What About Cecelia? (21 page)

She was in the barn consulting with her uncle
about an unprofitable cow. “I'm sorry uncle, but it's most likely
time to call for the butcher on this one. Even if she has another
calf, it won't be a good one. Why Mr. Andrews what brings you to
Rhossili?”

“Can we take a walk? I have something to ask
you.”

“Can't you ask me here?”

“No. It's personal, private, and for you
alone.”

Her uncle, having a good idea of what the curate
wanted to say, simply smiled, and then suggested that they go.
Cecelia obliged, “Where would you like to walk?”

“Where ever you would like.”

“My favorite walk, with the most romantic views,
is up on top of the down.”

“Then let's go there.”

Cecelia gave her hands a quick rinse in one of
the watering troughs and then sped off. Mr. Andrews hurried to stay
with her. She headed for the path to the top of the down via the
village. It was longer than trying to climb directly to the top of
the down from the vicarage. What it lost by being longer it made up
for with an easier grade. It only had a quarter mile of thirty-five
percent grade instead of what was almost a sheer cliff face. While
they were on the level, Mr. Andrews could just keep up with her.
Once they reached the grade he fell behind. When they reached the
steep part of the grade he had to stop and catch his breath. She
would stop, turn and shout to him, “Come on, Mr. Andrews, you're
falling behind!” To which he would look up at her, take in a few
deep breaths and try to catch up with the object of his
affections.

She was sitting on a boulder to the ocean side
of the path when he finally made it. “Well, we're here. What was it
that you wanted to say to me? Something that is so important and
private?”

He panted, “Let me catch my breath.” After a few
minutes of heavy breathing on his part, and calmly surveying the
channel on hers, he was ready.

“Miss Wood, dare I say Cecelia?”

“If you want, I'm not inclined to excessive
formality.”

“Cecelia, my love, my heart's own true
desire.”

Cecelia found herself the center of a man's
attention and declared interest. It was a decidedly awkward place
for her. Never having been the object of a marriage proposal, she
was unsure of what she should do. So she listened.

Mr. Andrews continued, “Ever since I met you I
have felt that we were destined to be partners in life. That we
were meant for each other.” He got down on one knee and held her
hand.

“Will you marry me?”

“I, I, don't know.”

“One word will make me the happiest man in the
world, and another, shorter word will leave me cast down
forever.”

“Oh, come on, Mr. Andrews, you will certainly
get over it if I say no.”

“No, not ever, my love for you is eternal, it
burns like the morning star, fair Adonis
^ix
.”

“Don't you mean Venus or Aphrodite?”

He stuttered in confusion, then continued, “Like
the morning star, fair Aphrodite.”

Cecelia thought for a moment. She had never
thought that she, like Jane, could be confronted with being engaged
in marriage without a true, deep, and abiding love. Mr. Andrews was
a nice, undemanding man. He'd be a comfortable husband, but it
would be a marriage without the passion that she felt about Captain
Wood.

“Mr. Andrews, I like and respect you very much.
I'm not sure that I love you. Can you give me time to think?”

“As much time as it takes, my love, as long as
the answer in the end is 'yes'.”

“I have to warn you that it might be 'no'.”

“As long as it isn't 'no' right now, I'll be
happy.”

“Mr. Andrews, my answer is, and must remain for
now, a definite 'maybe'.”

He was crestfallen, but accepted her answer.
They walked together back down to the vicarage.

As was usual for when he came to visit, Mr.
Andrews stayed for dinner. Cecelia was unusually quiet and didn't
participate in the conversations. Not that it was easy to notice
with the noise and distraction her nieces and nephews made. Mr.
Andrews and Mr. Hopkins tried to maintain an elevated and scholarly
conversation despite the high level of background noise.

At the end of dinner, Mrs. Hopkins called her
children and Cecelia away to let the men enjoy their theological
discussions. If those paled there was always the port and snuff.
She immediately pulled Cecelia away from the parlor and asked her.
“Cecelia, you were distracted all dinner, you hardly said a word,
what happened?”

“Mr. Andrews proposed to me.”

“Did you accept?”

“No, I said I'd have to think about it.”

“Good.”

“Why Aunt?”

