Chapter 9 #2
His scent overwhelmed her. Many things had changed over the years, but it seemed he still wore that same sandalwood and cinnamon scent he had always worn before.
With every footstep down the porch stairs, Cecelia felt as though she might stumble and fall if not for his arm carrying her.
She was certain she felt him looking at her, yet when she glanced up, his eyes were dead set ahead.
His posture was stiff, his jaw clearly tensed, and for a second, Cecelia thought to turn and flee back into the house.
When they reached the bottom of the steps to the open door of the carriage, she was surprised to find him offering his free hand. “Please, allow me.”
Her cheeks grew hot as he stared at her, awaiting her taking his hand. As she slipped it from his arm to place in his palm, she felt her world shifting.
The warmth of his hand beneath hers was so astounding that it caused her to lift her head and meet his gaze.
She was certain he had felt it too as she saw his expression soften. The stiffness in his shoulders seemed to ease, and she could have sworn that she saw the beginnings of a smile at the corner of his lips.
Everything around her seemed to stop. The sounds of the evening, the crickets chirping, and the wind rustling in the trees down the driveway, seemed to grow silent. Even her heart stopped beating as if not to spoil the moment.
And for just one second, Cecelia looked into the eyes of the boy she had loved and saw him smiling back at her.
There was that devilishly charming glint in his eye, that twist to his lips that said he was confident in their friendship, in everything being fine between them because they were Georgie and Cece and they always had been.
Then the duke urged her into the carriage, and just like that, their hands were separated.
When she glanced around from her seat, she found him clambering in behind her, his expression once more unreadable, that young boy utterly gone from view.
Cecelia's heart ached with disappointment, with a need to bring him back again. If she could just see him one more time, forcing herself through this debut would be worth it.
She tried not to stare too openly as the carriage door shut behind him. He adjusted his jacket before banging on the roof to instruct the coachman that they were ready.
And when he had, his gaze fell immediately to hers. Too late, she blinked.
“What are you staring at?” he asked. “Don't tell me my barber missed a spot, or I shall never listen to my mother again on the matter.”
Cecelia quickly averted her gaze, turning her face away to hide her laughter. She remembered well how Lady Cumberland had always scolded him for being unkempt.
“No, no, it's nothing,” she said quickly. “I thought I saw something, but it was nothing.”
The duke leaned forward, and Cecelia's heart skipped a beat, only to be disappointed when he merely adjusted in his seat and leaned back again.
His face had been so close to hers for just a second that she almost believed he was up to no good.
And yet, how it would have been oh, so good if he had been.
She forced the thought away quickly.
Yes, this was the boy she had fallen in love with, the very first boy she had ever kissed in secret at the bottom of the gardens whilst they had been rolling about in the grass, and yes, she would have done anything for him once.
But he was also the duke, the cold and distant man who had returned from war without so much as a letter to let them know that he was alright. He was the man who had declined her father's wishes – why she did not know – and snubbed her for all her family and their solicitor to see.
There were so many reasons why she ought not to think like that. And chief amongst them was the fact that he was chaperoning her to her debut ball. How could she ever allow the boy he used to be to her to destroy everything before it had even begun?
Sitting back in her seat firmly, she played with her fan in her lap, running her finger over the folds.
For a second, a question bubbled up in her throat, why did you change your mind?
Yet, she couldn't bring herself to ask it aloud, for she was fearful of the answer, fearful that it would not be nearly as romantic as something in one of Mary's fairy-tale books.
Discreetly sucking in a breath, she told herself, we are both merely doing our duties.
And when she dared a glance at the duke, she saw him staring out of the window as if he had entirely forgotten that she was there.
Perhaps it was best she did the same until they arrived at the ball, better to remain silent and not risk rocking the boat, or the carriage, that was.
Just get this over with, she told herself. As soon as she had been introduced to several suitors, things would be easier. And the sooner one of those suitors asked for her hand, the sooner she and Lord Cumberland could part ways for good.
It was clear to her that was what he wished, but as they travelled, Cecelia started to realize that perhaps she did not wish the same.
Her hand still tingled where he had helped her into the carriage, and she held onto the sensation for all it was worth because, in truth, it was priceless.
***
Upon arriving at the residence of Lord and Lady Basset, Cecelia prepared to escape the carriage as quickly as possible.
Yet, before she could do so, His Grace said, “I almost forgot.”
Cecelia raised a brow, her heart skipping a beat as he leaned down to pick something up from beneath the seat.
When he produced a sizable box, her heart skipped another beat.
“This is for you,” he said, handing it to her.
Cecelia hesitated only a moment before taking it from him.
What she had expected inside the box, she did not know, but she was pleasantly surprised when she found a corsage of white, ivory, and pale pink flowers.
“Don't you like it?” he asked, his tone glum.
Cecelia glanced up, surprised to see he almost looked upset.
“It’s beautiful,” she assured him.
“Allow me?” he asked, his expression still quite unreadable.
He took the corsage from the box and held out his hand for her.
When he tied the ribbon around her wrist, his fingertips brushed over her skin, and a shiver ran up her arm and down her spine.
“I think it looks good,” he commented, and all Cecelia could do was nod, feeling breathless.
“It was expected of me, was it not?” he asked, cocking a brow, and Cecelia stiffened.
Of course, he was merely doing his duty.
She snatched her hand away from his and forced herself to breathe.
As they exited the carriage, she was careful to take the hand of a footman, avoiding the duke's gaze.
When he offered her his arm to lead her into the house, she was careful to keep her gaze low.
Entering the ball went exactly as she might have expected.
Upon arriving on the arm of a duke, she was met with questioning looks and the sounds of heated gossip.
And for the first time, she realized why her father might have chosen him.
It seemed that arriving with his grace had piqued the interest of every other gentleman in attendance.
