Cavendon Hall Part 35

Part Five.

A MATTER OF CHOICE.

September 1920.

And so it began: the most relentless pursuit of success and fame ever embarked upon, the most grinding and merciless work schedule ever conceived and willingly undertaken by a young woman.

-Emma Harte: A Woman of Substance.

Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.

Remember me when no more, day by day, You tell me of our future that you planned.

Only remember me; you understand It will be late to counsel then or plan.

-Christina Rossetti.

Fifty-seven.

The evening gown was breathtaking. It was made of different shades of blue chiffon, from indigo to delphinium, cornflower to sky blue, and a final grayish-blue tone that emphasized the vivid blueness of the other shades. From a molded bodice and a tight waist were layered petals of chiffon, which fell down to mid-calf length. And each petal had a handkerchief point.

Dorothy Swann Pinkerton, Cecily's aunt, kept nodding her head and beaming. Finally, she said, "It's extraordinary, Ceci, a dream of a dress. You've outdone yourself."

Cecily nodded, looking pleased, and said, "Thank you." She then turned to DeLacy. "You look so beautiful, Lacy, you really do. And I'm glad I had the shoes dyed sky blue, because they look so ... light, as light as air."

"I can't thank you enough for making something so special for me, Ceci. You're a genius."

"I don't know about that, but I know what suits women, and you in particular."

At nineteen Lady DeLacy Ingham was a ravishing blonde, effervescent and slightly scatterbrained. She was fun-loving and forever rushing around Mayfair, caught up in the social whirl of London society, eyeing the young men and flirting with them.

Her best friend, Cecily Swann, who was also nineteen, was now a blossoming fashion designer with a tiny shop in South Audley Street. She was serious, hardworking to the point of obsession, driven by enormous ambition to succeed and to fulfill her childhood dream. She was sincere and loyal; honesty and integrity were the keynotes of her character.

"Wherever it is you're going on Friday, m'lady, you'll be the belle of the ball," Dorothy said.

"Thank you, Dorothy, but it's not a ball. I'm going to Miles's engagement party."

Cecily stared at DeLacy, unable to believe what she was hearing. But DeLacy sounded serious and Cecily knew it must be true. An icy chill swept through her and unexpectedly she began to shake. She took a step closer to the chair and held on to it in order to steady herself; her legs had turned to jelly. It wasn't possible! How could Miles be engaged? He was hers, and she was his, and they belonged to each other. Vaguely, in the distance, she heard her aunt asking who the lucky young woman was.

"Clarissa Meldrew," DeLacy answered, and grinned at Cecily. "Don't you remember, we all used to call her Mildew."

Cecily did not respond. She could not. Her mouth was dry and her throat was choked with sobs.

Dorothy noticed Cecily had gone as white as chalk and looked stricken, and for a moment she didn't know what to do, what to say. How stupid DeLacy had been, to blurt something out like that, and so bluntly, thoughtlessly!

Something suddenly dawned on DeLacy, and she cried, "You didn't know! Miles didn't tell you! Oh my G.o.d, Cecily. I'm so sorry I was the one to break this news. I can see you're ... a bit upset."

"No, he didn't tell me," Cecily managed to say in a low, tight voice. After a moment, she added, "He asked me to marry him."

DeLacy stared at her. "You mean when you were all of twelve. Am I not correct?"

Cecily nodded. Then added in a whisper, "And also not too long ago."

DeLacy was shaking her head. "Whatever made you think he could marry you, Ceci? He's the heir to the earldom. He has to marry an aristocrat, not an ordinary girl like you. He has to have aristocratic children to carry on the Ingham line."

Cecily stood there without saying a word. Her heart had turned to ice, and she was frozen in the spot where she stood, unable to move.

Dorothy Swann Pinkerton was in a fury, but she did not want to upset Cecily further. So she held her tongue, and gave Lady DeLacy her hand, helped her step down from the platform. "I think you should change into your own clothes, m'lady. I will pack the gown and the shoes, and then you can be off. We're closing in about ten minutes. I don't mean to rush you, but we have an appointment on the outside, you see."

"Oh yes, of course, Dorothy. And perhaps you'll be kind enough to send the dress by messenger."

"Oh dear, Lady DeLacy, Tim has left our employment. We don't have a messenger boy at the moment. I'm afraid you will have to carry the box yourself."

A few minutes later, Dorothy was ushering DeLacy out of the shop. On the doorstep DeLacy swung around, and waved. "See you later, Ceci. And thanks again for the gorgeous frock."