“I don't think he's the right man for you.”

“Isn't that my decision?”

“Yes, but please don't rush into it.”

“He seems to think highly of me.”

“I know, that's why he's been visiting. Still
please don't accept him, at least not for a while.”

“Is there something you're not telling me?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“Well, yes there is something I'm not about to
tell you.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm your aunt. Your older and wiser
aunt.”

“You must tell me. Is it about Mr. Andrews? Is
there some terrible secret that I should know?”

“Well, no secrets. He's an honorable young man
as far as I know.” Here she paused, trying to think up a plausible
story that would satisfy her niece and not either get her hopes up
or depress them. “He's just a curate. Eventually he'll be a vicar
and maybe even a bishop. But right now you can't marry him, at
least not until he has secured a good living.”

“I was planning on writing my friend Sir Charles
Somerset to see if he had any livings at his disposal.”

“If you want to do that, fine, but don't commit
yourself to him until you hear he has one. It could be a very long
engagement, and those don't usually work well.”

“In truth, Aunt Hopwell, I wasn't planning on
accepting him. He seems a bit colorless. It's just how do I decline
without hurting his feelings? He was so helpful and is a nice
man.”

“I don't know, but maybe circumstances will
intervene.”

“Circumstances?”

“He could meet another young lady.”

“That would be best. Shouldn't we return to the
children? They'll be curious about our conversation, and might ask
the wrong question when Mr. Andrews and my uncle join us.”

In the morning, after they had broken their
fasts, Mr. Andrews asked Miss Wood if she could escort him to the
stables while he harnessed his horse to the gig. Her uncle declined
when she asked for his escort. On the way to the stables, Mr.
Andrews asked, “Did you think about what I asked you
yesterday?”

“I did.”

“Do you have an answer for me?”

“No.” He was shocked, “Did you mean an answer of
no? You might not get another proposal.”

“No, I meant I still don't have an answer. It's
still 'maybe'.”

“Is this what your aunt was discussing with you
while I was closeted with your uncle?”

“Some of it.”

“Can I ask what she told you?”

“You can, but I might not tell you.”

“What did she tell you? Was it to say no to
me?”

“No. She was reasonable and wanted me to be
reasonable as well. She told me to wait, to take my time to make my
decision, and that is what I will do.”

“It leaves me on tenterhooks. Please put me out
of my misery and say 'yes'.”

“I'm sorry, but I will follow my aunt's advice
on this matter. She wants me to make a reasoned rational decision.
I hope 'maybe' is better than 'no', because if I'm pressed too hard
I will say 'no'.”

“Then I won't press you. Please don't forget
me.”

“I won't.” She smiled at him, which caused his
heart to skip.

She helped place his horse between the thills of
his gig, and buckle it in. Then after a quick check to make sure
the carriage wasn't falling apart, Mr. Andrews was off. The duties
of his office at St. Marry's in Swansea were calling.

Back in Swansea, Captain Wood awoke with a
start. It was early in the morning. After a fitful and ultimately
fruitless attempt to return to sleep, he pushed Heulwen off his
bed, rose and called for his valet.

“Meadows, we might as well get going.”

“Didn't you promise not to arrive in Rhossili
until the afternoon, sir?”

“I did. That does not mean we have to wait here.
This place is oppressive. I thought we might drive partway to
Rhossili and wait there.”

“I see, sir. Get away from the city.”

“Absolutely. I don't want any oversensitive town
watchman to throw me in the damned bridewell again, or to have
Heulwen run off.”

“Sir, I'm sure that won't happen.”

“It's a fifteen mile drive, what if the horse
goes lame or the gig breaks? If I'm halfway there I can walk the
rest if I start in the middle of the day.”

“Sir, these are unlikely contingencies. I will
bring you your morning water in a short time, and you can get ready
when you wish. If you don't feel steady enough to shave, I would be
happy to aid you.”

“Fine, but on your way pass the word to our
groom. We need to hire the gig and be ready to go.”

“I'm sure he has seen to it, sir. You told him
several times last evening. However, I will remind him.”

“Thank you.”

