Chapter 17 #3
He thought back, remembering every small detail he had learned about every one of Lady Cecelia’s callers.
Some of them had been truly abhorrent, but others, he had dismissed them simply because he did not like the way they looked at her, or even because he remembered how unintelligent they had been in school.
And not for the first time, he realized that Lady Cecelia might in fact be right. He was being far too judgemental.
But why?
His jaw still clenched, George said, “I shall take your words under advisement, My Lord, though I urge you to ensure they are the truth.”
As if he believed some mutual agreement had come between them, Walter stepped up and said, “I do hope we shall see you this weekend at my parents' ball, Lord Greystone.”
And though he was not entirely convinced, George felt that playing nice with Lord Greystone wasn't quite so difficult as it had been before.
Chapter 17
Cecelia felt at ease in the ballroom of the Marquess and Marchioness of Rosehill. Having been friends with Lord Walter Avery, the Viscount of Rosemont, since she was a child, and his sister, since childhood, she felt much more at home than usual.
Perhaps that was why she enjoyed their ball much more than any other she had attended so far.
Many of the guests were long-time friends and acquaintances, and the judgemental stares and whispers she so often received seemed much fewer.
When she was not on the dance floor, she spent much of her time beside it, talking to Elizabeth as if they were children once more, quietly making a mockery of all the goings on as they might have done spying from the balcony above when they were younger.
“Do you think that Lord Seymour shall ever be married?” Elizabeth whispered as they spied the old bachelor across the room.
Cecelia bit back laughter at the thought. At almost her own father's age, the man had had a poor time of things, and over the years, she had almost begun to feel sorry for him.
“He is kind enough,” she said, watching the man as he entered into conversation with a young lady who was barely old enough to be his daughter. “And I have not heard tell of anything untoward about him.”
“Yes, he has always been a perfect gentleman to my understanding,” Elizabeth agreed, taking a sip of her wine. “It is a shame that nobody snapped him up in his younger days.”
“Perhaps you might see fit to take pity on him and share a dance this evening?” Cecelia suggested, and the two laughed.
“Can you imagine my mama's face if I did?”
And that made them both laugh all the more.
Cecelia gave Elizabeth an affectionate nudge with her shoulder, glad of a familiar face to stand beside for the evening.
“The two of you seem to be quite amused.” Walter's voice made them both jump. “What are you discussing?”
Blushing, the ladies turned to Elizabeth's brother, and Cecelia was about to explain when her breath caught in her throat.
Beside Walter stood His Grace, the Duke of Cumberland.
Dressed in all his finery, neatly groomed, and imbued with confidence, Cecelia wasn't sure she had ever seen him more handsome, more the picture of nobility.
“We were—” words failed her.
“We were just discussing the prospects of poor Lord Seymour,” Elizabeth said, keeping her voice down as the crowd bustled around them.
His grace, whose gaze had been entirely upon Cecelia, glanced towards the nobleman in question.
“I have heard tell he is engaged,” he said, and Cecelia's mouth dropped open in shock.
“I beg your pardon?” Elizabeth exclaimed, clearly just as shocked.
“Yes, it is true,” Walter added, his smile broadening at their surprise. “He has been boasting about it all over town for days.”
“Well, if it is true, then there is sure to be hope for the rest of us,” Elizabeth said, and as she spoke, his grace's gaze returned to Cecelia.
She met his eyes as confidently as she was able, her knees feeling weak beneath his scrutiny.
“How are your prospects coming along, My Lady?” he asked, his tone low, the question causing Cecelia to quiver.
She glanced away, looking for a quick exit, unwilling to have such a conversation with him.
“Lady Cecelia has barely left the dance floor all evening to my knowledge,” Walter said, and Elizabeth nodded.
Cecelia looked back at the duke just in time to witness him stiffen.
No doubt he had something to say about every single one of her dance partners. All poppycock. She was certain of it. Why he wished to see her a spinster, she did not know.
But the way he looked at her—
It sent shivers down her spine.
“Perhaps, Your Grace, you might take Lady Cecelia for the next dance?” Elizabeth suggested, and Cecelia shot her friend a warning glance. “The two of you might discuss matters further.”
Before either of them could say a word, a voice said gently, “Excuse me, Lady Cecelia?”
Having been so intent upon his grace, Cecelia spun around in surprise to find Lord Greystone several inches too close.
Quickly, she stepped backwards, only to feel a warm hand at the small of her back.
