Free What About Cecelia? by Amelia Grace Treader

Elizabeth, who simply
commented, “Already miss her do you?”
    Before Captain Wood could reply, Sir Charles
continued, “I caught their attention and told them you were here.
They'll join us shortly. I know it's a tad effeminate for a dashing
young captain, but will you join us for a nuncheon? I know Mary
will need it. She's not used to such strenuous exertion in the
morning.”
    “It would be my pleasure. Miss Arnold and our
cook were having a heated discussion last night, so I'm not sure
what meal awaits my return. Breakfast was, how would you say it?
Interesting.”
    For the next few minutes, conversation centered
on the safe and mundane aspects of farming, only once veering into
dangerous waters. Sir Charles asked, “How many sheep do you have at
Penyclawdd?”
    “I don't know. I'd have to ask Cecelia, Miss
Wood.”
    Cecelia answered from the door to the parlor,
“The farm itself, only three hundred forty-seven, give or take a
few lambs. About ten of those are rams. Our tenants run much more.”
She had changed from her horsey clothes into clean, although still
less than fashionable dress.
    George started, “Cecelia! How are you?”
    She blushed at his attention, “It's only been a
day, Captain Wood, and surely Penyclawdd is still standing without
me.”
    “Yes, still standing, but whether it is as
comfortable as it was is an open question.”
    “What happened?”
    “Miss Arnold and your cook had a disagreement
last night.”
    “She is a mite temperamental.”
    “Miss Arnold?”
    “No, I meant Mrs. Jones, our cook. Would it help
if I wrote her a note?”
    “It might.”
    Nuncheon went well. Mary, unused to the level of
physical activity that Cecelia set for her, was famished. Captain
Wood, after a breakfast of cold, congealed porridge and something
that more resembled dishwater than tea, was happy to eat whatever
was available. At the end of the meal Lady Elizabeth announced,
“Mary, Miss Wood, if you would please defer your afternoon's
exertions, I would like to see how well Miss Wood dances.”
    “Can't we do that this evening?”
    “We could, but then you would have to stand with
each other. Who would play?”
    “Surely I could dance with Sir Charles?”
    Sir Charles, catching the look his lady gave him
and understanding its meaning, quickly interjected, “Not with my
gout, Miss Wood.”
    “If you say so. But I promised Geor- Mary that
we could go for a long ride this afternoon, and Charles Henry as
well if he wishes.”
    “We'll only be a few minutes. We can always
delay dinner.”
    The party trooped to the drawing room were a
small, somewhat dated, pianoforte sat in the corner. Lady Elizabeth
asked her daughter, “Mary, would you play a country dance, say 'the
Miller'. Captain Wood, please take Miss Wood as your partner.”
    “If you insist.”
    Somewhat awkwardly and shyly, both the Captain
and Cecelia took their places as Mary started in on one of the hot
new dances of 1810. George and Cecelia bowed and then started the
dance. It didn't take long before they collided.
    “I'm sorry,” Cecelia apologized, blushing, “I
just don't know how this dance goes.”
    George said, “The fault is as much mine.”
    Lady Elizabeth intervened, “Mary, if you would
dance and show Miss Wood how. Miss Wood, could you play?”
    “I can try, but I don't play nearly so well as
Miss Somerset.”
    “As long as you keep to the tempo, don't worry
about the rest.”
    It was soon clear that for all her knowledge
about horses and farming, Cecelia's education was lacking the
refinements required of a young lady of culture. She could play the
tune, or she could play in time. Playing the tune in time was
beyond her skill.
    Lady Elizabeth clicked her tongue in dismay. “I
see we'll have to hire a caper-merchant for you. I think Mary, that
I shall be coming to Bath with you after all.”
    “Oh Mother, do you have to?”
    “I'm sorry Mary, but yes. If we're to help
launch your friend onto the seas of society,