Page 4 of A Match of Misfortune

Cecily’s eyes fluttered open, not understanding his meaning until she caught sight of his teasing smile only inches from her. Icy clarity came in the next instant, and she reeled back. “How dare you!”

His amused appearance lessened to a degree. “Come now, Cecily. It was all meant in good fun.”

“Good fun?” She shook her head, withdrawing another step. “The only thing that was confirmed just now, besides that you are a horrible, wicked tease, is that I dislike you more than ever.”

“Please, I honestly meant—” He reached out, but she batted him away and pushed past him.

When she had made it to the library entrance, she turned to face him, tears stinging her eyes. “I hope you enjoy India. So much so that you decide to stay there indefinitely.”

He tilted his head to the side, and his shoulders fell. “Cecily, I⁠—”

She did not wait to hear what he had to say this time. She had learned her lesson. Never again would she fall prey to Nash Markham and his charming deceptions. For there was not a person in this world she loathed more than him.

Chapter Two

April 28th, 1817 — Six Years Later

Cecily watched her younger sister’s gaze flit from one London sight to another as their carriage rolled by in the dimming evening light. If only she could find it in herself to be as excited about their visit as Adelaide was. Or even partially so. Not that Cecily did not look forward to seeing Mrs. Markham. In truth, spending six weeks with her and her sweet little boys—Jamison and Theo—was the only reason she had finally complied with Papa’s scheme. Well, that and his promise to her: if she underwent a Season and did not find a husband by the end of it, he would not press the matter of marriage further.

So, in one last attempt to see his oldest daughter married, Papa had appealed to Mrs. Markham, who had appealed to her sister-in-law, Lady Rothsburg, to sponsor Cecily. As the widowed wife of Mr. Markham’s brother, the dowager baroness was well placed to introduce Cecily into Society. Not that Papa would have his way in the end, nor did Cecily truly think he cared to, but regardless, it had grown unduly tiresome attending societal events when one was determined to remain unmarried. And most of those events had been of the country variety. It wearied her simply thinking about what she would endure in Town over the upcoming weeks.

Adelaide released an airy sigh and pulled her gaze from the window. “I still cannot believe you are to have a London Season.”

Cecily urged a smile to her lips, well aware of both her sister’s excitement on her behalf and the fact that Adelaide would not have such an opportunity herself. Regardless, she could not allow her sister to become too hopeful. “It will certainly be … something. Though I cannot imagine at one-and-twenty, I should garner much interest.”

“That is not true in the least. You have countless traits to recommend you to a husband.”

None of which—outside of any physical advantages—she would allow a gentleman to discover. She had grown exceptionally practiced at deciphering precisely what it was a man desired in a wife and discreetly appearing as the exact opposite. If a suitor wished for a demure wife without thoughts of her own, she would be bolder than typical, a touch impertinent, and give him an earful on the Corn Laws. If he wished for a wife who would be his social equal and run a household with precision, she would appear reticent, timid, and make hushed comments regarding her utter amazement over the most basic of accomplishments completed by the hostess.

Perhaps her method was somewhat misleading, particularly when Papa scratched his head at how no one had come to prefer her over the years she’d been out in Society, but it was far better than allowing a gentleman to set his cap at her when she would not have him. Not when a marriage came with such high consequences.

Adelaide’s attention had returned to the window. “Look, it’s Cavendish Square. We are nearly there.”

Cecily leaned forward in her seat, barely catching sight of the gated green space before the soft glow from candle-lit windows replaced it again. “So it is,” she said, relieved that their day of travel was finally at an end. Unlike Sarah, Adelaide’s maid who had spent her time in the carriage sewing placidly, the endless bouncing had prevented Cecily from seeking distraction in anything but the conversation of her companions and the view out of the window. And even then, her stomach had threatened revolt during several of the more abysmal stretches of road. Thankfully, Adelaide had not lost her appetite, although with the way she winced on occasion, Cecily guessed the journey had taken its toll on her in other ways. Not that Adelaide would complain.

The carriage rolled to a stop in front of the Markhams’ residence on Wimpole Street in Marylebone. It was not the most fashionable neighborhood, but it was certainly growing in popularity. And with its proximity to Mayfair, Cecily would not be so very far from the Rothsburgs’ townhouse, where she would be spending much of her time.

Mr. Markham, who had been kind enough to travel to Penrose Court and make the return trip on horseback alongside the carriage, opened the door with a wide smile for them. His large frame and broad shoulders blocked the view of the townhouse’s front entrance behind him. “How went the last leg of your journey?”

“The roads could undoubtedly use some repair,” Cecily answered. “I do not remember being quite so jostled on our previous trips to London.”

“Easier by horseback than by carriage, certainly.” His gaze settled on Adelaide, his concern for her obvious. “And how did you fare?”

Adelaide smiled. “I am well enough.”

“Might I carry you inside?”

She gave a small nod of acceptance.

He gestured to a servant. “Bring in the chair directly. I’ll see to Miss Adelaide.” Mr. Markham was a large man—both tall and thick—and was certainly the most trusted option to transport Adelaide safely, though Sarah, albeit much smaller, never seemed to struggle with the task. “Ready?”

Cecily collected the blanket from Adelaide’s lap and set it on the bench, then slid in beside her sister while Sarah came to her other side. With careful movements, they supported her into Mr. Markham’s outstretched arms. With Adelaide secure, he started toward the open door.

In the busyness of getting Adelaide into the house and her invalid chair with her, Cecily and Sarah were left to see to themselves. The maid clambered down and then turned to assist Cecily. Once on the pavement, with Adelaide’s blanket on one arm, Cecily shook out her skirts with her free hand and then hurried in after the others.

“You are finally here!” Mrs. Markham stood in the entrance hall, pausing her husband to give Adelaide a kiss on the cheek, then doing likewise to Cecily. “How were your travels?” She sent Cecily a nervous glance. “Not too taxing, I hope?”

“We managed well enough.” Cecily steadied the invalid chair while Mr. Markham set Adelaide in it, then she draped the blanket over her sister’s lap.