Lady Cecily And The Mysterious Mr Gray

‘You are welcome, Cecily.’

His voice, again, flowed around and through her, melting and comforting. Flustered, she snatched her hand from his and, grabbing at her skirts, she dashed through the archway and past the raised pool, towards the voices she could now hear clearly, raised in worry as they called her name.

She was out of breath by the time she met the first of the searchers, Leo, his brow creased and his eyes full of fear in the light of the lantern he held aloft.

‘Cecily! Thank God! I thought... I thought...’ His voice cracked. ‘Where have you been?’ He raised his voice. ‘It’s all right. I’ve found her.’

He reached for her and pulled her into a tight hug. Guilt pressed on Cecily. She knew, better than most, how Leo worried about his family. How responsible he felt. His first wife had been murdered—in a summer house at Cheriton Abbey—and he had never forgiven himself for his failure to protect her.

‘Leo. I am safe. I’m sorry. I wandered further than I realised. I did not mean to be gone for so long, but it is such a lovely evening and...’

She shrugged. She could say no more. She had wandered too far and forgotten the time. He would have to accept that.

The sound of feet running grew louder, then Vernon, Dominic and Daniel Markham burst into view as Leo released her.

‘Cecily!’ Vernon grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake. ‘What happened? This isn’t like you, going off on your own.’

She bit back the irritated riposte that threatened to burst from her lips. Her brothers would never see her as anything other than their little sister. Someone who needed their protection, even though she had been the one to keep the family strong when Margaret died, leaving three young children motherless.

‘I was too warm indoors, Vernon, and I chose to come outside and breathe the fresh air.’ Her choice of words brought Zach’s image into her mind: his dark, chiselled face with its straight nose and slashed brows. Those brooding eyes. That exotic diamond in his ear.

Yes. I chose to go outside. He has a point...so many times I only do as expected and allowed.

‘The scent of the roses lured me into the garden,’ she continued. ‘There is no harm done.’ Her gaze swept across the faces of the four men. Three of them looked mollified, to varying degrees. Leo, though—it was never an easy thing to fool her perceptive oldest brother. ‘Come. Let us go indoors before you contrive to set everyone else into an unnecessary panic.’

Vernon slung his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, dropping a kiss on to her hair. ‘Pleased it was a false alarm, Cilly.’

Cecily shrugged his arm away. ‘And don’t call me Cilly.’

Trust Vernon; he never missed an opportunity to tease and he knew only too well how she detested that stupid childhood nickname. They had reached the terrace, then they were inside the brightly lit drawing room and Cecily donned her accustomed mantle of perfect society lady and mingled and chatted, but there was a tiny part of her that remained separate and secluded from the hubbub, and in her mind’s eye she saw Zach’s hands, cupped in that unconscious gesture of protection and that tiny part of her felt...safe.

* * *

Zach hunkered down as he fed sticks into the fire two mornings later. Shades of pink and orange brushed the horizon as dawn approached. Another restless night had seen him up even earlier than usual, intent on moving on. No good could come of lingering, of seeing her again. Cecily. Lady Perfect. The name he had dubbed her with sounded harsh, but it served a useful purpose. Its use whenever he thought of her—as he had frequently since their encounter in the moonlight two nights ago—kept the impossibility of anything other than a brief friendship to the forefront of his mind. It would help to stop him indulging in the fantasy of anything more.

He set a tripod frame over the flames and placed a skillet on top, adding a sliver of butter. When it melted, he swirled it around and cracked one egg and then another into the pan. He did it without thought. This had been his life for ten years. The life he had chosen.

As he ate the eggs, mopping up the yolk with a hunk of bread—Mrs Green, the cook at Stourwell Court, was nothing if not generous—he set his mind to the journey he must take to rejoin his family. He had left them camped on the outskirts of Worcester, but they had plans to move on, and he knew their path lay to the south and east, picking up harvesting work and odd jobs along the way.

I must leave today...

