Chapter Twenty-Six
"Do you really have your heart set on this, Ceci?" asked Jemima doubtfully, peering through the veil of evening drizzle at the imposing façade of Scarcliffe Hall. "We did not enjoy the warmest reception the last time we called here."
"But is it not an absolute treat to be visiting Scarcliffe Hall with Papa's permission?" asked Cecily brightly, toying with the package propped against the carriage seat beside her.
"He gave you permission," Jemima allowed. "What he did not give you was any hope."
The prospect of leaving the carriage in the worsening weather was not enticing to either girl. Cecily waited patiently as her footmen came round with umbrellas to escort them up the steps.
Patience had never been Cecily's strong point. Yet she had discovered that, when she needed to, she could summon it up in endless reserves.
She met Jemima's anxious gaze with a cheerful smile. She knew that Jemima was worried about her. There was probably good reason to be worried. Hearing that Robert wanted to put off their wedding was a disappointment which ought to have cut deeply.
But Cecily refused to give up until all avenues had been explored. This might be her last chance at convincing the Marquess, but she was determined to face it bravely and in good spirits.
A footman carried the paper-wrapped painting for her through into the echoing hallway. Cecily took a good look around, with a more proprietorial eye than she had first given it. One day, this would be her home. If everything went to plan, that day would come soon.
"Please tell the Marquess that Miss Jane and Miss Harriet Somerville are here to see him on a mission of great importance," she asked the butler.
Mr Peters shook his head mournfully. If he recognised Cecily from her previous stay at Scarcliffe Hall, he did not show it. "I'm afraid the Marquess is indisposed, Miss Somerville."
"He cannot be indisposed," said Cecily imperiously, forgetting that she was playing the part of a simple Miss, rather than the Duke's daughter. "This is a very urgent matter."
"Nevertheless, his lordship is not well enough to receive visitors at present."
"Then we will wait until he is feeling better," Cecily declared, and swept past the astonished butler into what she remembered was the drawing room. The footman with the painting marched smartly behind her, and Jemima brought up the rear, doubtless rolling her eyes.
Cecily was surprised to find the drawing room was not empty. Lord Jonathan Hartley was standing by the fireplace, dressed to go riding, and running a large white handkerchief through his fingers. When Cecily barged in, he turned around as though expecting someone else, and spent a moment simply staring at her in astonishment.
"That will be all, Peters," he said to the spluttering butler. "Thank you."
"Do excuse us, Lord Jonathan," said Jemima immediately, thrusting a hand through Cecily's arm. "We will not bother you any more. We were just leaving."
"We were certainly not leaving!" said Cecily. "Lord Jonathan, we wish to see your father. I have brought him a peace offering to demonstrate how serious my family is about resolving our troubles." She waved a hand to the footman and, as he stepped forward, ripped the packaging from the portrait dramatically.
"What is that?" asked Hart, perplexed.
"The portrait of Lady Letitia Hartley, which once hung in the drawing room at Loxwell Park, bringing more discredit to my family name than it did yours," said Cecily. "It was once the symbol of enmity between us. Now that it is returned…"
Hart thrust his hands into his pockets and walked around the painting, examining it from every angle. "You really believe that this will change my father's mind?"
"It is worth a try," said Cecily, refusing to falter. Hart fixed her with mournful eyes.
"It is not. Let me assure you, Robert did everything he could to persuade him. Why should you succeed, where he failed?" Hart adjusted his riding gloves absently. "You don't know my father. If he knew you were here, he would have his footmen pick you both up by the scruff of your necks and thrown back out into the rain."
"Where is Robert?" asked Cecily. Hart's expression closed over.
"Not here. Father has sent him to Larksley."
Cecily almost laughed. "And you mean to tell me he agreed to go?"
"Under duress." Hart glanced quickly at Jemima and the footman, as though debating whether to continue. "Do not be alarmed," he said quietly. "Robert would not have left if he did not know I would do all I could to retrieve him. Father caught us off guard this morning, but we are prepared now."
"We?"
"The three of us together," came a deep voice behind her. The Duke of Beaumont and the Baron Northmere were waiting for Hart, dressed in riding clothes. They each carried a large white handkerchief.
"What do you intend to do?" asked Cecily. "It's too late to ride out, surely."
"We must have a hope of catching the carriage. You know as well as I do that the road south is in a state of great disrepair – we will easily outpace them on horseback."
"Then let me come with you," said Cecily.
"Ceci!" Jemima gasped. "Have you lost your mind?"
Hart stood thoughtfully for a moment, then took Cecily's hand and kissed it before she could make a move in response. "You and I have not had much cause for friendship. But you are promised to Robert, and that makes you as dear to me as my own sister. I would sooner abandon Robert entirely than drag you into the dangerous task we undertake tonight. Go home, and wait for news. It will not be long in coming."
Cecily kept her hand in his. "My father told me that it was for your sake that Robert has asked me to wait."
"Yes, and I am sorry for it."
"Don't apologise. I only meant to say that I can see now why Robert values you so highly."
Hart dropped her hand as though it had burned him. "I cannot see it for the life of me. But we will discuss these things when time is less pressing. Gentlemen?" He gave Beaumont and Northmere a swift nod. "Let us be on our way."
Cecily and Jemima followed the three men out onto the driveway, where they watched them mount the horses and ride off at a pace which, however great, Cecily knew she could easily match.
"Jemima," she said, in an urgent whisper. "Do you love me?"
"As dearly as I loved my poor brother." Jemima's eyes narrowed. "You are up to something."
"If you love me truly, you will not breathe a word of what I am about to do." Cecily lifted her skirts and made to get into the carriage. "Now, I am going inside, where I will sit down and wait patiently as we drive back to Scarcliffe Hall. Do you understand me?"
"Ceci –"
"Do you understand?"
Jemima sighed heavily, but gave a reluctant nod.
Cecily got into the carriage.
She heard Jemima shriek as she tripped on her way in and fell to the ground. The footmen all hastened to her aid.
Cecily pushed open the door on the other side of the carriage, closed it quietly behind her, and ran to the stables while all eyes were occupied with the wailing Jemima.
She opened the stable door and was hit with the familiar warm scent of hay and horses. She fancied she even heard a whicker of welcome.
"Hello, Thunder," she said, as she took the saddle from the rack.