Glancing over her shoulder, she found his grace staring down at her, his expression entirely unreadable.
She gulped hard as his grace gently nudged her forward. Feeling more than a little awkward, she forced her attention back to Lord Greystone.
“My Lord,” she said, dipping her head respectfully. “It is wonderful to see you again.”
He smiled, and his charming expression caught Cecelia’s attention in the same way it had the first time she had met him.
“I feel much the same way, My Lady,” he said, clearing his throat before he asked, “I wondered if perhaps you might do me the honour of your next dance?”
He offered his hand, and Cecelia glanced at his extended palm, feeling her stomach somersault.
Compared to many of the dance partners she’d had that evening, Lord Greystone was much more interesting.
“I … it would be my pleasure, My Lord,” she said, only when she heard his grace cough discreetly behind her. A part of her wondered if he might have had something to say about it all, and yet, he seemed willing, as he had been of late, to let her handle her own prospects.
Though she enjoyed the idea of dancing with Lord Greystone again, a part of her was almost disappointed that his grace seemed to have stepped back from his overly protective interferences.
As she placed her hand in Lord Greystone’s, she glanced back over her shoulder to see that his grace was still watching her.
If he was judging, the nobleman, he did not utter a word. Nor did his expression give anything away.
Elizabeth’s expression, on the other hand, was quite excited and encouraging.
“Good luck,” her friend mouthed as she was guided out onto the dance floor.
“Are you quite well, My Lady?” Lord Greystone asked as he took her into his arms, squaring up for the beginning of the dance.
“I am, My Lord,” she said, smiling, trying her hardest to concentrate upon his charming face as he returned her happy expression. “I do hope that you are well, also.”
“I am,” Lord Greystone said, and he leaned forward slightly as he whispered, “much more so now that I may dance with you.”
Cecelia’s chest swelled. “I am glad.”
“I must admit, My Lady, ordinarily, I find these events quite tiresome.” Lord Greystone sighed deeply, his hand on the small of her back, rubbing gently. “But I find it much more appealing in your company.”
Cecelia blushed. “And I, yours, My Lord.”
That seemed to please him as his smile broadened.
“I do hope you are not merely saying that for my benefit, My Lady,” he said, his brow raised, “as I would be greatly hurt if it were.”
“I assure you, it is the truth, My Lord.”
“Good,” Lord Greystone said firmly. “As I greatly wish for us to be on the same page.”
Cecelia nodded her own agreement, yet movement out of the corner of her eye caused her to glance over his shoulder.
It was then that she was surprised to find she was not the only one in her friend group on the dance floor.
Some distance off, Elizabeth had been led to dance by none other than the Duke of Cumberland.
An odd sensation coiled in her stomach as she saw his grace’s hand on the small of her friend’s back.
“I admit, My Lady, I was a little discerned when I witnessed how many callers you had,” Lord Greystone said, drawing her attention back to him. “Though, I can see all too easily why you are so popular of late.”
His words made her face heat unbelievably.
“I am not sure I understand your meaning, My Lord.”
Her eyelashes fluttered, and she almost laughed at herself for such a silly and frivolous gesture. She could imagine all too easily what his grace might have said were she dancing with him instead.
Stop thinking of him! she ordered herself. Lord Greystone was a perfect gentleman. He deserved her full attention. She was not about to let his grace get in the way of this.
“Come now, My Lady,” Lord Greystone insisted. “You are the diamond of the Season, I am certain of it.”
Cecelia’s breath caught in her throat. Clearing it, she responded, “I am not certain I would go as far as to say that, My Lord.”
“You are much too modest, My Lady,” Lord Greystone said, as Cecelia found herself glancing over his shoulder once more.
As she did, she caught the eye of his grace, their gazes locking for only a moment before she quickly drew her attention away.
Yet, in that single glance, she felt something stir inside her, something frightening.
“I … I should think there are many young ladies in attendance tonight, My Lord, who are better suited to such a title,” she said, trying her utmost to focus upon their conversation.
No matter how she tried, she couldn't help sensing his grace as their dancing drew them all closer.
In passing, she met his grace's gaze once more and felt a shiver run the length of her spine.
The ease with which she had been in attendance seemed to vanish, and suddenly, the room felt utterly too small.
As if she had paled, Lord Greystone asked, “Are you well, My Lady?”
For a second, Cecelia was unable to find her voice.