The same thought that had plagued him yesterday morning and throughout the day. He had glimpsed Lady Perfect from afar, with her family, but he’d deliberately stayed away from the house. Yes. He would be wise to leave; he ought to leave. He stilled. Ought to... He had chosen not to live his life by the conventions. To follow his heart, not the demands of his brain. How could he tell Lady Perfect to choose what she wished to do, rather than to slavishly follow the edicts of society or her family, and then ignore his own advice?

Do I want to leave today?

The answer was clear and strong. No. He did not want to leave. Not yet. He knew he ought to go, but he chose to stay. It was his way of letting the fates decide his future...and he preferred it to tossing a coin or throwing a dice.

Decision made, he unfolded his body, stood upright and stretched his arms high, arching back as his lungs filled. This would be a good day. He could feel it in his bones.

An eager whine caught his attention. Myrtle sat at his feet, gazing up with adoring eyes, tongue lolling. He reached down to fondle her ear and her eyes half-closed in ecstasy. Dogs were simple beings. Easy to please. Loving and faithful, although they did not always have cause to be. Zach walked to the cart and rummaged through the basket sent out to him by Mrs Green last night after he had declined to join the family and their guests for dinner. Sure enough, there was cold beef and Zach tossed a slice to Myrtle, who jumped awkwardly to catch it. His heart twisted as he watched her lurch away from the cart on three legs and he perched on the cart steps as the memories took hold.

He had found Myrtle a year ago, trapped by her hind leg in a snare in the woods, close to death. It was soon after his mother’s death and caring for Myrtle had helped ease the pain of Mama’s passing and given him a purpose. He hadn’t been able to save her leg, but he had saved her. And, in a way, she had saved him, too, in the same way that caring for Athena had helped him cope with the catastrophic change in his life as he—at sixteen years of age—had struggled to adjust to life among his mother’s people.

Sixteen years old. A boy. He and his mother cast out after his father’s death, with nowhere to go and no one who cared. From that day forward, he’d locked the door on his past, changing his name from Zachary Graystoke to Absalom Gray. Even his mother had called him Absalom, the name of his Romany grandfather. And that memory led inexorably back to Lady Perfect and the question of why he had felt impelled to tell her his real name. Why it had been so very important to him to hear his name on her lips. And the only answer was that he wanted her to know something about him that was the truth. Not the half-truth known by everybody else in the non-Romany world. The gadje world.

Eventually, the swish of footsteps through long grass and the low murmur of voices interrupted his thoughts. His camp was close to a small copse, at the point where a brook entered the River Stour, and on the edge of a field which—Daniel had told him—would be cut for hay later in the season. Zach pushed himself upright and rounded his cart, to see Daniel, the Duke and his son walking to the river, fishing rods in hand. Daniel saw him watching and raised his hand in greeting.

‘Morning, Absalom. Care to join us? We thought we’d take advantage of the peace while the ladies recuperate after another late night.’

The ladies... Lady Perfect... Without volition, he looked in the direction of the house, even though he knew it was out of sight. Was she awake? Did she think of him—wonder what he was doing—as he did her? He thrust down that thought. Of course she did not. She was a lady. He was a Romany. Why would she think of him? But maybe his listening, and his advice, such as it was, had helped to ease her mind. At least she had not succumbed to a fit of the vapours when he had so far forgotten himself as to kiss her.

With that he must be satisfied.

‘Thank you, but no,’ he replied to Daniel. ‘I promised your sister I would look at her lame mare this morning.’

‘Oh, good man,’ Daniel said. ‘Thea dotes on Star. She’d be broken-hearted to lose her and Pritchard seems at a loss to know what’s wrong.’ Pritchard was the Markhams’ head groom. ‘Absalom here is something of a natural healer, your Grace.’

‘Leo. I told you to call me Leo. After all, we’re family now.’

Zach could see by the pink that tinged Daniel’s cheeks how pleased he was by the Duke’s remark. He bit back a smile as he imagined the man’s reaction if he were to have the gall to call him Leo.

‘Well, enjoy your fishing,’ he said. The sun was fully up now, revealing a cloudless, periwinkle sky. ‘You have perfect weather for it.’

‘Indeed we have.’ It was the Duke’s son who responded, with a grin. He slapped Daniel on the back as he continued, ‘Markham’s promised some great sport. He’s boasting of barbel the size of seals.’