Within minutes, her dance card was filled, and she seemed set for the evening.
Several young ladies eyed her as if she were the envy of the ball, led out onto the dance floor by the first of her partners.
The mutterings that had begun from the ladies around the room turned into open chatter, and she became all too aware of their feelings on the matter of her being escorted by a duke.
It was an atrocious time for her, one in which she found her partner terrible at dancing. Several times, he stomped on her feet, and no matter how she tried to keep them out from under him, he always managed to find them.
Their conversation was a mixture of boredom and apologizing, and by the time it was over, she was greatly relieved.
Her second dance was much more pleasant, and she actually found herself enjoying it.
The man was a witty conversationalist, and Cecelia found it impossible not to laugh.
Yet, that laughter caught in her throat when she spied the duke watching her from across the room. He sat in an armchair, his eyes dark with judgement.
There was a sardonic smile upon his face that left her feeling more than a little uncomfortable.
By the end of her third dance, she was certain she had charmed her partner. His longing looks across the dance floor were quite unmistakable, and for several moments, she was quietly pleased with herself.
But still, she found the duke watching her, and his expression left much to be desired.
Requiring a rest and some refreshments, she made her way to one of the tables, only to be disappointed when she found the duke standing close by.
Unable to take the expression on his face any longer, she sidled up to him, careful not to meet his gaze as she demanded, “Why are you so determined not to have any fun?”
“I beg your pardon?” he exclaimed, and she glanced at him before picking up a glass of champagne.
She sipped it before responding, “Do you have nothing better to do than watch me in silent judgement?”
He had been looking upon her with quiet contempt all evening. No doubt he was resentful at having had to chaperone her.
“This was your idea. The least you could do is have a little fun whilst you are at it,” she insisted, and when she dared to look at him again, she found a dumbfounded expression on his face.
It quickly closed, becoming cold and distant once more as he snapped, “This is most definitely not my idea of fun, Lady Cecelia. I have much better things to do with my time. The ton is superficial and cold.”
Cecelia laughed openly at that.
Perhaps he was not quite superficial, but he was most definitely cold. Standing beside him was like standing next to an ice sculpture. She wondered if he would actually be cold were she to reach out and touch him.
No, she must not think of such things, nor of the way her spine had tingled earlier when his fingers had brushed her skin.
“You, Your Grace, are the only cold one I have met this evening,” she told him, meeting his gaze with far more confidence than she felt.
“Lady Cecelia, you are the most—” as it seemed their bickering was about to ensue, they were interrupted by the next gentleman on her dance card. She might have kissed him in gratitude if not for remembering where they were.
She would not do anything to risk spoiling this evening. Save for the duke, she had begun to have a wonderful time, and she was determined for that to continue as she allowed the lord to lead her out onto the dance floor.
The next several hours passed in a whirlwind of dancing, talking, and laughter, and Cecelia found herself leaving the ball with a beaming smile.
That was until their carriage ride home.
As he had been on their arrival, the duke was utterly silent, staring out the window as if she did not exist.
Cecelia contented herself with thinking on the evening. For the most part, she'd had a good time. Many of her dance partners had been interesting, their conversations pleasant and thought-provoking. She had not anticipated meeting so many interesting characters.
And the ball itself was beautiful. The candlelight had been romantic, the flowers and decorations exquisite. She was absolutely determined not to allow him to spoil her evening.
When the carriage pulled up outside Fernworth Manor, she was quick to exit, almost running in before the duke could say his goodbyes.
Yet, she kept herself firmly planted at the bottom of the steps as he removed himself from the carriage to bow low.
“I do hope I have done my duty as your chaperone this evening,” he said, his head still bowed.
Cecelia grumbled under her breath that he might have been a little more pleasant in doing so, but politely she responded, “Your chaperonage was appropriate. Thank you, Your Grace.”
If he were to remain cold and distant to her, then she would treat him much the same way.
“Good evening, Lady Cecelia.”
“Good evening,” she responded, offering a stiff curtsey.
She forced herself to walk up the steps as slowly and gracefully as humanly possible, certain she could feel the duke's eyes on her all the while.
Only when she was safely inside did Cecelia quicken her steps into a run and race up the steps directly to her mother's room.
In all the excitement, she had almost forgotten about her illness.
It was only when she reached the doorway that she stopped, holding her breath at the sight before her.
Her lips twitched upwards at the corners as she looked upon her mother and sisters all lying upon the bed, a tangle of arms and legs as they slept.
It was a scene she remembered well from her childhood, one she would have been involved in previously.
And it reminded her of better times, of times when she had been carefree and happy, when her father had been alive, and she would feel him brush back her hair as she slept and kiss her forehead before whispering, “Sweet dreams, little one.”
She would have opened one eye to watch him do the very same with her sisters, smiling to herself before closing her eyes firmly to let him believe she was asleep or risk him moving her to her own bed.
The memory made her heart ache, and though she was desperate to tell her sisters of the ball that evening, she couldn't bring herself to wake them.
Instead, she crept into the room on tiptoes and plucked two flowers from her corsage, delicately laying one on the pillows beside each of her sisters.
She paused at Mary for a second, silently thanking her for pushing her to attend. She most definitely did not regret it now.
As she slipped from the room and returned to her own, she carefully stripped off her garments and laid them out for Sophia to take care of in the morning.
When, finally, she threw herself into bed, she fell asleep with a smile, feeling quite intoxicated with the sudden joy she had found in life.
The ball had renewed her spirits, and she found herself grateful to her father for having pushed her to do something she had never considered herself. Even in death, he was watching over her; she was certain of it.
He had thought of everything. And for the first time, she felt confident when she looked towards her future.
Perhaps things wouldn't be nearly so bad as she had believed.