Underestimating Miss Cecilia Read online

  Praise for Carolyn Miller’s

  Regency Brides: Daughters of Aynsley

  “In her signature style that sucks readers straight back to the Regency era, Carolyn Miller crafts a story rich with little-explored history that held me enthralled from the get-go!”

  ROSEANNA M. WHİTE, best-selling author of the Ladies of the Manor and Shadows Over England series

  “Carolyn Miller has quickly become one of my go-to Regency authors. I know when I pick up one of her novels, I will find myself immersed in a story with characters that keep pulling me back to the pages…. With a keen eye for historical detail and descriptions that transported me to the shores of England, this book was a delight.”

  CARA PUTMAN, author of the Hidden Justice and Cornhusker Dreams series

  “Move over, Elizabeth Bennet. Here comes Miss Hatherleigh! In true Jane Austen style, Carolyn Miller pens a delightful Regency novel filled with intrigue and a dash of danger…. Readers of all ages will love this fine historical romance.”

  MİCHELLE GRİEP, Christy Award winner of the Once Upon a Dickens Christmas series

  Praise for Carolyn Miller’s

  Regency Brides: A Promise of Hope

  “Carolyn Miller doesn’t disappoint with yet another engaging Regency novel that leaves you wanting more…. With impeccable accuracy, witty dialogue, and seamless integration of Christian faith, Carolyn weaves a classic tale that is sure to become a permanent addition to your collection.”

  AMBER MİLLER STOCKTON, best-selling author of Liberty’s Promise

  “Fans of Christian Regency romances by Sarah Ladd, Sarah Eden, and Michelle Griep will adore Carolyn Miller’s books!”

  DAWN CRANDALL, award-winning author of The Everstone Chronicles

  “Carolyn Miller is witty, romantic, and heartwarming, with a gentle dose of faith-boldness, too. Layered characters and attention to historical detail make each book a great read!”

  READİNG IS MY SUPERPOWER, blog, readingismysuperpower.org

  “Readers who are looking for an English historical romance reminiscent of Jane Austen and Georgette Heyer will be delighted!”

  CARRİE TURANSKY, award-winning author of Across the Blue and Shine Like the Dawn

  “Carolyn Miller writes with skill and grace that brings the Regency period to vivid life.”

  JULİANNA DEERİNG, author of the Drew Farthering Mysteries

  “With exquisite dialogue, beautiful descriptions, and careful attention to detail, Carolyn Miller continues to draw her readers into a magnificent Regency world.”

  PEPPER D. BASHAM, author of the Penned in Time and Mitchell’s Crossroads series

  “While many modern-day authors are able to dress their stories in an admirable reproduction, few are able to re-create the tone and essence of the era with the authenticity Carolyn Miller displays.”

  FİCTİON AFICİONADO, blog, fictionaficionadoblog.wordpress.com

  REGENCY BRIDES

  series by CAROLYN MİLLER

  A LEGACY of GRACE

  The Elusive Miss Ellison

  The Captivating Lady Charlotte

  The Dishonorable Miss DeLancey

  A PROMİSE of HOPE

  Winning Miss Winthrop

  Miss Serena’s Secret

  The Making of Mrs. Hale

  DAUGHTERS of AYNSLEY

  A Hero for Miss Hatherleigh

  Underestimating Miss Cecilia

  Misleading Miss Verity

  Underestimating Miss Cecilia

  © 2019 by Carolyn Miller

  Published by Kregel Publications, a division of Kregel Inc., 2450 Oak Industrial Dr. NE, Grand Rapids, MI 49505.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without written permission of the publisher, except for brief quotations in reviews.

  Distribution of digital editions of this book in any format via the internet or any other means without the publisher’s written permission or by license agreement is a violation of copyright law and is subject to substantial fines and penalties. Thank you for supporting the author’s rights by purchasing only authorized editions.

  Scripture quotations are from the King James Version.

