Cousin Cecilia Read Online Free PDF

not an ordinary customer. She waited to hear if the clerk used the man’s name, but he didn’t. He just nodded and went to find the gloves. She decided to approach the counter, for she must certainly hear his name when he paid or see it when he signed the account. As she turned, the corner of her reticule caught the tip of the button box and sent it flying across the room. Dozens of bone buttons skittered and bounced across the floor.
    “How clumsy of me!” she exclaimed.
    The man turned and saw her for the first time. Ignoring the buttons, he examined her face for longer than was quite polite. His penetrating stare took in every feature of her face before flickering quickly down over her gown and even her feet. Cecilia boldly returned stare for stare.
    Cecilia was just beginning to feel a stir of anger at his prolonged examination when he smiled and stepped forward. “Allow me,” he said, and reached down to retrieve the box. A nice smile, she thought, and nice manners, too, despite that touch of arrogance.
    Mr. Taylor came hurrying forward to assure them the shop boy would pick up the buttons. “You are come for your gloves, sir. Sorry to keep you waiting.” Mr. Taylor’s manner confirmed for Cecilia that the customer was a valued one. She waited with rising interest to hear his name.
    “Let the young lady go first,” the man said in a well-modulated voice and a perfectly civil tone.
    “No, no. You are in a hurry. You go first,” Cecilia said.
    “I am not in that great a hurry—now.” He added the last word deliberately, while his smile told her he wished to prolong the chance meeting.
    “You must not wait on me,” she said. “I have been here an age and may be another half hour yet. My friends are buying a great many things.”
    “I’ll just get your gloves,” Mr. Taylor said, and darted off.
    She was now alone with the stranger, and as the buttons had acted as a sort of introduction, she had no thought of retiring, but rather wished to learn more of him than that he favored a York tan glove. He smiled once again, and when she returned the compliment, he ventured to say, “Are you a tourist in the village, ma’am? You cannot be a resident, for I am a native myself and don’t recognize you.”
    Her hopes soared to hear he lived nearby. His manner, that had a touch of flirtation, suggested he was either a bachelor or an unconscionable flirt.
    “I am visiting my cousins, the Meachams,” she replied with no hesitation. “Perhaps you are acquainted with them? That is the family over there.” She pointed to the fabrics section, where the ladies were still busy, though sparing curious glances at Cecilia.
    He turned and looked at the group. “I am a little acquainted with Mrs. Meacham. Are those her daughters?”
    “Yes.”
    “They have grown up since last I saw them. Do you make a long visit?” He showed no interest whatsoever in the daughters.
    “I have not determined the length of my visit. Of course, I must be in London for at least part of the Season.”
    “I hope your visit will not be too brief,” he said. “May I hope we meet again—at the local assembly, perhaps?”
    “I cannot prevent your hoping,” she replied archly.
    “You can prevent my hoping in vain.”
    “I shall certainly attend the assembly.” The next step would surely be an exchange of names. Just before it occurred, Mr. Taylor returned.
    “Here are your gloves, milord,” he said, handing them over. “Perhaps you would like to slip them on.”
    The man turned away from Cecilia, for which she was grateful. She would not want him to see her goggling like a provincial. Milord! Was he one of the Lowreys Mrs. Meacham had mentioned? The daughter was spoken of as Lady Faith, so her brother—if she had a brother—would be a lord. While her mind roiled with possibilities, the sale of the gloves continued.
    “These seem fine,” the man said.
    “Just flex your fingers, Lord Wickham, and see if the fingers are roomy enough