Chapter 15
If George remembered his harsh words the day before, he did not show it to Cecelia as he chaperoned her to the next ball two days later.
Cecelia, on the other hand, remained distressed, his words flitting into her mind whenever she let her guard down.
During their silent carriage ride to the event, she pondered how she might broach the subject before deciding against it entirely. If he was determined to act as if nothing had happened, as if he were merely her silent chaperone, then she would allow it to be so.
She was not strong enough to handle another tongue-lashing.
His presence at her side had the same desired effect as it ordinarily did at balls, and soon she was overwhelmed with an immeasurable amount of suitors, the eyes of every young lady in the room gleaming with envy.
And whenever she glanced over her shoulder, he was there, watching her.
It was different again from before. His expression was entirely unreadable, almost grim. And though she was relieved he had not given up on his chaperoning duties, on keeping her safe – supposedly from herself – she did not feel the same thrill that she had felt before.
As she had at her earlier balls, she felt a need to escape, for the night to be over. But there was very little she could do about it until she had been introduced to all suitable men.
She had to put her father's wish first, had to put it before her own feelings, and grit her teeth to get through the evening.
Her only respite came in the form of hiding. She found every shadow, every large flower pot, every pillar, to gain a moment's peace from his gaze.
And she was in the process of trying to find her next hiding place when she was spotted by Lady Whitmore, a close friend of her mother's, and one she could not ignore without appearing entirely rude.
“Lady Cecilia, how glad I am to see you here this evening,” Lady Whitmore said, laying a hand on her forearm. “I do hope you are enjoying yourself. How is your mother? I have heard she has been ill, though it seems she shall make a full recovery.”
“Indeed,” Cecelia responded. “I am, thank you, My Lady. And yes, she has, though she is getting stronger every day.”
It was true. Her mother was right back to her old self, giving Cecelia her marching orders before every event that she attended, ensuring she remained on the straight and narrow path laid out before her.
“Good, I am glad.” Lady Whitmore smiled, and Cecelia hoped that would be the end of her encounter as the lady scanned the room. Perhaps she might see another friendly face and make her excuses.
Instead, she said, “Oh, Cecelia, I must introduce you!”
Before she knew it, the lady had grabbed her arm and was pulling her towards a gentleman close by.
No doubt Lady Whitmore had been in contact with her mother and the two had been conspiring.
She dreaded it and yet, as Lady Whitmore said, “Lord Greystone, please allow me to introduce you to Lady Cecelia Flannery, the daughter of one of my dearest friends,” she couldn't help noticing the handsomeness of the gentleman who turned to face them.
His smile was soft yet charming, his hair a luscious tumble of golden curls, his eyes so green they reminded Cecelia of the meadows she had played in as a child.
“Lady Cecelia, this is the son of an acquaintance of mine, Lord James Fitzwilliam, recently made Viscount of Greystone due to his heroics in the war.”
Cecelia's eyes widened. If he had been made a viscount, this gentleman had to have done something tremendous.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Flannery, and if you don't mind the familiarity, please, call me James.”
He placed a hand behind his back, offering the other as he bowed low, his golden hair falling forward to frame his sun-kissed face.
Instinctively, Cecelia laid her hand in his.
When he kissed her knuckles, she did not feel the same heat she had felt at George's kiss, yet she did feel somewhat warm. His eyes were pleasant as they raised to meet hers, and he stood, holding her gaze all the while.
“I'm charmed, Lady Cecelia,” he said, his mouth quirking into a larger smile.
There was a gentle flutter in Cecelia's stomach, for it was she who was charmed.
“I do hope you do not mind the introduction, for I do believe the two of you would get on terribly well,” Lady Whitmore told them, looking between them as if she was already well pleased by her work.
The viscount's gaze never left Cecelia's as he said, “I am most grateful for the introduction, Lady Whitmore.”
Struggling to find her voice, Cecelia said, “As am I.”
Though he released her hand, the viscount kept Cecelia pinned with his gaze as he asked, “How are you enjoying tonight's festivities, My Lady?”
