it from her and began the first course, wielding it so vigorously – while her husband turned away to hide his smile – that Lady Rowland quickly, and with some censure, told her daughter that was enough. Kitty bit her lower lip and stared at the pink silk of her slippers, determined not to disgrace herself by laughing at a peeress who was also her hostess.

Mr. Harding produced a chair from somewhere for his wife, and then disappeared. On Kitty's other side, on the bench, Cecilia Rowland sat down, although with such an ethereal girl, it was more as if she flowed into the place. Unlike Mrs. Harding, whose eyes met Kitty's with such an air of droll sarcasm when Lady Rowland went on with her litany of ailments that Kitty had to struggle again not to laugh, Miss Rowland seemed genuinely concerned about her mother. Or so Kitty thought, until she realized that Miss Rowland's sympathetic comments, while all in the appropriate places, were said as if by rote and were not always apropos to what her mother had said. Lady Rowland didn't notice, however, and went on detailing her struggles with her ill health as she had attended to every detail of the wedding, details which she now generously shared with the three young women.

Mr. Harding reappeared with Mr. Clarke, both looking pleased with themselves, Mr. Harding in his sardonic way, and Mr. Clarke glowing. "Lady Rowland, if you will condescend to take the support of my arm again, Mr. Harding has pointed out a lovely little room off this one. I have set out some dainties to tempt you, and the room is quiet and peaceful. Won't you come and take your well-earned rest for a short time?"

To the evident surprise of both her daughters, Lady Rowland extended her hand and took his offer. "You are so very considerate, Squire. Peace and quiet are just what I need. The noise and bustle here are too much for my nerves, and my poor head aches as if it is in a vice. I suppose the room is well-lit?"

"By the winter sun," he said, drawing her hand through his arm as carefully as if it were made of glass, "but if the light bothers your sensitive eyes – I know that can be a problem with someone susceptible to headaches – then I can draw the curtains."

She leaned on him, murmuring again about his kindness as they went slowly away.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Mrs. Harding laughed. "Richard, you are a genius."

"I know it," agreed Mr. Harding placidly.

Kitty was usually quick, but this baffled her. "I don't understand, Mrs. Harding. Did you wish my father to take your mother away?"

"Please, call me Georgie. Everyone does. And I didn't want your father, particularly. Just anyone! I love my mother dearly, but a few minutes of her company is all I can take."

Cecilia said to Kitty, "Your father is marvelous with her. So patient. Was your mother, too, a person of delicate health?"

"No," Kitty said flatly. "She never had a sick day in her life, until she got the influenza that killed her. I don't know what's come over my father."

Mr. Harding coughed discreetly. His wife glowered at him. "Yes, it's plain as a pikestaff, but you needn't encourage it."

Mr. Harding tried, and failed, to put on an expression of wounded innocence.

Kitty said, "Oh, surely not! My father's been a widower for more than ten years, and has never had a thought of remarrying. And they just met!"

Georgie gave her an appreciative, sparkling look. "I knew you were quick. I could tell by the expression in your eyes."

Cecilia said, "Georgie!"

"I doubt Miss Clarke despises plain speaking."

"On the contrary, I prefer it," said Kitty. "Life is so much simpler that way. And call me Kitty, if you would." She sighed. "I do hope you are wrong."

Cecilia said, "Hasn't your father given any thought to marriage, now that you are about to have your first Season?"

"Not a whit. He has several sisters, all of whom are willing to take up the task, and one of whom lives with us, although she is too..." She halted, trying to rephrase the word indolent. "She decided that the trip here would be too much..." No, that wasn't right.

Georgie laughed. "Perhaps your father does have some experience with a woman who fancies herself weak and ill all the time?"

"No, my aunt is simply lazy," Kitty sighed, giving up the social struggle. Both women laughed, and Mr. Harding grinned.

Georgie said, "Well, have no fears. Should your father marry my mother, you will only be the better for it. She will see that you are dressed to perfection and invited to all the right parties, and she will see to it that I escort you to those parties."

