Chapter 13
Alone in her room, Cecelia put pen to paper, writing in her journal on all that had happened at the garden party.
It had become somewhat of a ritual for her, especially since her father's death, a way to express all that she had been holding in.
The more recent pages held an overwhelming amount of grief, and though she wrote of her trauma due to the Marquess of Blackburn, she realized there was some good in what she wrote, too.
His grace had done exactly as she had asked. He had given her the space she needed to conduct her own efforts in search of a marriage, and it had all fallen apart.
And right when it had, he had been there. He had come like a knight in a fairytale to rescue a princess from the dragon's maw.
She closed her eyes for a second, smiling, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of such a notion.
She was no princess, and he was no knight, though the image of the Marquess of Blackburn as a dragon was most definitely an amusing yet terrifying one.
She opened her eyes again, rereading the words she had written in her journal as she came to realize that perhaps she had misjudged the duke. Perhaps he truly did have her best interests at heart.
After all, he had saved her from scandal when she had been foolish enough to believe the marquess’ lies. As he had come to realize the situation, he had even comforted her.
She closed her eyes again, remembering well how it had felt to be held by him. That feeling was one she hoped would remain with her for a lifetime.
It was the first time since her father's death that she had felt secure, that she had felt some modicum of stability.
She had just finished writing her entry and was contemplating the fact that perhaps she ought to lay a little more trust in the duke, when there was a swift knock on her bedroom door followed by its opening.
She hurried to close her journal and shoved it into the top drawer of her desk before she turned to find Mary entering the room with an excited expression.
The morning sunshine made her smile positively radiant, and Cecelia couldn't help but return it.
“Oh, Cecelia, yesterday was absolutely magical. Thank you for forcing me to go!”
Cecelia chuckled as her sister threw herself down onto the bed, a dreamy expression upon her face.
Rising from her stool, Cecelia dropped down beside her sister, for once, feeling the same excitement that she felt.
The trauma notwithstanding, Cecelia too had had an excellent time at Lady Ashmore's garden party. It had been quite a surprising turn of events. Though she still felt quite shaken whenever she thought of Blackburn, the thoughts were quickly overshadowed by all else.
When she rolled onto her side and propped herself up on an elbow, her sister did the same.
“I had no idea that a garden party could be so much fun,” Mary said, her smile broadening.
“Nor did I,” Cecelia admitted, and her sister's eyes widened.
“It wasn't just me then?”
Cecelia laughed and shook her head a little awkwardly.
“I had an excellent time. In fact, I would have loved it to last longer.”
Having returned to the party, Cecelia had been careful not to get herself into any more mishaps, and every time she had glanced over her shoulder, there his grace had been, watching her as if his very life depended on it.
Previously, that might have annoyed her, but yesterday it had given her stomach she never anticipated. It had thrilled her to see him watching her, to feel his gaze upon her, no matter where she went or who she spoke to.
She sighed with relief, perhaps with a little longing also.
As if she sensed it, Mary said, “George did a wonderful job yesterday. I didn't see the two of you arguing even once!”
Cecelia giggled at that. If she had seen them in the maze, she might have thought differently. She blushed a little, imagining what anyone might think were they to have witnessed what transpired.
“He kept his promise,” Cecelia said plainly, hoping to keep her emotions in check. She might be able to trust him a little more, but she wasn't about to give in to him entirely.
“What about you?” she asked quickly, to change the subject. “I couldn't help noticing that you spent a great deal of time with Lord Rosemont.”
“Walter?” Mary corrected her, her cheeks growing pink. “We have been friends for a long time.”
Cecelia cocked her brow.
“Friends, is it?”
The pink turned red.
“Whatever else would it be?”
Cecelia straightened a little and looked her sister in the eye. “I saw the way the two of you looked at each other.”
Mary pulled away a little. “It was nothing untoward.”
Cecelia shook her head. “Of course not. Walter is the perfect gentleman. He is the perfect gentleman for you.”
She reached over and nudged her sister.
“I am happy for you.”
Mary pursed her lips, looked uncomfortable, and lowered her gaze as if she could not bring herself to admit the truth.
“I would not go so far as to say that,” she said, playing with the embroidery on the bedsheets. “He is simply easy to talk to.”