In the street Dorothy flagged down a taxi, opened the door, helped DeLacy into it, and then shoved the box in after her. She gave her a cold smile, and slammed the cab door very hard.

Once she was inside the shop again, Dorothy locked the door, and went to Cecily, who still stood next to the chair, hanging on to it to steady herself, looking as if she was on the verge of fainting.

"Are you all right, lovey?" Dorothy asked, knowing full well that she wasn't. "Sit down, and I'll make us a cup of tea."

Cecily shook her head. "I'll be all right in a few minutes, I really will. Don't bother with the tea."

"I'm going to tidy up. I'll send Flossie home, and then we'll go to our appointment with Charlotte."

"Yes," Cecily said automatically, but she looked as if she wasn't listening. And she wasn't.

A little later there was a loud knocking on the door. Cecily managed to rouse herself from the chair. She went to open the front door, and found Miles standing there. "h.e.l.lo, Ceci," he said, and walked inside before she could stop him.

Dorothy had heard the knocking and came out from the small sewing room behind the fitting area. When she saw Miles she nodded to him, then turned around and fled.

Miles attempted to take hold of her arm, but Cecily shrugged him off and stood staring at him. "When were you going to tell me?"

He knew what she meant. Immediately he said, "Today. That's why I'm here. I was going to ask you to come out for tea. I needed to talk to you about my problems." His eyes swept over her and he was not only aware she knew, but that she was hurt beyond belief.

"Who told you?" he asked, leaning against the chair.

"DeLacy. But that doesn't matter. What matters is that you didn't tell me, Miles."

"Look, Ceci, this was forced on me. I know you might not believe me, but it was. I can't help it. I suppose it comes with being who I am. But I didn't want this-" Quite unexpectedly his voice broke, and he began to blink rapidly.

She saw the tears in his eyes, and looked away, so that he wouldn't see that she was crying.

"There has to be a way we can work something out-"

"Never!" she shouted, cutting him off. "I will not become your mistress."

"I wasn't going to suggest that. I wasn't, Ceci. I love you. I've always loved you, and I could never demean you. I was thinking that maybe, after a few years, once I've got an heir, I could leave. Get a divorce-"

"You know that's not going to happen. Don't be stupid, it won't. Miles, if you do love me, as you say, then you must leave now. Immediately. I just can't continue this conversation. Please do that for me. Walk out and let me keep my dignity."

It was almost impossible for him to leave her. It was like tearing a limb off. But he did. He didn't say another word, nor did he try to touch her or embrace her. He walked out of the shop and closed the door behind him very quietly.

Although she did not know it, he half stumbled along South Audley Street, like a man deranged, tears streaming from his eyes as he made for his father's house in Grosvenor Square. He let himself inside with his key and got to his room without anyone seeing him.

Locking his bedroom door, Miles threw himself onto the bed. He howled into his pillow, trying to smother his sobs. He had just given up the only person in this world who truly mattered to him, other than his father. The only woman he had ever loved, and whom he would love for the rest of his life. He knew he was entering a loveless marriage and he dreaded it. But he had been brought up to do his duty to the family. There was no way out.

As he lay there on his bed, his face pushed into the pillow, he experienced genuine physical pain. The pain of losing Cecily Swann was actually something he could feel in his bones. And he knew it would never leave him, that aching yearning, that longing for her. It would remain with him for the rest of his life.

Fifty-eight.

Cecily had managed to regain her equilibrium somewhat, and she and Dorothy agreed to walk to Burlington Arcade in Piccadilly. They were meeting Charlotte there at five o'clock, and it was Dorothy who had suggested they walk. She explained that fresh air would do them both good, and most especially Cecily.

"Where are we actually meeting Charlotte?" Cecily asked as they walked into the arcade from the Piccadilly entrance.

"Just a bit further along. Not far. She wants you to see some special windows. Windows she thought might interest you."

"Oh all right, why not," Cecily replied, endeavoring to get the image of Miles out of her head without success.

"Here we are," Dorothy suddenly exclaimed, sounding excited. She took hold of Cecily's arm and led her to the double-fronted large shop, which had two windows, one on either side of the door.

"Just look at this, isn't it chic?" Dorothy murmured. Drawing Cecily to the left window, she added, "Less is more." In the window was a simple French ballroom chair on which sat a hat ... a bit of nothing, a frou-frou. Black lace and a black flower. In the second window on the right, a mannequin was draped with yards of scarlet silk which fell in a pool on the floor of the window. Next to this pool of fabric was a pair of scarlet shoes.

