The Reluctant Husband by Madeleine Conway Page B

the more you have the men swarming round you. Wasps at a jam pot.” The older woman poured clean water over her charge’s head, and Cecilia came up for air, spluttering and giggling.
    â€œIsn’t it a joke, dear Marston? And all due to you and Aunt Letty. I’d be the frumpiest woman in England even now if you hadn’t taken me in hand.” She stood and pulled a towel about her, stepping gracefully from the bath and sitting so that Marston could dry out the wet mass of curls dripping down her back. Combing out the tangles took time, but Marston was patient and gentle.
    â€œGood bones and fine skin will out. Given time, your mademoiselle would have ensured that you were dressed as befits a young lady.”
    â€œPerhaps.” Cecilia went into a reverie as Marston eased the comb through the knots and snarls in her dark hair. She thought back to the days following her return to Sawards after her marriage to Ormiston. Reggie and Amelia had come out to greet Marchmont’s carriage, but once Cecilia had given them each a brief hug, she had retreated to her room. Despite the best efforts of Marchmont, Lavauden, and her brother and sister, Cecilia had come back from London subdued and remained withdrawn from her family. She would rush through her lessons and then disappear on long walks or rides, missing lunch and even dinner, scavenging odds and ends from the kitchen, nibbling at one of the carrots or apples she intended to feed to her horse. It was as though she could not bear company at all, and she refused entirely to mingle with her former friends in the neighborhood. When she did return to the house, she would lavish affection on her brother and sister, but she would no longer join in their games and mischief.
    The weather that summer had been sultry. The air grew dense and sticky, clouds rolled across the horizon without breaking, and Cecilia continued to ride at breakneck speed through the forests and across the fields, determined to rid herself of the echo of Ormiston’s harsh words. Finally, one afternoon as Cecilia rode along the ridge way above Sawards, the skies darkened to a surly charcoal, thunder rolled around the valley, sheets of lightning shook the hillsides, and the first great gouts of water fell on parched land. Ceci raised her face to the skies and let the water rinse away the hurt and shame she felt. She headed for home.
    Although the head groom would not allow her out on a horse again that week, Ceci contrived to escape the confines of the house whenever a storm broke and to return soaked and shivering.
    Physically run-down, heartsick, her lapse into a fever which deepened until she was no longer conscious was inevitable. She remembered little of that time: just a haze of aching limbs and cold compresses and then the robust voice of Aunt Letty, saying, “You’ve given us all a fright, my girl, but there’s no need to milk it quite to death’s door.”
    Marriage to a naval captain had removed Letitia Marchmont from her family sphere for many years, but now that young Ketley had achieved fame, fortune, and the rank of admiral, their peregrinations were less frequent and she was able to reacquaint herself with her brother’s family at Sawards. She had reencountered the haunts of her youth to find the place in uproar, Marchmont and his two children in high agitation, the French governess close to exhaustion from watching over Cecilia’s bedside, and her eldest niece afflicted with pneumonia. Slim, languid, and prone to sarcasm in regular life, in an emergency Letitia Ketley displayed energy, dependability, and stalwart good sense.
    The Ketleys’ union had not been blessed with offspring. While this had allowed Lady Ketley to accompany her husband on his voyages, it was a source of some disappointment. Seeing the need for feminine guidance at Sawards, Letty installed herself with enthusiasm, which was further galvanized when her brother reluctantly