Barbara Bradford - The Cavendon Women

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 what a mess his own life was. Miles was acutely aware that he had no life, actually. He had grown to detest Clarissa, who, he had swiftly understood, was dense beyond words, a spendthrift whose only conversation was about clothes, cosmetics and jewels. All of which bored him. And she was a gossip. She loved to talk about her friends, and she wasn’t always nice about them. He despised her for her mean comments about other women.

He had also come to dislike her father, Lord Meldrew. He overindulged his only child, giving Clarissa anything her heart desired. That in itself had created a rift between them; he loathed spoiled women, and she was particularly greedy.

Miles had long accepted that he was saddled with a dud of a wife; and, worst of all, one who had been unable to conceive.

He was still without that much-longed-for heir. Not only had she proved to be barren but, much to his dismay, she had soon developed an aversion to Cavendon Hall, and would not come to Yorkshire.

‘Not a country girl at heart,’ she had informed him, fairly early on in their marriage. What marriage? he now wondered, and strode over to the window, gazing out across the terrace, looking towards the park.

A moment later he stiffened. Cecily was coming up the terrace steps and every thought in his head fled. He felt as if he had a tight band around his chest, and for a moment he could hardly breathe. Then he swallowed, took firm hold of his emotions, and went to open the terrace doors.

He was stunned by her loveliness as she came towards him: the richness of her luxuriant hair with its russet lights, her ivory skin, her smoky-grey lavender eyes, which told the world she was a Swann born and bred. They all had those eyes.

Cecily was wearing a white dress, trimmed and belted in navy blue, and yet it was loose, casual, the silk skirt floating around her long legs.

Finding his voice, he said, ‘Hello, Cecily.’ His heart was pounding in his chest and he was genuinely surprised that his voice wasn’t shaking. To his relief, he sounded quite normal. ‘Thank you for coming.’

She simply nodded, and took hold of his outstretched hand. Shaking it, she dropped it instantly, and stepped back. Giving him a cool glance, she murmured, ‘I hope this weather lasts for the next few days.’ Her voice was soft, calm.

‘Yes, so do I,’ he agreed, and was then unexpectedly tongue-tied. Putting one hand under her elbow, he ushered her across the terrace, into the library, and closed the door behind them.

Cecily immediately gravitated to the fireplace, as almost everyone usually did. This room was always cold, even in the summer months.

‘I want to apologize,’ Miles announced, as he quickly followed her across the room.

‘What for?’ she asked a little sharply.

‘Being remiss … never congratulating you over the last six years. For your fantastic success as a fashion designer, I mean. You’ve done so well, wonderfully well, and I want you to know how thrilled I am about that. And I’m very proud of you.’ Miles cleared his throat, added, ‘I did attempt to write to you, but every time I started a letter, I threw it away. I couldn’t quite get the words right. And, anyway, I thought a letter from me might annoy you.’

‘Yes, it might have done, under the circumstances.’

Cecily sat down in a chair near the fire. As she settled herself, straightening the skirt of her dress, she couldn’t help thinking that Miles didn’t look well. He had lost weight, and there was a curious gauntness about him, as well as an aura of sadness. This was particularly apparent in his blue eyes, and she felt for him, knew he’d had a hard time.

Following her lead, he went over to the sofa and seated himself opposite her. In a low voice, he said, ‘I have a list of things I’d like to go over with you, about Saturday and Sunday, but first I need to discuss something else.’

Cecily’s eyes were focused on him, and she nodded. ‘Please, tell me what’s on your mind.’

‘It’s about our attitude towards one another. We’ve been civil when we’ve run into each other over the years. But that’s all. And I do understand why. However, it’s going to be a bit awkward for the next few days, if we’re unfriendly, especially in front of the family. Don’t you agree?’