Cousin Cecilia by Joan Smith Page A

imaginary, but she thought Wickham was at least civil enough not to broadcast his true intentions. And to have tried to lure Dallan, and likely George, too, into deserting the party riled her greatly.
    “He asked you to go along with him, did he?” she asked offhandedly.
    “We usually go with him” was his noncommittal reply.
    “You’re being evasive, Mr. Dallan.”
    “I wish you will call me Henley.”
    Even this sacrifice was made to get at the truth. “Did he ask you to go with him, Henley?”
    “Certainly he asked us,” he said. Not a lie in the least. “I guess you won’t be going to Jack Duck’s this Saturday” was an invitation. What else could you call it?
    “I am happy you refused him,” she said, and actually smiled at Henley Dallan. For once, she was happy with him. The words were no sooner out of her mouth than she regretted them.
    “How could I go with him, when I knew you would be here?” he asked, eyes burning with passion, or some heated emotion. Perhaps it was only pleasure at standing up with a lady so much more stylish than the local girls.
    “Of course Martha and I would be here,” she said, pretending to misunderstand.
    He wasn’t about to let her off with that stunt. “Oh, she is always here,” he said, in a swaggering way. “We were talking about us.”
    There was no longer any getting away from an unpleasant scene. The sooner this idea was dispelled, the better. “There is nothing between us, except that you are my cousin’s special friend,” she said bluntly.
    He accepted it better than she hoped. A vastly superior smile, a conspiratorial wink, and an ambiguous, “Just so,” that hinted at future intimacy.
    Cecilia could hardly get away from him fast enough after this vexatious interlude. She was in no mood for further harassment when Sally Gardener accosted her between sets.
    “A pity Lord Wickham couldn’t be here this evening,” Sally said. For her it was not a total disaster. Though it robbed her of his company, it robbed Miss Cummings of a stellar conquest as well.
    “I hope we can contrive to be merry without him.”
    “He seemed so particular in his attentions to you, I made sure he would be here.”
    “You were mistaken.”
    “You must not take it as a personal insult, for we who know him better know that he seldom goes into company, Miss Cummings,” she explained, with a superior smile.
    “I would hardly take it personally that he had to decline an invitation to my cousins’ party,” Cecilia pointed out.
    “That is odd. Mrs. Meacham never asked him to her routs before.”
    “Did she not?” Cecilia said, feigning indifference. Sally continued smiling at her in a gloating manner, thinking she had put her down a peg. Pushed past endurance, she added, “As he loaned me a mare and invited us to view the abbey, she could not well omit him, could she? A pity he had company at home. I hope his absence does not quite destroy the evening for you.”
    Sally’s black eyes snapped. She was not subtle, but she was not stupid either and realized she had been told off. “I didn’t hear you had been to the abbey,” she said. Her questioning look suggested it was a lie.
    “Even you could not have heard it yet, for the date is still to be arranged. Shall I let you know when the event takes place?”
    “If it takes place,” Sally riposted, and walked away.
    Cecilia sat berating herself for this uncustomary rudeness, cursing her temper and Lord Wickham for his duplicity.
    The evening was not a total disaster, however. Kate and Alice were making strides with their beaux, and Cecilia managed to keep herself busy with other partners to avoid further doings with Dallan. The one guest who had refused was more on her mind than the couple of dozen who had come. At midnight, a sit-down supper was served in the dining room. Mrs. Meacham said to her, “It’s a pity Wickham could not be here.”
    “Don’t fret about it,” Cecilia replied. “There will be a wedding for