1
May 1814
London, England
* * *
Lady Cecelia Stopford, the eldest child of the Earl of Gullsville, was going to be wed.
Well, not any time soon.
She required a gentleman first, of course.
In her eagerness, she had readied quickly and now sat on the settee opposite the tea table far too early. The matching settee and tea table had been purchased when there had been money to do so. Now, a needlepoint pillow of a rose covered a small stain in the corner.
But funds, or the lack thereof, was not her purpose for wanting marriage.
The bracket clock on the mantel marked off each minute. The overloud sweep of time passing in the large, empty townhouse echoed in the chasm gaping within her. It was a sound that had begun to haunt her. That abysmally slow tick filled the silence and made her ache for the days when laughter once masked its infernal rhythm.
The double doors to the drawing-room opened, and Lady Bursbury breezed in with her usual brilliance, red curls bouncing and her gown as sapphire bright as the jewel itself.
“Aunt Nancy.” Cecelia forced herself to casually rise from the settee to embrace the other woman when she’d wanted to leap up like an overeager child and throw her arms around her aunt.
“I was so pleased to receive your invitation.” Aunt Nancy’s blue eyes sparkled. “Did I read correctly? Do you truly want me to find you a husband?”
Cecelia’s cheeks went hot. It was quite something to tell a self-proclaimed matchmaker that one wanted a husband. The next few weeks would doubtless be a whirlwind with the force of Lady Bursbury behind it.
In truth, such a blizzard of excitement would be preferable to the vastness of life stretching before Cecelia. “Yes,” she replied, nearly breathless with anticipation.
“Let us have tea, and we shall discuss what it is you are looking for.” Nancy peered at a platter of tea cakes and dainties. “I see you have the little cherry tarts I favor, you darling girl.”
Cecelia led her aunt toward the matching settees and poured the tea, pleased her aunt had noticed her effort.
“I must ask for sheer curiosity’s sake…” Aunt Nancy dropped a fat lump of sugar into her cup, and elegantly stirred the dark liquid. “Why now? You aren’t at risk of being set on the shelf, and you haven’t expressed interest in the past.”
“Father needed me,” Cecelia said. “As did Henry and Sophia.” When their mother and the twins had died eight years ago, it had fallen upon her shoulders to assume the maternal tasks for her siblings as the eldest child.
After Cecelia’s debut at eighteen two years prior, she had briefly lost herself to the idea of finding a husband and having a family of her own. But then Sophia had become a hoyden without anyone to keep her in a straight line, and Henry had returned home from university with more energy than he could contain.
And Father…
Cecelia took a sip of her tea to ease the bitterness in her stomach at the thought of what had befallen him. Gambling had robbed him of his wealth while drink eroded the wondrous personality she had once admired.
“That was why you’d rejected Lord Brightstone when he sought to court you?” Aunt Nancy surmised.
A familiar ache settled in Cecelia’s chest. Regret.
Lord Brightstone was a respected peer and had considerable wealth. Though those were not the attributes that had drawn Cecelia. He was a kind man with a keenness that always left him with something interesting to say. Granted, he leaned to the studious side, to the point of being obtuse. Suffice it to say—he read books better than people. But he’d always tried to make up for it with conciliatory bouquets of hothouse flowers or poetry written in his own hand.
She had wanted to be courted by him, but doing so would be selfish when she was needed at home.
“Yes,” Cecelia replied finally.
“I’m sure the Duchess of Stedton’s union has led you to hope for your own as well.” Aunt Nancy gave a proud smile at her most recent match. “I was hoping your dearest friend finding love would urge you toward the same.”
Cecelia nodded. She was overjoyed at her friend’s happiness. Julia deserved only the best, and she had found it in Duke William. However, matters called them to their country estate often, and Cecelia seldom saw the friend whose companionship she had kept previously with regularity.
“And they don’t need you any longer?” Aunt Nancy asked gently, guiding the conversation back to its pathetic tracks. “Your family.”
