A Gentleman's Daughter: Her Choice by Reina M. Williams Read Free Book Online

spring day. His voice as he spoke to her mother coiled around her, a warm, silken restraint. She chafed her arms.
    “Are you chilled, Miss Wilcox?” he asked.
    “No, thank you,” she said.
    Dinner was announced and he offered to escort her. Curving her hand under his sturdy arm, an unsettling heat tingled from her stomach. Anger, that’s what the unfamiliar sensation must be. He was an infuriatingly correct and arrogant man, as he’d proven on their first meeting. They proceeded downstairs to the dining room. The elaborate dishes and service à la russe, wherein the guests were served from the sideboard instead of the food being placed on the table, did nothing to ease Cecilia’s jittery nerves.
    Yet at least she was seated next to Mr. Thornhill, who proved the most companionable person in the room. Of course, that did not say much, considering the company. He was attentive to her, but did not press her to converse, probably sensing she had rather not. Instead, he participated in the general talk. They were a small party but even still Cecilia’s thoughts strayed, too often to Mr. Cateret. He would no doubt provide ample entertainment from such as these. Mr. Thornhill probably never teased or mocked, though truly, when she chose to admit it, that made him more of a gentleman than Mr. Cateret. 
    “When will Miss Taylor to town?” Mrs. Wilcox asked.
    “Oh, she should have been here already, but a particular gentleman desired her to continue in the neighborhood.” Mrs. Taylor tittered. “Perhaps they will both join us soon.”
    Her mother, aunt, cousin, and Mr. Treacle each made exclamations of pleasure at the prospect. Smirking, her mother glanced at her. Cecilia gripped her napkin. Surely ‘Ret was not so fickle as that, surely he was not calling on Miss Taylor. Either she was a fool or…whatever the truth, she had misjudged.
    “Are you well?” Mr. Thornhill inquired in a low aside.
    “Yes, thank you. I am not used to such rich food and drink,” Cecilia said, though she had not had any wine nor eaten much of the white soup, pastry encrusted fish, or shaped gelatins and mousses presented from the kitchen where her aunt’s French chef presided.
    “I understand,” he said.
    She met his eyes, which flashed, his mouth curved in a suppressed smile. Cecilia stared at her plate lest she giggle. Perhaps he too found their companions tiresome. She stole a glance at him, but he had turned his attention to her aunt, who sat on his other side.
    “Will Lord Nefton and his daughter join you soon?” Aunt Higham said.
    “I have not heard from either in over a month’s time. They travelled to Ireland in March. I am unsure of their arrival.” His tone left her aunt little choice but to change tactics. Whatever she might think of her aunt, Cecilia knew her to be polite and astute. As Mr. Thornhill must be, to see her aunt’s question for what it most likely was: a broad hint at her introduction to the esteemed peer. Cecilia’s father had mentioned Lord Nefton a time or two as being among the more level-headed of his class.
    “Ladies, shall we leave the men to their port?” her aunt said.
    Cecilia rose. She’d wager Mr. Thornhill would be in the drawing room within a quarter hour. Smiling, she followed the other women out. Already Mr. Treacle and Mr. Taylor competed over who had the most trying tailor while Mr. Borden bemoaned the lack of decent valets for hire. She glanced back at Mr. Thornhill, who stood and walked to the sideboard. Perhaps she was wrong. He might get too far in his cups to mount the stairs again. She hurried out before she would be missed. 

 
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Four
     
    C ecilia sat on the well-stuffed sofa by the pianoforte, attempting to concentrate on her embroidery. No doubt her mama wished her to appear proficient in the domestic arts, though as far as Cecilia could gather, this was not an attribute most men searched for in a wife. Not any man she would wish to marry. The men