Free Cousin Cecilia by Joan Smith Page A

hostess’s cooperation. He was deceiving Mrs. Meacham into thinking his intentions were honorable, but between themselves, she was to understand it was not to be taken seriously.
    Such conniving was hardly a new thing in the world. But it annoyed Cecilia that her best efforts, and she had put forth at least a very good effort, had produced so little effect. Wickham should be a little smitten with her by now. He was a cold, heartless man. She would not make any effort to hand him to Martha. That poor innocent lamb would be torn to shreds by him. He had very likely driven his wife to fleeing. He must be stopped, before he ruined Dallan and Wideman and Sproule. This case was proving to be her most difficult yet. It was because she had three young couples to manage, she told herself. But she knew it was not so. The spoke in her wheel was always Lord Wickham.
     

Chapter Seven
     
    Once Lord Wickham’s visit was over, Saturday was but an indifferent day, and the evening was dismal. The knowledge that the gentlemen were enjoying themselves at Jack Duck’s did nothing to dissipate the gloom. Cecilia spoke bracingly of next Saturday, but no one save herself felt any certainty that next Saturday would be any better than this one.
    There was a feeling afoot, not actually stated but inferred, that Cecilia was making more progress in securing a suitor for herself than for her cousins. She would be riding with Lord Wickham tomorrow, but if they so much as got walked home from church by their beaux it would be a wonder.
    “You forget,” Cecilia pointed out, “tomorrow afternoon Lord Wickham will not be leading your fellows astray. If their customary pastime is to traipse about after him, they will be at loose ends. I cannot believe Wickham means to bring such a retinue on our ride.”
    This gave sufficient encouragement that Mrs. Meacham sent out for a green goose, to be prepared in case of company.
    Cecilia said, “You will be seeing the gentlemen at church tomorrow, I trust?” This was confirmed.
    “Then you must encourage them to escort you home.”
    “Henley does bring me home—when he is there, I mean,” Martha said, with an air of complaisance.
    “Kind of him,” Cecilia replied, trying to control a sneer. “As he is a fan of Wickham’s, be sure to tell him that Wickham will be calling for me later in the day. If you can convince him I meant no slur on his tailoring, that might induce him to remain.”
    “He will very likely stay if Lord Wickham is coming. Nothing is more likely to make him stay,” Martha said.
    For the remainder of the evening they discussed arrangements for next Saturday’s rout. There were to be ten couples in all, and six sets of parents. Enough to allow dancing and cards respectively. Melancholy was kept at bay by this planning, and at eleven they retired.
    At church on Sunday there was a surprise in store for the village. Who should go striding down the aisle to his family pew but Lord Wickham. Every head in the place turned, and every eye stared, as though he had been a tiger on the loose. It occurred to Cecilia that his coming might have something to do with herself, but really attending church was not necessary to lend their flirtation an air of respectability.
    Soon her mind wandered down a different path. The Abbey was five miles from Laycombe. If he meant to call for her at three, he would have to move quickly to get home, take lunch, change, and return to the village. This was putting himself to more bother than merely dropping in while he was making a call to his solicitor!
    A chat with Kate Daugherty after the service enlightened Cecilia as to how matters really stood. Lord Wickham had met her papa yesterday in the village. The vicar had done some strong hinting for a new organ, and Wickham had promised to attend a service to judge for himself whether one was required. The Daughertys had invited Wickham to take his mutton with them. He had brought his riding clothes with him and would