Daniel laughed. ‘That’s something of an exaggeration, but we do catch the occasional whopper.’

The three men continued to the river bank and turned to walk downstream, jumping across the brook. Zach watched them go with a touch of envy prompted by their sureness of their own places in the world: Daniel as comfortable with his own life as a manufacturer as the Duke and his son—his eldest son and therefore his heir—were with their privileged position. He swatted away that errant feeling. He might not belong quite as solidly to the life he had chosen, but it was his choice after all. Those other men...they had simply followed in their fathers’ footsteps. He tidied his campsite and threw dirt on the fire to extinguish the flame, then, with Myrtle at his heels, he headed for the stables.

He followed the brook upstream to the point where, at some time in the past, it had been dammed to create the lake where he and Lady Perfect had talked the night before last. He skirted around the shore and then continued to follow the brook upstream, knowing it would lead him close to the stable yard. He could not help but glance over at the rear view of Stourwell Court—its three-storeyed, stuccoed block, topped with a hipped roof, visible on the far side of the flower garden—but he caught no glimpse of Lady Perfect. Or of anyone else. The curtains were still drawn at several windows on the first floor and it was likely she was still in bed.

How long had she remained at the party after she left him the other night? Had she danced? Laughed? Indulged in fascinating conversations with the other guests—conversations that would put their unlikely encounter straight out of her head? She had made no effort to seek him out yesterday. Had she even noticed him, in the distance, when he had seen her? His lips tightened. Such thoughts would help no one. Least of all him. He must let them go. He cut across the grass to the stables and rounded the outer wall to the yard entrance. And stopped short.

Her smile dazzled him. Her silky chestnut hair gleamed in the sun and her eyes—a glorious green, the colour of fresh, damp moss—sparkled. She was dressed for riding, in a riding habit that exactly matched her eyes, and she held a matching hat, trimmed with two curling ostrich feathers, by her side.

Chapter Four

‘Good morning, Mr Gray.’

Lady Cecily’s gaze flicked to one side and Zach recognised Bickling—Lord Vernon’s groom, whom he had met in Worcester—standing nearby. She was warning him to maintain the formalities in front of others, kindling a warm glow in his chest. She had not forgotten their conversation.

‘Good morning, my lady. I did not expect to see anyone up and about so early.’

‘I could not sleep once daylight came. I felt the need for exercise after two idle days so I thought I might ride around the estate. I can find no one to accompany me, however, even though I was told Leo and Dominic have already broken their fast.’

‘They are fishing, with Daniel.’ Zach pointed in the direction of the river. ‘I am happy to accompany you, if Pritchard can supply a horse.’

The offer slipped out before he could censor his words. He sensed Bickling’s uneasy stir, but ignored him.

‘That would be splendid. Oh, Bickling, do wipe that disapproving expression from your face. Mr Gray is a guest here. There is no impropriety.’

‘Milady, I was about to suggest I ride with you. It’s not proper, you going out unchaperoned.’

She laughed and the sound trickled through Zach, awakening the strongest urge to hear her laugh again and again.

‘Oh, Bickling! That is absurd. It is no more improper for me to ride out with Mr Gray than it is to ride out with only you as my escort. We shall not go far. Now, Lady Vernon said last night she was happy for me to ride her mare Polly, so please go and speak to Pritchard and ask him to saddle her and also one of Mr Markham’s horses for Mr Gray.’

Bickling stalked off, grumbling beneath his breath.

‘The Good Lord deliver me from protective men.’ Cecily smiled up at Zach, tiny laughter lines creasing the outer corners of her lovely eyes. ‘It is bad enough with two brothers and two nephews who all consider it their duty to monitor my every move without the servants joining in as well.’

‘He is only doing as he thinks best,’ Zach said. ‘I need to speak to Pritchard before we go; I promised Lady Vernon I’d look at her favourite mare. She’s gone lame.’

‘Oh, the poor thing. Of course you must see to her before we go, Zach.’

Pleasure flared at her use of his name.