"There's nothing valuable in the windows, I realize that, but they're certainly striking," Cecily said, studying both of them, intrigued.

"I agree," Dorothy answered, and went on. "Look up, lift your head."

Cecily did so and gasped. "Oh Dorothy! Oh my goodness!"

Written in white across the black name board above the door and windows was a name. CECILY SWANN. Also in white paint, and at each end of her name, was a white swan. They faced each other.

The door of the shop opened and Charlotte was standing there, smiling hugely. "Do you like it, Ceci?" she asked, taking hold of her hand, drawing her inside the shop.

"How could I not? And it's such a huge surprise, Aunt Charlotte. When ever did you do all this?"

"I did it over the past few months. I wanted it to be a surprise. That's why only Dorothy knew. She helped me tremendously, and as of tomorrow, she will be running the shop for you. And you'll be upstairs in your studio, designing."

"Thank you, Aunt Charlotte, thank you so much, and you too, Dorothy." Cecily kept shaking her head in disbelief as they walked her around the shop. It was huge, much larger than her other tiny shop, a hole in the wall really. The new premises had two dressing rooms, a fitting area, plenty of storage s.p.a.ce in the bas.e.m.e.nt for fabrics, plus the studio upstairs and a small office.

When they came downstairs again, Dorothy said, "I'd better be going, Charlotte, Cecily. I have to get home to make Howard's dinner. But we would like to invite you both to supper tomorrow, take you out to celebrate the launch of Cecily Swann Couture."

"That would be lovely, thank you," Charlotte said.

"Thank you," Cecily added, offering a smile.

Dorothy hugged Cecily, and whispered, "Chin up, there's a big wide world out there."

As she left the new shop, Dorothy looked back and caught Charlotte's eye. Charlotte understood at once that Dorothy wanted to speak to her privately, and followed her to the door. Cecily noticed this unspoken communication between them, but made no comment. Dorothy was obviously about to tell her about Miles as they walked into the arcade together.

"Dorothy told me that you've been upset today. By the Inghams. Both DeLacy and Miles. Please tell me about it." Charlotte sat back in the chair, in the sitting room of her suite at Brown's Hotel. She smiled at Cecily warmly, wanting to encourage her.

"DeLacy blurted out that the dress I'd designed for her was to wear at Miles's engagement party. And I was shocked, distressed."

"You didn't know he'd become engaged?"

"No, I didn't. I haven't seen a lot of DeLacy. I work and she plays. We're still close friends, and as you know she insisted on lending me money for the hole in the wall. But right now we have slightly different interests. There'd been no occasion for her to tell me."

"I understand. And Miles didn't tell you either?"

Cecily shook her head, suddenly unable to speak. She thought she was about to burst into tears, struggled not to cry.

Charlotte stood up and walked over to the window, where she looked out at Green Park. The most terrible thought had just occurred to her and she was frightened ... frightened for Cecily. Had she been seeing Miles all these years she'd been living in London with Dorothy and Howard? Five years. Since she was fourteen. Working at Fortnum's in Dorothy's fashion department at first, then in the little pokey place she had rented with DeLacy's help.

Miles had been at Eton, not so very far from London. And Oxford wasn't very far either. How easy it would have been for them to meet and become romantically entangled with each other. Oh G.o.d, I hope not, Charlotte thought, her heart sinking, and returned to the chair.

As she sat down she looked at Cecily and saw the tears streaming down her face, and she was startled. The stricken look on her face and the tears told her everything she needed to know.

Rising, she went to sit next to Cecily on the sofa, and gave her a handkerchief.

Cecily wiped her tears, and eventually she stopped crying.

She forced a smile, and said, "I'm sorry, Aunt Charlotte, I didn't mean to break down like that."

"That's all right. I understand. At least I think I do." Charlotte sat for a moment, and then she said in a soft voice, "You're in love with Miles, aren't you?"

Cecily's mouth trembled, and the tiny "Yes" she uttered was so filled with anguish it tore at Charlotte's heart. She took hold of her hand, and held it tightly in hers. "You've been seeing him, haven't you? All these years you've lived with Dorothy?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"He's in love with you, isn't he?" Charlotte wondered why she'd asked. Obviously he was ... he was an Ingham.