Page 2 of A Wild English Rose
Cecily looked up at her father through bloodshot eyes and nodded as best as her hungover head would allow. Shehadbeen dragged through a hedgerow backwards during her time in Ireland, and painful though it had been, it was nothing to how bad she felt this morning.
“How many champagnes did you have last night, may I ask?” said her mother.
Cecily puffed out her cheeks. She had stopped counting once she had reached double figures.
“Who knows. Besides it’s not the fifteen champagnes that one has which does the damage; it’s the very last one which tips you over the edge. I always hold that last glass to blame,” she replied.
Her mother huffed the requisite amount of disgust at her daughter’s reply, then went back to her boiled egg. Her father, however, was not in such a disinterested frame of mind.
“How exactly did you get home? I noticed the town carriage was still in the stables just after I heard the loud BANG ofthe front door when you arrived at midnight. Don’t tell me you hailed a hackney cab,” said her father.
Cecily paused for a moment.
How did I get home?
She wracked her brains but couldn’t recall how she had managed to get back to the Norris family townhouse in Hay Street. Her first recollection of events after the party was waking in the middle of the night, feeling like death, and searching for a glass of water. It wasn’t the first time, nor she expected the last, that she would find herself in her bed with little recollection as to how she got there.
“I have no idea,” she finally replied.
Her father growled with frustration. “Exactly. You have no idea about anything. Well this is the last time you come home in such a disgraceful state. I won’t have it.”
Cecily picked up a piece of cold toast, then decided against it. “Where are you sending me now?” she asked, making no attempt to hide her annoyance.
“I am not sending you anywhere, Cecily. Your mother and I have decided that what you need is for someone to take you in hand. And that someone is a husband.”
Cecily sat back in her chair and looked at him. Pity the poor devil who thought himself capable of taming her. Her parents had failed miserably at controlling their daughter, though their attempts had always been somewhat half-hearted and usually from a distance. “You cannot be serious. There is not a man in all of England who deserves that punishment,” she replied.
Her father picked up his napkin, wiped his face, then threw the napkin down on the table. He rose from his chair and fixed her with a hard glare. “There is when a sizable dowry is involved. Cecily not only am I serious, but I have chosen a husband for you. The Marquis of Horsham has agreed to discuss an arranged marriage. You will be meeting him at the ball tomorrow, andI trust you will make every effort to behave like a lady in his presence.”
After her father left the room, Cecily rounded on her mother. “And have you also agreed to this? Or are you remaining your usual taciturn self when it comes to matters of my future?”
“The Marquis of Horsham is the type of husband I think you need. He is traditional when it comes to the matter of marriage. You supply him with an heir, and he will leave you to live your own life. What more could you want, Cecily?” replied her mother.
She considered her mother for a moment. They may have shared blood, but they were strangers. Having sent her daughter to live in the countryside and away from her family at a young age, was it any wonder Lady Norris had no idea what Cecily wanted from life?
Cecily rose from her chair and headed for the door. She stopped and looked back at her mother. “I shall meet with the marquis, but I am not agreeing to anything. I should have the right to choose whom I wish to marry. I can make my own decisions.”
“And look where making your own decisions has gotten you: a reputation as a drunken lush. Your life is a mess, and you need to do something about it. Unless you can come up with a suitable alternative for a husband, and quick smart, your father will press ahead with his plans.”
Cecily slammed the door of the breakfast room behind her. She stomped up the main staircase and into her bedroom. Then, standing in the middle of her room, fists clenched tightly, she made a vow. “I shall find my own husband, or I will die a spinster.”
Chapter Three
Cecily stood to one side of the dance floor and silently fumed. Her mother had insisted on her wearing a pale cream gown, with a matching ribbon in her hair. She looked pure and innocent. Her mind, however, was full of the most unladylike thoughts.
“You look lovely, my darling. I think the marquis will be enchanted,” said Lady Norris.
Cecily sipped her sickly sweet orgeat, all the while wishing it was something stronger. “You don’t think he will see past the ruse of a young chaste miss, do you? I am not exactly just out of the school room, and my reputation does proceed me.”
Her mother stiffened. “We shall do what we can. And you will play your part. Here comes your father and the marquis now.”
When she caught sight of the man her father intended for her husband, Cecily froze. Having lived much of her life outside of London, and the past eight years in Ireland, she didn’t know many of the members of the English nobility.
“You cannot be serious. How old is he?” she whispered.
Lady Norris did not reply. Instead, she stepped forward and greeted the marquis as if he was an old friend. “Lord Horsham,what a delight to see you. I was just saying to my husband only this morning that it has been an age since we last had you to dine at our home.”
Cecily gritted her teeth. He was an old friend— with the emphasis on old. The slight stoop of his shoulders and the thinning white hair on his head indicated a man with many years on her own father.