Cecelia didn't say a thing. She simply smirked at her sister until she admitted, “I did enjoy his company. He is not like other gentlemen.”
Cecelia furrowed her brow. “How so?”
Mary looked at her and lifted a shoulder. “It is difficult to explain.”
“Try,” Cecelia encouraged.
She was most intrigued.
“When we were talking, I felt as if he were actually listening to me, actually seeing me.”
Cecelia's chest ached.
The way her sister spoke of the viscount was clear, even if she didn't wish to admit her feelings. And it made Cecelia long for something similar herself.
After all, that was exactly what she had been hoping to find for herself. Yes, she must find the right man to marry to secure both hers and her family's future, but just like any other young lady, she hoped for more.
“Be careful, Mary, or you shall make me jealous,” she sighed and dropped down onto her back.
Staring at the puffy white clouds painted upon her blue ceiling, she thought again of his grace and his heroics.
Had he seen her yesterday in the maze? Had he actually looked at her and seen her as Mary spoke of with Walter?
She thought perhaps that he had, once his anger at the situation had subsided, at least.
An odd sensation knotted in her stomach, radiating up into her chest. It tingled throughout her body and made her breathless for a moment.
What it was, she didn't know, but it made her sure that she had to give his grace a chance, that she had to lay some trust in him if she was ever to achieve her father's last wish.
“Oh, Cece, it is I who is jealous of you!” Mary exclaimed, her tone filled with anticipation. “The thought of you going to the masquerade tonight fills me with envy. You shall have such a wonderful time, and I shall be left here waiting for you to come and tell me all about it.”
Cecelia's insides twisted into knots at the thought of the masquerade.
There was a time when she would have loathed the idea of attending such a ridiculous thing.
Yet, Mary might be right.
She might actually have fun this evening if she were to allow herself to.
She bit back laughter at herself. Was she truly becoming the very thing that his grace had accused her of being, a frivolous young lady?
It was truly laughable, and yet, a part of her was truly excited at the thought of getting all dressed up and dancing the night away, spending a little time with him.
After their moment in the maze, Cecelia had to admit that she liked the idea of seeing the duke again.
And though she had had more than one pleasant conversation with several gentlemen over the last week or so, she had never felt that way about a single one of them.
“It shall be your turn next year,” Cecelia reminded her.
Mary poked her in the ribs and pointed out, “Only if you find your match. Mama will keep me locked up here until you do. I'm surprised she allowed me to attend yesterday.”
Cecelia laughed as she remembered how their mother had insisted Mary could not get in the way of her finding a husband.
“Does she believe you will snatch a husband up right from under my nose as if he is the only man on earth I shall be able to marry?”
They laughed together at that, and Cecelia sighed with relief. Perhaps this Season wouldn't be so bad after all.
***
When Cecelia found the duke awaiting her in the foyer that evening, she couldn't help catching her breath.
His mask was simple, plain even, just a gold slip across his face, and yet, he looked more handsome than ever she had seen him.
Unable to see half of his face, her eyes were drawn immediately to his plush lips, his jawline, masculine and freshly shaven. The skin there looked so soft and smooth that her gloved fingers tingled to reach out and touch it.
This wasn't their first ball, and yet, as she wandered off the last step of the stairs, it felt as if it were.
A new beginning, perhaps as she reaffirmed her desire to place her trust in him.
And when he smiled at her, his eyes watching her admirably as she crossed the foyer, she was certain. She could trust him.
“Lady Cecelia, is that you under there?” he asked, and she saw the hint of a brow appear above his golden mask.
She was glad that her fairy-themed mask with its green, pink, and gold sequins and its floral design covered most of her cheeks as she blushed.
“Am I presentable?” she asked, glancing down at her gown that matched her mask, feeling the straps of the wings upon her back rub ever so gently as she moved.
The modiste had taken excellent care in crafting her the perfect attire for the evening, and suddenly she was glad she had spent so many hours beneath her pins to get it perfect.
“I think you shall be the belle of the ball,” his grace said, and Cecelia's face reddened further, the heat travelling down her neck and chest. She was glad Sophia had taken extra care to powder her skin to hide such things.
Coming from the duke, it was perhaps the best compliment she might have hoped for.
“I would have to agree.”