‘I shan’t be long. From Lady Vernon’s description, I suspect the problem is in her back, not her legs. She might benefit from massage but she’ll need the area warmed and relaxed first and that will take a while.’

He was soon back, having examined the mare and given instructions to Pritchard to rug her up using a lightweight blanket over a thatch of straw to help relax her. Cecily was crouching down, attempting to coax Myrtle to her. She looked up at Zach’s approach.

‘Look at this poor dog,’ she said. ‘Do you think she’s a stray? How can she survive on only three legs?’

Myrtle lurched over to him and leaned against his leg, nudging him with her head. He bent to fondle her ear as Cecily stood upright.

‘She went straight to you. Is she yours?’

‘I care for her.’

‘Of course. As you told me, you do not keep animals. They are free to leave if they wish. That is correct, isn’t it?’

‘It is. Apart from Titan, that is.’

‘Titan?’

‘He pulls my wagon. I cannot allow him to wander off, or I would never be able to move on.’

‘And is that important to you? The ability to move on?’ She tilted her face to the sky. ‘It sounds idyllic and uncomplicated in this weather, but it must be less pleasant in the rain and in the winter.’

He shrugged. ‘It is what I have chosen.’

Bad choice of words. He knew it as soon as they left his mouth. Her eyes sharpened as she studied him.

‘Chosen? You make it sound as though you do have an alternative if you wish it.’

The clip-clop of hooves announced the arrival of their horses—a pretty chestnut mare for Lady Perfect and a bay gelding for him—and Myrtle, wary of horses, slunk out of the yard to hide behind the stone entrance pillar. Zach was grateful for the interruption, but he answered Lady Perfect’s comment anyway, hoping it would be enough to stop her probing further.

‘Everyone has an alternative.’

* * *

Cecily eyed Zach thoughtfully. Did his comment have some deeper meaning? Wondering what alternative he had to his Romany way of life, she settled her hat onto her head and turned her attention to Polly, looking her over with a knowledgeable eye as she smoothed her gloved hand down the gleaming chestnut neck. Bickling laced his fingers to provide a step for her to mount and she quickly settled in the side saddle, waiting while Zach mounted the bay.

His loose trousers and short boots looked decidedly odd as riding attire, accustomed as she was to breeches and shiny top boots, but the loose fit did not detract from his sculpted thighs as he settled in the saddle. She averted her gaze and diverted her thoughts from a sudden mental image of Zach’s muscular thighs clad in form-fitting breeches. An image that dried her mouth.

‘We shouldn’t be long, Bickling, so do not worry.’ And with that, she touched the mare with her heel and they clattered out of the yard, her seat secure even as Polly shied away from Myrtle, still hovering by the entrance.

‘I’ll be back soon, Myrtle,’ Zach said as he passed the dog, a brindled brown and white bull-terrier type, short-legged and stocky—the type of animal often used in dog fights.

Cecily suppressed a shudder at the thought—she loathed some of the so-called sports that even civilised men indulged in. Thankfully, her brothers did not enjoy dog fighting, cock fighting and the like, but... She cast a sidelong look at Zach as his horse ranged alongside hers as they followed a track that led away from the house, behind the stables. Did Romanys indulge in such sports?

‘How did she lose her leg?’

‘A snare. Set by a gamekeeper.’

‘Oh. I thought... I wondered...’

His dark brows lifted.

‘Well, she is the sort of dog used in dog fighting. I thought that might be how she was injured.’

His mouth settled into a tight line and she cursed herself for such clumsiness. He had demonstrated his love for animals in the short time she had known him and yet she had practically accused him of involvement in a horrid blood sport. How she wished she’d thought before opening her mouth.

‘Why do you call her Myrtle?’

‘Why not?’

Cecily tamped down the urge to snap at him for rejecting her olive branch. Her own mood was also a touch fragile this morning after a restless couple of nights, and she was tired and a little headachy with all the thoughts and—yes, alternatives—that had pounded relentlessly at her brain since their conversation in the moonlight. She had only reached a conclusion as this day dawned—a conclusion prompted partly by the memory of Zach’s kiss—and she had imagined telling Zach all about her plans for her future the next time she saw him. Her decision to go for a ride this early had in part been to clear her head, but she knew, deep down, that she also had hoped to see Zach. And that had worked better than she imagined, although now she was well on her way to quarrelling with him and that would only ruin their ride.

