“Oh. Cannot it wait, Nicholas?”
“I rather think not, Mama. I desire to quit such an existence without detail to be dealt with later.”
“Then do go, my son. I can understand you wish to leave nothing that can cause awkwardness later. When do you think … ?”
Renzi twitched his neck-cloth and settled the sleeves of his plain brown coat: there hadn’t been time to get the tailor to work but he’d managed a pair of more formal breeches and stockings in place of his faded pantaloons. It would have to do: time pressed.
He stepped out of the Angel into the street. No one noticed him as he strode through the Tunsgate market up to School Lane, so named by the citizens of Guildford in honour of the successful establishment run on naval lines by the Kydd family.
It came into view but it was different now. This time he was controlled, calm and knew what he must do.
At the door he drew himself erect, took a breath-and knocked three times.
“Oh! Mr Renzi,” the maid said faintly. “Ma’am,” she called anxiously. “It’s Mr Renzi. Are you at home?”
There was movement and voices-then Kydd himself came to the door.
“Nicholas!” he spluttered. “Where in Hades have you been?”
“I am here, as you may observe. Am I to be allowed to come in at all?”
“Damn it, and you’ve some explaining to do.”
“Inside?”
They went to the drawing room. Cecilia rose guardedly. “Why, Nicholas! It’s been such a horribly long time …”
She tailed off at his stiff bow.
Kydd bristled and threw Renzi a dark look.
Cecilia looked at both men in turn: what was passing between them? They’d always been such true friends.
Renzi’s face was set as he turned to Kydd. “There is something that Cecilia should know. I would be obliged if you would allow us the privacy.”
Kydd hesitated. Then, throwing a warning glance at Renzi, he left the room.
Cecilia sat rigid, her eyes wide.
“I should tell you, Miss Kydd, that my business in London proceeded well.”
She went pale at the distancing. Had she been wrong to hope all these years?
“You will know that my situation and fortunes have until now not been favourable.”
“Yes, Mr Renzi,” she murmured, picking up on his formality. “But it does not-”
“Now they have improved to the point where I believe that decisions must be made.”
“I see …”
“That bear so on the future. Miss Kydd, I have to tell you that I’m now in a position some would describe as of consequence. I would therefore not wish you to be under any misapprehensions as to the reasons for what I have to say.”
“Nicholas … ?” she blurted pitiably.
“Miss Kydd. There has been before an … an understanding, a measure of assumption-of presumption, if I may. However, as I recall, I did write you a letter of release from any implied obligation in this tenor, I believe.”
Her eyes filled.
“Which obliges me to choose my words with care.”
“Nicholas-Mr Renzi-I beg, do know I’ve never felt bound by our …”
He dropped his gaze and when he looked up again there was resolution, and the serenity of a dilemma solved.
With the utmost dignity he fell to one knee. “Miss Kydd. If your situation does permit, then with the most unutterable feelings of tenderness and love I do this day propose marriage to you.”
Her hands flew to her mouth as she stared down at him for a long moment. Then she burst into tears and, with anguished sobs, ran from the room.
Almost immediately Kydd flung in. “Renzi-what the devil did you say to her? I demand to know!”
“I proposed to her, is all,” he said quietly. “It would seem, however, that there is another …”
Kydd took a ragged breath and hurried out after her.
She was in her room, lying on her bed weeping inconsolably.
“Cecilia-sis!” he said, with concern. “Is it that you’ve fallen for someone else? I can understand that, the beggar dithering on for so long.”
“No!” she sobbed. “A thousand times no!”
“I-sis, I don’t understand.”
“I do l-love o-only Nicholas!” she wept.
“Then why … ?”
“I’ve waited and waited for him and now …” She burst out anew with anguished sobbing.
“Ah. Well, if I were you I’d clap on all sail and go back to him before he changes his mind.”
He produced a handkerchief and waited while she composed herself. “Now then, sis, you go to him and say-well, say what you need to.”
They left the bedroom but Mrs Kydd and the maid were standing white-faced outside.
“Whatever is the matter, m’ dear?”
“Ma, Cecilia has something she wants to say to Mr Renzi.”
“If he’s been upsettin’ my darlin,’ then-”
“We wait outside, Ma.”
It was not long: the door opened and the pair stood before them, hand in hand.
“Mama, we’re to be wed!” Cecilia breathed, eyes sparkling.
“Oh! My dear, I never guessed-at all! We’re so happy for you an’ Mr Renzi, you’ve no idea. Why, I thought-”
In a formal tone Renzi addressed the mother of his intended. “Mrs Kydd. I’d be obliged to Mr Kydd for a few words in private, should he be at leisure.”
“Y-yes, o’ course. Um, Walter’s upstairs restin,’ but what with all this to-do, I’m sure he’ll be awake by now. I’ll call him down for ye.”
“No, no. I do not wish to inconvenience. I shall go up to him.”
In a short while there were voices, and Renzi came down, guiding the sightless Mr Kydd into the drawing room, the others eagerly following.
“My dear Fanny,” he said, his voice quavering. “I have given Mr Renzi my blessing on the union of himself and young Cecilia.”
This time it was Mrs Kydd who broke down in floods of tears and could only be consoled by much hugging from her daughter.
Kydd gazed at his friend with affection and respect. “I never thought I’d live to see the day, Nicholas, this I swear.”
Renzi gave Cecilia a look of such warmth and rapture it reduced the whole room to silence. “My love, we are now to be married. In token of this I would have you accept this gift, which comes from my heart.”
He drew out a small pouch of crimson velvet.
She took it reverently and opened it to find a shining gold ring.
“Nicholas! My darling!” She bravely held back the tears as she held it up to admire. “Oh, this is a posy ring! There’s something written inside … What does it say?”
“This is the noble Seneca, observing the human condition. ‘Quos amor verus tenuit, tenebit.’ By which he means ‘True love will ever abide in those whom it does seize.’ And this is to say I’m sanguine we could never have escaped our fate, my dearest Cecilia.”
She clutched him tightly, then kissed him with passion, oblivious to the audience.
He held her away, tears starting in his own eyes. “Need we delay in our wedding, my dearest?”
“Never a moment!” Cecilia whispered. “I shall have the banns called for this very Sunday.”
“Then there’s but one thing left to complete our betrothal. My love, I want to present you to my family, if you will.”
“Oh, Nicholas, in all the excitement, we haven’t told you Thomas’s news.”
“And Mrs Foster being so disagreeable about William, it was all I could do to hold my tongue, my dear.”
Cecilia smiled sweetly. “I do feel for you, Hetty. I vow, it’s more than a saint could endure, that odious woman.”
Her old school-friend adjusted her bonnet and looked at her affectionately. Not everyone was sympathetic to the lot of a governess in an aspiring household. “That’s kind in you to say so, Cecilia. Tell me, have you any news at all?”
“Why, yes, I suppose I have,” Cecilia said, hugging the moment to herself.
“I’m to be married, Hetty.”
“Married?” she squealed, so loudly that other customers in the tea-house looked over curiously at them. “Who-that is, may I know who the fortunate man is to win your heart?”
“No one you’ve met, Hetty dear. He’s from Wiltshire, an old country family. A gentleman of travels, we might say.”
She daintily removed her ring. “His name’s Nicholas-and, Hetty, look what he gave me at our betrothal.”