  The persons and events portrayed in this work are the creations of the author, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  ISBN 978-0-8254-4590-3, print

  ISBN 978-0-8254-7570-2, epub

  Printed in the United States of America

  19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 / 5 4 3 2 1

  For Lynne

  A woman of grace, wisdom, and love, and best mother-in-law ever!

  CHAPTER ONE

  Aynsley Manor, Somerset

  June 1819

  IT WAS, PERHAPS, the greatest torment to love someone who barely seemed to notice one’s existence. Cecilia Hatherleigh glanced across the ballroom as Edward Amherst, second son of the Earl of Rovingham, danced with her sister. Her newly married sister. Her newly married sister who even now was laughing with him in that way that suggested friendly understanding of the sort Cecy could never hope to share.

  She swallowed, studying the sparkly embellishments trimming her pale green satin slippers, wishing, not for the first time, that she had been born with but a tenth of the confidence her elder sister possessed. It was not as if Caroline was that much more attractive; they shared the same fair skin, blue eyes, and chestnut curls, though Caro’s curls be a shade darker. It was not as if Caro was kinder or more thoughtful. Indeed, up until recently, Cecy was fairly sure most people would have given such plaudits to herself, not the eldest daughter of Lord Aynsley, whose confidence tended to brusque abrasiveness. But Caro’s newfound happiness seemed to have led to a contentment that infused her previously hard features with softness, her words and actions indicative of a kindly consideration Cecy welcomed. Gone was the flinty-eyed sister whose pronouncements used to make her squirm. Was that the effect of love, or some deeper change?

  Love. She gulped. Peeked up. Watched the fair head of Ned Amherst whirl away. How could he remain blind to her? Was she that unappealing? Granted, she rarely knew what to say to gentlemen, but at least she did not complain or gossip about others like some young ladies were wont to do. Why couldn’t young gentlemen assign greater importance to things like that rather than the shape of one’s face or form?

  Sophia Heathcote whirled by—much too young to be out, Mama had said—and cast Cecy a look that could be construed as pitying. She writhed internally again. Sophia was but Verity’s age, but one would hardly think so, judging from the way Verity carried on with her hoydenish behavior, as indifferent to balls and her future as if she were a changeling child, and not—as the third daughter of the Viscount Aynsley—destined for great things on the marriage mart. Such actions had led to an accident this morning that had nearly caused the wedding to be postponed; an accident Verity still refused to speak on, but which had damaged her leg and caused her to miss tonight’s proceedings. Not that Verity seemed to mind, save for the disappointment of missing out on the food.

  Cecy glanced across at her mother who sat with the other older ladies with an air of benevolent complacency. Benevolent to her guests, perhaps, but her words this morning to her youngest daughter seemed strained of any kindness. “How could you? On your sister’s wedding day, no less?”

  Verity had lifted her chin. “It was not as if I planned to fall.”

  “Because you never take heed for anyone’s interests but your own, you thoughtless, thoughtless child!”

  Cecy had intervened at this point, calling her mother’s attention t
o a matter concerning her gown, a distraction for which Verity had given a small but grateful smile as Cecy hurried Mama away. Verity could appear heedless, but her impetuous nature flowed from a generosity of heart that had seen her fall into more than a few scrapes over the years, and Cecy had long known her role to be one of peacemaker between the two personalities who held such divergent opinions on the value and worth of ladylike activities.

  Mama took Verity’s decided disinterest in all things deemed necessary for young ladies as a personal affront; fortunately, she could not lay the same charges against Cecy. “Such a well-behaved gel,” had always been the report of her teachers at Miss Haverstock’s Seminary, a moniker she had overheard not a few times from elderly relatives and those neighbors of a kindly disposition. And Cecilia had tried to do all that Mama had asked—practicing her music, her needlepoint, her conversation with said neighbors. She had even held her tongue when forced to succumb to Mama’s embarrassing steely-eyed focus after Cecy’s unfortunate unguarded reaction to learning the news about Ned’s accident late last year.

