The Cavendon Women. Barbara Bradford Taylor
glanced about as she walked on. She had half expected to see Genevra loitering here. But there was no sign of the gypsy girl. The Romany wagons were visible on the hill at the far end of the fields; Genevra’s family still lived on the 6th Earl’s land – that was a given. He had always permitted it; she supposed they would stay there forever.
But so much else had changed. Cavendon Hall looked the same, but it wasn’t what it used to be. It was a different place; in fact, many things were different now. The Great War had changed everything. And everyone. As her father, Walter, was forever saying, the good old days were over, and nothing would ever be the same again. And his words were only too true.
Thankfully, her father and her brother had come back safely from the Great War, but Guy Ingham, the heir to the Mowbray earldom, had not. He had died for his country fighting in France, and was buried there alongside his comrades in arms.
They had all mourned him, every person in the three villages around Cavendon, as well as his family. Not because he was the heir, but because he had been one of the nicest of young men. Now it was Miles who would one day inherit the earldom and everything that this entailed.
Miles Ingham.
Her heart tightened at the thought of him. He had been her constant companion throughout her childhood, her best friend and later her sweetheart. She had loved him with all of her being; she still did. And he had told her many times that he felt the same, and that one day they would be married. But that had not happened.
Miles had been forced to marry another girl. A suitable girl. Clarissa Meldrew, the daughter of Lord Meldrew. The right kind of girl, who would give Miles an aristocratic heir. That was the way it was with the gentry: future heirs dominated their lives and their destinies.
Cecily came to a stop as a sudden thought struck her. After a moment, she veered to her left and headed in the direction of the rose garden. She needed a few moments to think, and anyway she was too early for her meeting.
A few seconds later, she was pulling open the heavy oak door and going down the steps. It was a fragrant spot, this old walled garden, filled with the scent of late-blooming roses. She breathed in the heady smell as she sat down on a wrought-iron garden seat. This spot had always been a haven of peace and beauty.
Holding herself completely still, she closed her eyes, wondering why she had agreed to do this – to help Miles manage the events planned by the Earl for the family reunion. It was probably the most stupid thing she had ever done in her life.
Only if you are stupid, she told herself. Obviously Aunt Charlotte thinks you are capable of handling a difficult situation, or she wouldn’t have asked you to help out.
Her aunt’s voice echoed in her mind as she went back to the discussion they’d had a week ago. She remembered her aunt’s words very well. ‘Lady Daphne is the only one capable of managing the weekend with Miles, but she has so much on her hands, what with running Cavendon and five children underfoot. I personally would appreciate it if you would help him, Ceci.’
She thought now of the way she had tried to wriggle out of it, not liking the idea at all. She had muttered something about one of his other sisters being better at that job. But her aunt had batted her objections away with a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘There might be difficulties, Ceci, and we need someone strong like you. Someone who can be tough, if needs be.’
Well, she could be tough, she knew that. But mostly she would have to be tough with herself. And with Miles Ingham.
She had not had a conversation with him for the last six years. They’d spoken, the odd times they had run into each other, here at Cavendon, or waved, but that was all. Six years ago she had vowed never to let him near her again, and her aunt had nodded her approval when she had confided in Charlotte.
‘I’ll walk alone and devote myself to my career as a fashion designer,’ Cecily had said, and Charlotte had looked pleased, and relieved. Unexpectedly, Charlotte had asked her to help Miles out now, and it puzzled Cecily. Actually she had no choice.
Cecily sighed, and sat up straighter. She owed Charlotte Swann everything. It was her aunt who had backed her fashion business, presented her with her first shop in the Burlington Arcade, made her career possible. And it was Charlotte’s money which had originally funded the venture. They became business partners, and they still were, and worked extremely well together.
She trusts me to handle myself correctly, Cecily decided. She knows I won’t succumb to his charms, become involved with him on a personal level. She understands that the pain he caused me runs far too deep. Besides, she’s fully aware I’m devoted to my business, that it’s my life.
Standing up, Cecily walked out of the rose garden, and went on up the hill towards the house. She felt better. She could handle Miles Ingham. She wasn’t afraid of him. She wasn’t afraid of anyone, for that matter.
In the past six years she had learned to be truly independent, to stand on her own two feet, and to make her own decisions. Furthermore, she was a big success. Women loved her clothes; they bought them by the cartload. And not only in London, but in America as well. Already, she had made two trips to New York, and her name was well known on both sides of the Atlantic.
Miles had his problems. And so did Cavendon.
Her future was full of brightness and challenge, and – with a little luck – even more success. Miles Ingham was part of the past. Her eyes were focused on the future.
She would help him out this weekend, and then she would go back to London and get on with her work, and leave Miles to his own devices. There was no place in her life for him. She would never forget that day, six years ago, when he had told her he was getting married to another woman. He had broken her heart, and she would never forgive him.
Miles Ingham bent down, picked up the small pieces of cork, and placed them on the mantelshelf, next to the carriage clock. Only Miss Charlotte knew how to properly wedge them behind the two horse paintings by George Stubbs, so that they would not slip. She had been doing it for years, and no one else had managed to master the technique.
Turning, he walked over to his father’s desk and sat down, staring at the list he had made earlier. All were points he wanted to take up with Cecily, regarding the next few days.
Cecily Swann.
He longed to see her, to talk to her, to just be near her. And yet, at the same time, he dreaded it. For years she had been merely civil to him whenever they ran into each other here at Cavendon.
Her demeanour had been so remote, so cold, he had been unable to breach those icy walls she had erected around herself. She had frozen him out, and he fully understood why. He had hurt her immeasurably, and the hurt had never healed. It was an open wound.
This now presented a problem, since they did have to be cordial with each other for several days in order to carry off this unusual family reunion. He had realized, the other day, that he must come up with a modus operandi, and it had to be one she found acceptable.
Sighing to himself, he jumped up, suddenly overcome by nerves. He paced up and down the library, attempting to get a grip on his flaring emotions. She would be arriving at any moment, and he had no words ready, nothing formulated in his mind, no greeting prepared for her. He was also at a loss about the days ahead, and how they would manage them.
There had been a moment last week when he’d begun to wish his father hadn’t decided to invite the family home for a weekend visit.
On the other hand, there hadn’t been any parties or get-togethers at Cavendon for the longest time. Nothing to celebrate, what with the family’s money problems, the loss in the Great War of men who had worked their land, the scandal surrounding his mother, which they all tried to ignore. And then there was DeLacy’s worrying depression about her divorce, not to mention Hugo’s huge financial losses on the New York Stock Exchange.
And