Lord Holt only swore again, while Cecily thanked her lucky stars that Betsy had held her tongue—so far.
“Leaving no note proves nothing,” Lord Holt growled as Cecily began to return her meager belongings to her pockets. “What did she tell you about her plans? Who helped her? Someone must have done so, and my money is on you.”
“I was out with Grandmother yesterday evening and only learned of Mary’s absence when you did,” Cecily answered in what she hoped was a suitably injured tone. “I could not have helped her.”
“A likely story,” he sneered. “That only means that you cooked up a plan earlier in the week and left it to be carried out in your absence.”
“I did not!” Cecily insisted hotly. “I was expecting to find Mary awake last night. When I found her asleep, I went to bed.”
“So you say. I don’t believe a word of it. You’re a viper in the bosom of this family, and I ought to throw you out into the streets to fend for yourself as you deserve!”
“Uncle, look in my wardrobe,” Cecily demanded, not caring whether she was thrown out, as long as she could look for Mary. “There is a bag of food there that I brought home from Mildenhall House for Mary. Why would I do that if I knew she was planning to run away?”
Stomping over to the wardrobe, Lord Holt flung open the doors and picked up the bag, his face twisting with fury before he threw it to the floor.
“Stealing food from your hosts? You, too, only seek to humiliate me in front of the whole world. You ought to be brought before the magistrates or to Bedlam.”
“I did not want to humiliate you, Uncle. I wanted only to feed my sister, who had not had dinner for three days.”
Lord Holt seized her in an iron grip for a second time and raised his arm as though to strike her. Cecily steeled herself for the blow, but it never came.
“My Lord, the Earl of Ashworth is here,” the butler announced. “Should he be shown into the drawing room or your study?”
Lord Holt’s grip on her arm loosened, and his hand dropped, his face abruptly losing some of its ruddiness. He cursed fulsomely, ignoring the presence of his niece and servants, although Cecily knew he would have hesitated to use such language in front of his mother.
“Show him to the drawing room and bring good tea,” he ordered peremptorily. “Tell my mother he is here. I will be downstairs shortly.”
As he went to the door, he turned jaundiced eyes to Cecily again.
“For appearances’ sake, you’d better come downstairs too. But don’t speak unless you’re spoken to.”
* * *
Lord Ashworth had not improved at all since Cecily last set eyes on him. He wore an old-fashioned gray wig on his bald head and smiled wolfishly at her, showing large, yellowed teeth as he bent his head over her hand and tried to look down the neckline of her dress. She curtsied politely and then stepped back.
Lady Holt was already sitting in an armchair, and a tea tray was steaming on one of the side tables.
“Well, well, Lord Ashworth, we were not expecting you this morning. You find us in some disarray, and I apologize,” Lord Holt said with falsebonhomie.
“Have no care for that.” Lord Ashworth gave a toothy grin. “I was passing this way and thought it was time that I dropped in and exchanged a few words with my bride-to-be. Where is the little lady?”
He looked around the room as though expecting Mary to leap out from behind a sofa or a bookcase.
“Ah, pre-wedding nerves, I’m afraid,” Lord Holt replied with a cough and a glance at his mother.
“It is very common in brides,” Lady Holt confirmed. “Very few young girls go to the altar without a few tears. It is the way of things.”
“Still, I should like to see Miss Mary while I am here,” Lord Ashworth insisted, rubbing his hands eagerly. “I have seen her before at balls, of course. I know how fair of face and figure she is, and how sweet and innocent, but I would like to remind myself in anticipation of our wedding.”
Ugh!
The man’s naked lust for young flesh made Cecily’s skin crawl. How on earth could her uncle marry Mary off to such a creature?
At Lord Ashworth’s request, Lady Holt shot her son a look of alarm.
Lord Holt cleared his throat, consternation on his face. Never a very creative man, he was evidently unable to come up with a credible excuse for Mary’s absence. It occurred to Cecily that this might be a prime opportunity for her to influence the would-be bridegroom.
“Mary has run away from home because she does not wish to marry you, My Lord,” she stated calmly, fixing her eyes on Lord Ashworth’s repellent visage. “We don’t know where she has gone.”