  So, whilst Caro had been staying at Grandmama’s having a marvelous time meeting the man she would marry, Cecy had been enduring Mama’s concentrated efforts to assure the world her second daughter was most definitely not enamored of a certain neighboring earl’s second son. It had proved a relief to have Mama’s energies turn from Cecy’s presentation in London to Caro’s wedding, events Mama seemed hopeful would throw Cecy in the path of far more eligible gentlemen.

  But Mama’s efforts were insufficient to drive this cruel fascination away.

  Ned’s features lit as he appeared to laugh at something Caro said, and Cecy pressed her lips together as the terrible envy roared again. Why did he have to dance with her sister? Why couldn’t he—for once!—notice Cecy instead? How unfair that her sister should get all the attention and Cecy none.

  “Cecilia,” her mother’s voice hissed.

  She dredged up a smile and affixed it to her face, willing herself not to give any reason for the speculation so many people here were eager to engage in. She might feel despair, but there was no reason to let anyone titter over her suffering.

  The music finished, leaving Cecy to look about and wonder whether any young gentlemen would be so bold as to approach her. It was strange her mother had not ensured that more young gentlemen would be present here tonight. She had felt certain Mama would want the extra numbers in order to distract Cecy from thinking about a certain ineligible young gentleman, though he be an earl’s son. Her lips twisted. Perhaps Mama had been too busy hastening arrangements for the future of her favored eldest daughter to give much thought to the futures of her less-loved, younger daughters.

  “Miss Cecilia.”

  The voice of that particular earl’s son caused her to quickly turn, his smile eliciting a painful throb in her heart and her cheeks to heat. “Hello, Ned.”

  His features might not be to every girl’s taste, but, oh, how handsome he seemed to her. Green eyes that held golden glints; fair hair that needed no tongs to curl; a smile that dug twin dimples in his cheeks and tugged delicious warmth within her chest. And then there was his scent, oh, so delectable, with its spicy mix of bergamot, sandalwood, and musk, a scent she dreamed about, the slightest whiff quickening a powerful yearning inside.

  But more than this was his kindness, his good humor, the way he was so quick to oblige—save in offering her the attention she longed for. And as she was a praying woman, and knew him to be a praying man, she had the oddest sense that God had destined him to be hers. The thought made his ignorance of her so much the harder. For as long as she had known him, Ned Amherst had pulled at her heartstrings.

  “Would you do me the honor of this dance?” He held out a hand.

  Her heart began a rapid tattoo. Oh! Finally—finally!—she would dance with him. He wanted her to dance with him—he wanted her—not her sister, not some prettier young lady, not someone else. She accepted his hand, the touch shivering all the way to her spine, the glow in her heart sure to be suffusing her features as they moved to join the dance formations. Not that she cared what others might think. It was enough that he had noticed her, and wanted her, and perhaps she could finally persuade him to consider her as a potential love—

  “Caro once told me I should dance with you.”

  Cecy blinked. Stumbled. Felt the heat in her cheeks flame to a scorching fire as she scurried to keep up the movements of the dance. “I beg your pardon?”

  She barely heard his words repeat, wincing as the movements of the dance drew him away. What kind of idiot was she? Did she really want to hear his rejection again? That he only danced with her because her sister told him to? Emotion tightened her chest, touched the back of her eyes, as the couples around them smiled and spun with laughter, oblivious to her mortification.

  He returned, eyes serious, lips pulled up into wryness. “… said as my good deed I should dance with you.”

  The shame curdling within waned under the weight of her anger. She stopped, heedless of the couples twirling about her, heedless of those who would gape and stare, the heat within pushing words into her mouth. “You … you are dancing with me as some sort of good deed?”

  He flushed. “I suppose when you put it like that it doesn’t sound so good.”