Cecelia barely noticed Lady Whitmore's taking her leave as she responded, “Very much, My Lord. And you?”
“I find my enjoyment has gone up considerably in the last few minutes,” he said, and against her better judgment, Cecelia let out a tinkle of laughter. “Is something funny, My Lady?”
“Oh, heavens no!” she said, fearful she might have been rude. “I am simply glad to say that I feel the very same way.”
“In that case, might it be awfully quick of me to ask you to dance?”
The strain of the rest of the evening suddenly lifted from Cecelia's shoulders, and she took what felt like the first deep breath she had taken in hours.
“I would like that,” she said, and when he offered his hand, she did not hesitate to take it. Nor did she glance over her shoulder to look for her chaperone. She had grown used to sensing his presence and knew well that he was watching.
Determined that this should be a turning point in her evening, she wholly gave herself over to the viscount as he led her out onto the dance floor.
“I do hope that Lady Whitmore's introduction did not leave you with the idea that I am some high and mighty lord?” he said as they danced, not nearly so close as she and George had, but in a comfortable and easy closeness that felt familiar.
“How do you mean, My Lord?”
“James, please,” he said, his smile charming her once more.
“James,” she said, returning his smile comfortably.
“Though I have been given the title of viscount, I can assure you I come from humble beginnings. I was not searching for fame and glory on the battlefield, only seeking to return home safely with as many of my comrades as I could.”
She listened to him intently and as he said, “In truth, I hardly talk of any of it at all,” she was glad to know he was not the kind of man who became overly proud and even conceitful at his newfound title.
“Perhaps then you might tell me instead of your childhood?” Cecelia suggested, “or perhaps of your family?”
The expression on his face then was clear, something he would much sooner talk about. “It would be my pleasure if you would agree to share some of yours also?”
And so they talked, discussing all manner of things, such as a shared upbringing in which they both spent much of their time in the country, how James was not one for big and lavish parties but rather preferred his own company, and how he found his newfound fame quite tiring to say the least.
Cecelia shared her own childhood, talking of her parents, her sisters, and her love of nature, and even how her mother forced her to take extra comportment lessons because she was too ‘rebellious’.
And when she told him such, he laughed as if he thought it utterly ridiculous, just as she had when she had been forced to stand with a book atop her head, or when they had put a rod in the back of her stays so that she was made to sit up entirely too straight.
“I do hope that you still find small ways to rebel, Lady Cecelia; life is far too short for all of the ton's rules.”
At his words, she felt a rush, and a part of her felt the need to assure him that she did not. Instead, she whispered, “I do still walk barefoot in the meadows from time to time.”
They laughed together so easily that Cecelia began to feel as if she were walking on air.
When their dance finally came to an end, she was disappointed. She had hoped to spend a little more time with the first interesting man she had been introduced to all evening.
She was awfully surprised when he asked, “Will you join me for refreshments, Lady Cecelia?”
She was practically giddy as she accepted his request.
They spent much of the rest of the evening together, drinking and talking beside the dance floor amongst friends, Cecelia noting that though he received much attention from many of the young ladies in the room, he was entirely pinned upon her.
It was a welcome change from the half-hearted conversations she had shared with other gentlemen, their eyes always skirting around the room as if they were looking for their next innocent target.
“I must say, Lady Cecelia, I have greatly enjoyed our time together,” the viscount said as the evening drew to an end.
He ran his fingers through his hair in a way that made Cecelia bite the inside of her lip.
He certainly was charming. “I was wondering if you might permit me to call on you at Fernworth?”
Cecelia's chest exploded at the idea. Of all the young men who had asked such a question that evening, his was the first she actually wished for.
“I would be glad of the company, My Lord.”
He offered her his hand then, and she took it willingly. When he pressed his lips to her knuckles once more, she began to blush.
“I shall look forward to it with all of my heart, My Lady.”
It was only as he left her that Cecelia finally remembered where she was.
Her chest was all aflutter as she glanced about the room, and it sank when she once more met the gaze of George.
His expression, just as before, was unreadable. But something frightening burned in his gaze, something she was forced to look quickly away from for fear that it might change everything.