Under Meadows calming influence, Captain Wood
was able to sit and eat a breakfast. He stamped impatiently while
his groom brought the gig he had hired to the inn. He walked around
it, and after a thorough inspection decided that it would do. Then
he asked Meadows to join Heulwen and him on it.

“Sir? Shouldn't you bring John instead of
me?”

“No. I may need your advice, and if you're here
what good is it? Besides Heulwen likes you better than him.”

“Thank you for your confidence, sir. However, I
anticipate no such circumstance should arise.”

“Never the less, I'd rather have you nearby.”
With that he shook the reins and started out of Swansea to the
west. An hour later, he pulled into the King's inn in
Reynoldston.

“I think we will wait here.” Heulwen wagged her
tail, signaling her approval of the idea.

“It does appear to be a clement and inviting
location, sir. With a fair prospect to entertain the eyes.”

“I suppose, you haven't dealt with arranging
stabling for a gig, have you?

“I'm sorry to say, sir, that is beyond my
experience. I could endeavor to give you satisfaction.”

“I'll do it. Keep a hold of Heulwen, will you?
Can you order a pint for me, and one for yourself if you wish? We
can wait out here.”

“Yes, sir.”

They were sitting outside of the inn, enjoying
their pints in the fresh morning air, when a gig pulled up in
front. It was Mr. Andrews. The climb from Reynoldston to the
commons above was short and steep. This made the King's inn a
convenient place to stop and rest the horse before it had a hard
exertion. He noticed Captain Wood and frostily tipped his hat,
“Captain Wood, I presume.”

“Yes, I'm sorry I don't quite remember your
name. Are you the curate from St. Mary's?”

“Mr. Andrews, yes.”

Captain Wood touched his hat to return the
greeting, “Mr. Andrews, then.”

“May I ask what you are doing in
Reynoldston?”

“I'm on my way to Rhossili.”

The curate started, then asked, “So you've
located Miss Wood?”

“I hope so.”

“I'll have you know I've proposed to her.”

“Did she accept you?”

“Not yet, but she will.”

“Maybe. I suggest you talk with your vicar when
you get back to St. Mary's. Give him my regards.”

Mr. Andrews demanded, “Did he tell you where she
was?”

“No, I found out myself. I told him I found her,
and we had a nice chat.”

“Damn. I wish I weren't a man of the cloth right
now. I'd call you out.”

“And I'd refuse to accept. I've had enough of
fighting to last my entire life.” Captain Wood offered his hand to
Mr. Andrews. Eventually the curate accepted it.

After the curate drove off, Captain Wood told
Meadows that it was time to go. He retrieved the gig, called
Heulwen to it and started to Rhossili. Despite being a 'sais' and
therefor a foreign nuisance, he was able to find his way to it.

Captain Wood stopped his gig in the village of
Rhossili. It was a small place, little more than a few houses at
the end of the road. Still, if you didn't know where the vicarage
was, it was large enough. After asking directions from several of
the inhabitants, he finally found one willing to tell this 'Sais'
how to find the vicarage. He turned his gig down the long lane that
lead to a small white house at the end. The down towered above him
to the right, while the bay swept along below a steep fall to the
left. Even though it was a sunny mid-afternoon, a chill sea-breeze
made them both glad of their cloaks.

As they pulled into the yard he said, “Well,
Meadows, this is it. I hope we haven't been misled.”

“Surely not sir. Notice that Heulwen is getting
excited.”

“That's true.” He stopped in the yard,
dismounted and tied the reins to a post. Heulwen leaped from the
gig and shot off on an errand of her own. Then he knocked on the
door, with his heart thumping in his throat. The door opened and a
distinguished looking woman in her mid-thirties opened it.

“Captain Wood, I presume. I wondered how long it
would take you to find us.”

“Didn't I ask you for directions in Swansea
yesterday?”

“I think you did. Who is your companion?”

“My man Meadows. Is Miss Wood here?”

“I'm afraid she's out. Probably traipsing about
the down and reading poetry. We picked up a book of it at the
library yesterday.”

“I know. Byron, wasn't it?”

“Thorough, aren't you? Why don't you come inside
and wait in comfort. There is much we should discuss, and I'd like
to get to know you better. Especially if we are to be related.”