  Her bottom lip wobbled. She bit it savagely. Flinched at the pain, pain which wove with the strands of her hurt and frustration, binding tightness around her heart and felling the guard around her mouth. “Oh, you suppose that, do you?” She pulled her hands from his, blinking away the moisture gathering in her eyes. “Forgive me, but I’m not interested in being the recipient of your charity, Ned.”

  “Miss Cecilia, I didn’t mean—”

  “To belittle me? To sound so patronizing?” Oh my! Where was this coming from? She almost sounded like Verity—or at least the heroine of one of her Minerva Press novels.

  “Cecilia, I am sorry. Please, people are watching.” He held out his hand.

  She eyed it, then him, her spurt of temper dying as quickly as it had risen. Truly, he did appear a little ashamed. Her gaze lifted, encountering her mother’s hard stare, which forced her to accede to his request and place her hand in his again.

  “Thank you,” he murmured.

  Embarrassment washed across her again, and she ducked her head, conscious he was speaking but barely able to make out his words. She shouldn’t have been so quick to get cross, she should remember to control her tongue, and to take the moment to enjoy this dance with him. Her shrewish manners had doubtless given him such a disgust of her that she would never have this opportunity again.

  A lump formed in her throat, and she did her best to focus, to answer his questions and pretend all was well between them, but her earlier words caused a cloud to darken any enjoyment she might have previously entertained. She stared at his neckcloth, disappointment and frustration spinning around her. Why was it when she finally received the opportunity to dance with him she had to spoil it so thoroughly? Why couldn’t she be content with the scraps he gave her—the occasional smile, the brief greeting—why was she so hungry for more? Oh, why, when he only overlooked her, seeing her as Caro’s little sister if he saw her at all, did her heart demand she still care? Why couldn’t she rid her emotions of him, as Mama had begged, after the scandal of last year? But no. Her foolish heart still demanded she care, still dreamed of his smile, still hoped for his notice. She must be a fool. A very stupid, very silly fool.

  “… seem extremely happy.”

  She peeked up, noticed he was looking at Caro, as her sister danced with her new husband. The envy tugged again. What would it take for him to look at her with such intensity?

  Tears burned; she blinked them away. Perhaps this trial was yet another way God was trying to gain her attention, so she would focus more on Him, and not let the distractions of this world steal her thoughts and emotions. Perhaps Mama was right, and Ned Amherst held the rakish tendencies she so deplored, even if
social obligations—and the fact the earl was one of their nearest neighbors—meant the connection could never be severed entirely.

  She gritted her teeth, forced her lips upward, and answered his questions as politely as she could. Perhaps one day her heart could fix instead on a man who sought her—who loved her—rather than desperately declare herself satisfied with the scraps of attention given her from a man who would never truly notice her anyway.

  The music stopped. She curtsied, applauded, her gaze lifting no higher than his chin. If she was forced to look into his green-gold eyes those tears might spill and she would embarrass herself even more than she had so far.

  Perhaps it was finally time to walk away.

  Ned bowed, his gaze lifting as Cecilia Hatherleigh moved stiffly away, the crystal beads decorating her pale green gown twinkling under the candlelight. Such a strange girl, normally so shy he could barely get a word from her, yet tonight she certainly seemed to have found her tongue. Well, she had for a surprising few minutes, before relapsing into that awkward shyness he knew her for. How unlike her sisters. Not open like Caro at all. He glanced across at today’s bride. He supposed Carstairs would prove a suitable husband, and it wasn’t as if her parents would have entertained his own suit. His lips twisted. After last year’s scandal, it was unlikely that any parents would entertain his suit. He drew in a deep breath, forced himself to relax. Forgiven. He was forgiven. If nothing else, God’s saving grace had shown him that.

  He moved to where his parents sat, his father wearing an expression that held the slightest tinge of boredom, his mother’s graciousness screening any dissatisfaction she might feel with the company they kept. His brother intercepted him, glass of wine in hand, before steering him to a chamber adjoining the ballroom, a hall filled with marble statuary and shadows.

  “Did someone upset the middle Hatherleigh chit?”