In return Hetty was regaled with a detailed account of the ups and downs of their affair, which each time kept her agog until the next halt.
Renzi was annoyingly quiet, seemingly content to contemplate the passing country.
They stayed the night in Trowbridge but at the evening repast Renzi would say nothing of what the next day would bring.
Early the next morning they set out at a brisk clip, the soft chalk downlands passing agreeably by.
“How far now, Nicholas?”
“Above an hour, I believe.”
They went on in silence until they drew up at a modest inn. “We’ll rest here a space before the last stage,” Renzi announced.
The ladies took their leave to make themselves respectable while a discreet note was passed to the innkeeper, who hurried away.
They boarded once more, and in a short while, they swung into a long, curving drive.
“Oh, Nicholas!” Cecilia cried. “A noble’s mansion! Is this why you haven’t told me about your family? You silly billy-to be in service to one as high as this is a great honour indeed. You’ve no need to hide it from me.”
She watched breathlessly from the window of the coach, then suddenly spotted what was going on. “Nicholas-quick! They’re expecting someone. All the staff, they’re coming out and lining up. Oh, dear, we’re going to be in the way. Tell the coachman to go back!”
Renzi didn’t answer, gazing absently as they drew nearer until the carriage ground grittily to a halt at the foot of the steps before the grand entrance.
“Nicholas!” she hissed, in anguish. “We can’t … Please, we’ll be making a spectacle of ourselves.”
A bewigged footman in green and gold arrived to assist them down. Cecilia stood helpless, gazing anxiously at the long line of staff in front of the stately magnificence.
And in the centre a lone figure, waiting.
Renzi moved forward, and as one, the line curtsied and bowed. “Nicholas!” she gasped in consternation. “They think we’re someone else.”
He still said nothing, leading them on towards the figure at the top of the steps, watched in silence by a hundred or more.
Struck dumb with confusion, Cecilia followed until they reached the top.
Renzi bowed. “May I present Miss Cecilia Kydd and Miss Hetty Panton?”
Cecilia curtsied with as much grace as she could find, unable to face the keen glance of the great lady standing there.
“Miss Kydd,” Renzi said quietly, “this is the Dowager Countess Farndon of Eskdale Hall. My mother.”
She looked up suddenly, struck dumb. Then the significance of the black veil and shawl penetrated her numbed mind.
“If her ladyship is …”
“Yes,” Renzi said gently. “You see, I am now the Right Honourable Lord Farndon, and this is my seat.”
After the shocked ladies had been ushered away to rest after their journey, Renzi walked with his mother into the blue drawing room.
“Dear Nicholas, it is so good to see you. May we indeed believe you are now returned to us?”
“You may, Mama.”
“To take up your title and inheritance-to assume your duties and ancient obligations in line of succession?”
He straightened and faced her gravely. “This I will do, Mother-you have my solemn promise.”
She took his hands, and there was a glitter in her eyes as she murmured, “You have no idea how happy you have made me, my son.”
They stood for a long moment together until she let go his hands and said, with just a hint of curiosity in her voice as they took their chairs, “I do hope your guests enjoy their stay.”
There was no point in delaying the inevitable and Renzi braced himself. “Mother, Miss Cecilia Kydd has accepted my proposal of marriage. I bring her here for your blessing.”
At first he feared she hadn’t heard but then she spoke, calmly but with determination. “My child, I find this difficult to follow. Am I to understand you have given a form of betrothal to a-a commoner? With all the noble families of England more than happy to make a connection with ours? Others may well reckon it a rash and imprudent act-but fortunately it is not too late.”
“Mama, I pledged my troth.”
“Yes, dear. And now we have to do what we must to remedy the situation.”
“I’ve given her my word, Mama.”
“I’m sure you meant it, dear. Now, not to drag it on unnecessarily, what amount would you say would satisfy, that would see her departure in good grace?”
“Mama, I told you, we are engaged to be married.”
“You are saying she is in a certain condition that requires a hasty arrangement.” The countess sighed. “This brings complications, it’s true, but nothing that cannot be attended to with a favourable outcome to both parties. It is not unknown that-”
“Mama,” Renzi said, with increasing feeling. “Listen to me!”
He waited until he had her full attention, then spoke with a forcefulness and intensity that was unstoppable. “Know that my heart is entirely lost to the woman. There is no one-none-in this mortal existence that I would otherwise contemplate in a life’s union.
“I love her, Mama. I love Cecilia with all my heart and soul, and before God I say I will marry her!”
The dowager stood up with great dignity and moved to the mantelpiece, fingering its ornate marble carvings. “I see,” she replied, after some moments, clearly taken aback by the fervour and sincerity of his declaration. “Yet I cannot believe you have reflected fully on the consequences.”
Renzi stood, but said nothing, returning her gaze with defiance.
“A belted earl marrying beneath him to such a degree-it will be a scandal. All will ask why this must be, and will not fail to suggest good reasons to this end.”
“I care not for-”
“But you must in your position, my dear. What if-”
“Mother, it is done. I will not retract. It must be Cecilia or none. Do you not see this?”
A faint smile eventually came. “I believe that indeed you truly love her.”
The smile warmed. “And for that how can I not give my blessing? Marry your Cecilia and I will rejoice for you both.”
Renzi took her hand and kissed it. “Thank you, Mama-thank you.”
“Society will howl, but what is that against the joining of two lovers in blessed happiness?”
“You will love her, too, Mama. She has qualities of … gentility and politeness above her station, and her practicality in matters …”
They finally reached the woods at the edge of the estate. Walking together as in a dream, the two stopped and held hands, looking into each other’s eyes. “Cecilia, my darling love. There’s something I must know,” he said tenderly, but with an edge of seriousness.
“Nicholas?” she answered softly.
“It will affect our marriage, our life together, and I must have an answer.”
She hesitated. “What is it, my dearest?”
He looked at her with an odd expression. “You gave your heart to one Nicholas Renzi. Can you find it in you to love the Lord Farndon at all?”
She smiled playfully. “Nicholas, I fell in love with Mr Renzi and he it is who has secured my entire devotion. If Lord Farndon lays siege to my affections he will have to woo me with yet greater ardour.”
They kissed, long and tenderly.
“My darling, there is-”
“Sweetheart, I-”
“You first, my dear Cecilia.”
“You have precedence, my lord.”
“Then in the matter of our nuptials, dear love. At our station even St Paul’s Cathedral is available to us in a great affair of moment and ceremony. Yet I feel it … improper to indulge in pomp and display while the family is in mourning. Can you … ?”
“Nicholas, it is what I would wish. My father is old and frail and could not possibly endure the strain. And my mother would …”
Unspoken was the fact that the Kydds would be wildly out of their depth in such grandeur and would know it. Cecilia, after years as lady companion to a marchioness, was not unfamiliar with society-but there could be no question of exposing her family to ridicule.