"I beg your pardon?"

"That is my mother's idea of doing her best. The shopping and visiting exhaust her, and I'm available."

Cecilia said quietly, with a smile at her sister, "Georgie escorted me everywhere, with enormous patience, my first Season."

"It was fun," Georgie said, brushing aside the gratitude implicit in Cecilia's tone. "I love going to parties."

Kitty looked from one to the other, and then at Mr. Harding, whose mouth had gone up on one side in wry amusement. "Please! Mrs. H... Georgie. As much as I would enjoy going to parties in your company, I don't want your mother for my mother. Do not be offended, I beg you. It's just that I'm quite accustomed to my life as it is and has been, and I have the feeling that Lady Rowland would turn it all topsy-turvy. Besides, my father is just being kind," she insisted.

The doubt that, despite her effort, crept into her tone set Georgie to grinning again. "Let us hope, for your sake, that you are right. But we have to take into account the Abominable Miss Wright."

"Georgie," chided Cecilia, blushing. "You shouldn't speak of her in that way. What will Miss Clarke think?"

"Not much, since I have no idea who you speak of," Kitty said.

Mr. Harding quietly and unobtrusively left them. Georgie leaned forward and said, "The Abominable Miss Wright..."

Cecilia said her name again, sharply this time.

"Oh, very well. My sister," said Georgie to Kitty, "is far more full of the milk of human kindness than I. In fact, I suspect that particular milk curdled in me, sometime in my childhood."

Kitty grinned. Beside her, Cecilia studied her face, and Kitty felt her relax as Cecilia realized that Kitty was neither shocked nor offended. Kitty had to smile at that – compared to Emily, Georgie was tame. "So who is this Miss Wright, and what does she have to do with my father?"

"Our mother has never had much trouble in attracting beaux," Georgie began.

"Well, she is very beautiful."

"She is, and she can flirt in the most amazingly natural way. Neither of us inherited that quality," Georgie sighed, with a sisterly smile at Cecilia. "But she never felt inclined to marry before. Why should she? She was Lady Rowland of Rowland Hall, and she never missed an important invitation in town. But then along came Miss Wright, and changed everything."

"I imagine that you will, eventually, tell me who this lady is and why her presence is so important?" Kitty asked dryly.

"Are you always so impatient?"

"I prefer getting straight to the point."

To her surprise – since she'd written off the younger sister as somewhat of a stick – Cecilia giggled at this. "Set down, Georgie!"

"To the point, then," Georgie declared, unabashed. "Miss Wright decided she wanted to marry my brother Charles. And Charles, who is the stupid one in the family, did not realize he was in her sights until it was far too late. She's a managing sort of female, and before he knew what he was about, he'd proposed marriage to her and brought her to Rowland Hall to meet Mother."

"Let me guess," Kitty said. "The future Lady Rowland, who is a managing sort, has many ideas on how to manage Rowland Hall and her mother-in-law. How bad is it, truly?"

"The worst you can imagine. She hadn't been in the house for a quarter hour before she was pointing out changes she would like to make. Within a half hour, she was already reminding my mother that she would be the Dowager Lady Rowland, and musing that the lodge house could be made into a snug little cottage."

"Good God."

"You perceive my point."

Cecilia said, "Mother's comfort is completely cut up, and she cannot bear that."

Kitty mused, "So you think that she might now be seeking rescue from her future daughter-in-law."

"I do. And your father is quite eligible."

"He isn't a peer," Kitty pointed out. "He's a mere country squire."

"A mere wealthy country squire, who also happens to be quite handsome. Titles alone don't sway my mother, and certainly not more than her comfort. It isn't losing the title of Lady Rowland that she objects to, but being a dowager. The only hope you have is that your father will do something rude or inconsiderate, or expect her to actually do something strenuous. Like dance, or even walk across the room."

Kitty moaned. Her father was the kindest man in nature.

Georgie said, "Try to look at the bright side. If your father doesn't escape the net, then you will have two sisters."