Before she could say anything to smooth the conversation, Zach spoke.

‘I call her Myrtle for the plant. When I found her, there was a lady who lived in a cottage on that estate who helped. She grew herbs and medicinal plants in her glasshouse and she made a poultice of crushed myrtle leaves to help heal the wound after we amputated her leg.’

‘Thank you for telling me.’ Cecily reached between them and touched his arm. ‘And thank you, again, for the other night. You helped me more than you know and I am happy to have this chance to tell you of my decision.’

‘You do sound less troubled today, although you look in need of sleep.’

‘I have had much to think about.’

‘And your decision?’

‘You said earlier that everyone has an alternative and that is true for me, too. I can remain in my present circumstances and allow my life to dwindle and fade, or I can grasp my future with both hands. So I thought about what I truly want and that is my own household to run. I love the busyness and I love having family around and seeing the tenants and helping where I can, so the obvious solution is for me to marry. That way I shall get my own household and I will also avoid becoming a burden on my family in the future.’

There was a long pause, the only sound the occasional chink of a horseshoe against stone. His profile was harsh, his brows gathered in a frown at the bridge of his nose.

‘You implied that wasn’t an option when we spoke before.’

‘I did not believe it was an option. Not then.’

‘And what changed your mind?’

She could never admit the truth: that his kiss had awakened a delicious urge to experience more. Intimacy—it had never been a factor in her thoughts before. Her life had given her the domesticity and child-rearing aspects of marriage and she had been content with that. She had done her duty. That kiss had served as a reminder that there was a third element to marriage and the only way for her to experience more of that would be to marry. And she even had a candidate in mind. She had tried not to dwell on the suspicion that kissing Lord Kilburn might prove less enticing than kissing Zach.

‘The deciding factor was that I know just the man.’

He faced her, his eyes turbulent with emotion. ‘You have a sweetheart?’

‘Not a sweetheart. But there is someone. He is a neighbour of my aunt in Oxfordshire, who I first met a few years ago, soon after his wife died. We met again earlier this year, in London. He proposed, but I turned him down because I was needed at home.’

She had been unable to fathom his lordship’s feelings for her... There had been little of the lover in his courtship—if that is what such a restrained pursuit could be called—and yet the flash of desperation in his eyes when she had refused him had made her wonder. She could not decide, however, if it was the loss of her or of her dowry that sparked that single glimpse of deep emotion.

‘He is a widower with young children, so I shall be doing him a favour at the same time.’

Saying it out loud sounded a touch cold-blooded, but Lord Kilburn seemed a pleasant enough gentleman and surely would prove the perfect solution to her dilemma. She suffered no delusions—at the age of thirty there would be few options open to her. There was no queue of gentlemen clamouring to marry her and, having met his lordship again at various events during the recent Season, she knew he was still interested in her.

Or, possibly, in my dowry.

She dismissed that cynical voice. That was the world she lived in, and the old saying a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush could hardly be more apt. It would be foolish to expect love to find her as it had her brothers. It was different for women.

Except Rosalind is the same age as you. She found love.

She brushed her misgivings aside. The thought of leaving her beloved family brought an aching lump to her throat, but she forced it down, concentrating on the positive aspects of marriage. She would have her own household to run, stepchildren to care for and maybe even her own children. That, surely, would bring her happiness and contentment. It was the lot of many women in her position and, besides, what other choice did she have?

She could not bear to resign herself to life as the dependent relation.

‘Marriage is not something to be entered into with the head. What about the heart?’

Zach’s comment stung. Why should he care about her decision?

‘On the contrary, in my world, marriage is often entered into with the head.’

And Kilburn will make for a safe, steady, unexciting husband.

She raised her chin. ‘The Earl will be the perfect choice. We shall be perfectly content together.’

‘An earl. Of course—the perfect choice for Lady Perfect.’

‘Is that how you see me? Lady Perfect?’

‘It is the image you present to the world.’