Chapter 9
“Cece? Cecelia? Wake up!”
The way her sister shook her was nothing compared to the cramping in her neck as she straightened up in the armchair at her mother's bedside.
“What is it? Is Mama worse?” she gasped, but when she sat up and looked to the bed, she found her mother propped on her pillows, smiling.
Beside her sat Mary, equally as smiley.
“What is it? What is going on?”
Catherine crouched before her, a smile as big as that on Mary's and her mother's faces.
“A letter has come.”
Cecelia pulled herself up in her chair. “What of it?”
“It appears to be from the duke,” her mother said, sounding much stronger than before if a little croaky still.
At the mention of him, Cecelia's heart skipped a beat.
“No doubt he is writing to apologize for being too busy to help,” Cecelia scoffed. “I am not certain I wish to read it.”
“Oh, but you must!” Mary insisted. “Perhaps it is regarding something else. I have heard his mother is back in town. Perhaps they wish to invite us for dinner.”
Cecelia furrowed her brow and looked down at the envelope Catherine was offering to her.
Her throat constricted. Did she really wish to know what was inside the letter?
She remembered all too well the cold and distant look in his eyes as he had slipped past her that afternoon in the foyer. He hadn't even been able to look her in the eye. Why should he invite them to dinner after that?
“Come, be quick about it!” her mother instructed.
Cecelia gave in and took the envelope from Catherine.
It was certainly the duke's handwriting on the front, her name written in graceful black ink.
She ran her fingers over it, wondering what kind of expression he might have had when writing it.
“Go on,” Catherine urged her with a hand upon her knee. “Open it.”
With no letter opener, Cecelia was careful to break the wax seal on the back of the envelope before she pulled the letter forth.
When she unfolded the paper, she saw very little written inside.
Dear Lady Cecelia Flannery,
Make ready for the ball this evening. I shall chaperone you as honourably as I am able.
Sincerely
His Grace
The Duke of Cumberland
Lord George Ellsworth
Cecelia blinked several times, unable to believe what she had just read. She read it over and over until the words made even less sense.
“Well? What is it?” her mother demanded, and when she glanced up, all three of them were staring at her expectantly.
Cecelia's heart pounded. She opened her mouth to speak but was unable to find the words.
Catherine was the one to snatch the letter from her hand.
It seemed that when she read it, she found no trouble as Cecelia did, for she announced, “He is to be her chaperone at the debut ball this evening!”
“My goodness!” their mother exclaimed. “Well, Cecelia, you must hurry. You must make haste to be ready. There is little time!”
Cecelia cringed, perching forward on her seat. “Mother, please, calm yourself. You are unwell. I should not be leaving you in such a state.”
“Me? I am as healthy as a horse, dear,” her mother insisted, straightening up in the bed. She grabbed Mary's hand before Cecelia could make any further protests and instructed, “Go with her. Help her to prepare.”
“Mother, I cannot—”
Her mother turned on her with such a serious look that it made the words wilt on her tongue.
“You can and you will,” she insisted firmly, “this is the moment we have all been waiting for, and it was your father's very last wish.”
“That was before, Mother,” Cecelia protested even as Mary jumped off the bed and came to pluck her from the chair. “Father would never wish me to leave you whilst you are ill.”
“I have Catherine and Mary for company,” her mother pointed out. “And it is your responsibility to take care of us all.”
The weight of responsibility her mother had just placed on her shoulders was almost too much to bear.
“Go,” her mother insisted, waving her out of the room even as Mary urged her towards the door.
Cecelia could not bring herself to argue with her mother any further, but she and Mary were only halfway down the hall when she dug her heels in and twisted her hand free of Mary's.
“I … I don't think I can do this,” she stammered, her eyes tight shut. “Why did he change his mind?”
Her mind was spinning, her heart pounding. She was almost certain she might vomit.
Everything had changed so terribly fast. And why? She had no idea why.
And that worried her.
Mary gripped hold of both her hands, causing her to open her eyes swiftly. And when she looked into her deep brown eyes, all she saw was reassurance.
“Does it truly matter why?” she asked, and before Cecelia could respond, she added, “if it does matter, then the only way you can find out is by attending tonight so that you might ask him for yourself.”
A shiver ran down Cecelia's spine as she realized her sister might well be right.
Smiling sadly, she asked, “When did you get so wise?”
