Lady Cecily And The Mysterious Mr Gray. Janice Preston

Her own mood was also a touch fragile this morning after a restless couple of nights, and she was tired and a little headachy with all the thoughts and—yes, alternatives—that had pounded relentlessly at her brain since their conversation in the moonlight. She had only reached a conclusion as this day dawned—a conclusion prompted partly by the memory of Zach’s kiss—and she had imagined telling Zach all about her plans for her future the next time she saw him. Her decision to go for a ride this early had in part been to clear her head, but she knew, deep down, that she also had hoped to see Zach. And that had worked better than she imagined, although now she was well on her way to quarrelling with him and that would only ruin their ride.

      Before she could say anything to smooth the conversation, Zach spoke.

      ‘I call her Myrtle for the plant. When I found her, there was a lady who lived in a cottage on that estate who helped. She grew herbs and medicinal plants in her glasshouse and she made a poultice of crushed myrtle leaves to help heal the wound after we amputated her leg.’

      ‘Thank you for telling me.’ Cecily reached between them and touched his arm. ‘And thank you, again, for the other night. You helped me more than you know and I am happy to have this chance to tell you of my decision.’

      ‘You do sound less troubled today, although you look in need of sleep.’

      ‘I have had much to think about.’

      ‘And your decision?’

      ‘You said earlier that everyone has an alternative and that is true for me, too. I can remain in my present circumstances and allow my life to dwindle and fade, or I can grasp my future with both hands. So I thought about what I truly want and that is my own household to run. I love the busyness and I love having family around and seeing the tenants and helping where I can, so the obvious solution is for me to marry. That way I shall get my own household and I will also avoid becoming a burden on my family in the future.’

      There was a long pause, the only sound the occasional chink of a horseshoe against stone. His profile was harsh, his brows gathered in a frown at the bridge of his nose.

      ‘You implied that wasn’t an option when we spoke before.’

      ‘I did not believe it was an option. Not then.’

      ‘And what changed your mind?’

      She could never admit the truth: that his kiss had awakened a delicious urge to experience more. Intimacy—it had never been a factor in her thoughts before. Her life had given her the domesticity and child-rearing aspects of marriage and she had been content with that. She had done her duty. That kiss had served as a reminder that there was a third element to marriage and the only way for her to experience more of that would be to marry. And she even had a candidate in mind. She had tried not to dwell on the suspicion that kissing Lord Kilburn might prove less enticing than kissing Zach.

      ‘The deciding factor was that I know just the man.’

      He faced her, his eyes turbulent with emotion. ‘You have a sweetheart?’

      ‘Not a sweetheart. But there is someone. He is a neighbour of my aunt in Oxfordshire, who I first met a few years ago, soon after his wife died. We met again earlier this year, in London. He proposed, but I turned him down because I was needed at home.’

      She had been unable to fathom his lordship’s feelings for her... There had been little of the lover in his courtship—if that is what such a restrained pursuit could be called—and yet the flash of desperation in his eyes when she had refused him had made her wonder. She could not decide, however, if it was the loss of her or of her dowry that sparked that single glimpse of deep emotion.

      ‘He is a widower with young children, so I shall be doing him a favour at the same time.’

      Saying it out loud sounded a touch cold-blooded, but Lord Kilburn seemed a pleasant enough gentleman and surely would prove the perfect solution to her dilemma. She suffered no delusions—at the age of thirty there would be few options open to her. There was no queue of gentlemen clamouring to marry her and, having met his lordship again at various events during the recent Season, she knew he was still interested in her.

       Or, possibly, in my dowry.

      She dismissed that cynical voice. That was the world she lived in, and the old saying a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush could hardly be more apt. It would be foolish to expect love to find her as it had her brothers. It was different for women.

      Except Rosalind is the same age as you. She found love.

      She brushed her misgivings aside. The thought of leaving her beloved family brought an aching lump to her throat, but she forced it down, concentrating on the positive aspects of marriage. She would have her own household to run, stepchildren to care for and maybe even her own children. That, surely, would bring her happiness and contentment. It was the lot of many women in her position and, besides, what other choice did she have?

      She could not bear to resign herself to life as the dependent relation.

      ‘Marriage is not something to be entered into with the head. What about the heart?’

      Zach’s comment stung. Why should he care about her decision?

      ‘On the contrary, in my world, marriage is often entered into with the head.’

       And Kilburn will make for a safe, steady, unexciting husband.

      She raised her chin. ‘The Earl will be the perfect choice. We shall be perfectly content together.’

      ‘An earl. Of course—the perfect choice for Lady Perfect.’

      ‘Is that how you see me? Lady Perfect?’

      ‘It is the image you present to the world.’

      She stared at him. ‘The image I present? You think me, somehow, false?’

      He shook his head, his dark locks shining in the sun, and she had a sudden urge to run her fingers through those heavy, satiny curls.

      ‘No. I do not think you false. Rather, I see you as dutiful and restrained, just as a perfect lady should be and who behaves just as she ought.’

      ‘And shallow, I surmise.’

      ‘Oh, no.’ He turned his head to look at her and his eyes gleamed. ‘You are not shallow, my lady.’

      ‘And you deduce this from one brief encounter? You flatter yourself you know me because I was unwise enough to confide in you when I was feeling uncommonly low.’

      ‘I hope you will look back upon our meeting with pleasure, my lady. And you are right. I do not know you. Not all of you. But I saw a different woman emerge in the moonlight when you allowed yourself to forget your status. That woman is still beneath, with her dreams and her passions, if you will only give her a voice.’

      Cecily swallowed. She did not want more uncertainty. She had made her decision. His words rattled her... Was it really possible he understood more of what lay in her heart than she did?

      ‘Heavens.’ She forced a tinkling laugh. ‘I do not believe I have ever heard such a lengthy speech from you, Mr Gray.’

      ‘I limit my words to when I have something to say.’

      ‘An admirable trait, I am sure.’ They had reached a river. ‘I should like to return now, if you please,’ she said.

      ‘As you wish. If we follow upstream, it will bring us close to the lake where we spoke the other night and that is not far from the stable yard.’

      The lake...the moonlight...the touch of his lips. Her pulse quickened at the memory and she slid a sidelong glance at his impassive profile. Did he remember? Of course he did...it was an idiotic question. More pertinent—might he snatch this opportunity to kiss her again? And, if he did, would she allow it?

      The sight of three figures on the bank ahead of them answered her question as to whether he might snatch