Mary scoffed at that, shaking her head. “I have always been wise. I was just too little for you to take notice before.”
Cecelia ruffled her sister's hair playfully as she responded, “You will always be little to me, but I'll admit, you're certainly bigger than you were before.”
“Does that mean you'll go?”
Cecelia inhaled deeply.
“I shall at least get ready,” she sighed, squeezing Mary's hands. “Then we shall see if I am prepared to go or not.”
***
Standing in front of the floor-length mirror, Cecelia had to admit she had never quite felt so beautiful.
There was very little remaining of the rebellious little girl she had once been. Dressed in ivory, her hair pinned up in the latest fashion with pearls decorating it, her ears, her neck, and her wrists, she could almost believe that she might fit in at a debut ball.
Twisting her feet in her small-heeled shoes, she wished they didn't pinch so, as she was sure being more comfortable would make her feel a little more confident.
“You look breathtaking,” Mary said, sitting on the bed behind her as Sophia put the finishing touches to her makeup, adding just a little more rouge to her cheeks.
“If only you were the eldest,” Cecelia sighed. “I am quite certain you would not hesitate so.”
Mary chuckled at that. “Were I the eldest, I am certain I would have messed all of this up a long time ago.”
They laughed together, their agreement unspoken.
“I think you are ready,” Sophia said, taking a step back to admire her work.
Cecelia pulled on her long silk gloves, adjusting them at the wrists.
Why she preened in the mirror so, she could not say. She still hadn't entirely made up her mind as to whether she would go.
How was she to sit in a carriage with Lord Cumberland? How could she step into a ballroom on his arm? How was she to question him as to why he had changed his mind?
There were too many questions, too many unknowns. And every time she thought of walking down the stairs to the foyer where he would most likely be awaiting her, all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and hide.
Yet, she was certain there was no place that she could do so without her mother finding her and dragging her out.
“Just think of Father,” Mary suggested as if she knew the turmoil that was still going on inside her.
Cecelia closed her eyes at the mention of him. Why, oh why, had he done this to her?
Her father had many friends, many of whom had perfectly acceptable sons who might have been her chaperone, and yet, he had chosen this one.
“I am,” she said, opening her eyes once more. All she had done recently was think of her father, of all the responsibilities he had left upon her shoulders after his passing.
The tears threatened once more, and she held them back, telling herself she did not wish to spoil all of Sophia's hard work.
Mary rose from the bed and took Sophia's place in front of her. Gripping hold of Cecelia's hand, she said firmly, “You can do this.”
And it was in the depths of her sister's large brown gaze that she managed to find the strength to breathe.
Inhaling, Cecelia breathed out the words, “You had better take me down to the carriage before I change my mind.”
Mary seemed to need little more instruction as she gripped Cecelia's hand firmly and started to guide her towards the door.
Sophia followed after, and Cecelia could feel her readjusting parts of the back of her gown as if she meant for her to be utterly perfect.
The excitement between her sister and lady's maid was palpable as they walked along the hall and down the stairs. And it made Cecelia want to scream.
Yet, when she made it to the top of the stairs and saw that the front door was open below, she bit back said scream in favour of staring in surprise at the man standing just outside the door.
There he was, in all his glory, looking as perfect as ever he had.
Dressed in black and white, his hair smoothed back and freshly shaven, he was the picture of dukedom. And when their eyes met, Cecelia felt as if her legs might give way beneath her.
“Come on,” Mary hissed under her breath, giving Cecelia a small nudge to the small of her back. “He is waiting.”
Cecelia held her breath as she was urged down the stairs and out through the front door to find the carriage awaiting them.
Unable to bear looking at him, Cecelia quickly turned to Mary and placed a kiss on her cheek.
“Thank you for helping me to prepare,” she whispered into her sister's ear, “wish me luck.”
“I do not think you will need it, but I wish it anyway,” Mary said, kissing her cheek in return.
With little else to say, Cecelia was forced to turn around and face him.
Lord Cumberland towered over her, taller than she remembered him from their childhood and much broader than before, too.
His hair seemed darker, his features sharper, and that cold and distant look in his eyes made her feel quite unpleasant.
“Please allow me,” he said, offering her his elbow, and Cecelia slipped her hand into the crook.
Even through the sleeve of his jacket, she felt his warmth.