Chapter 21 #2
He sighed deeply. This conversation was not going anywhere. And so, he decided there was only one thing left to do.
“You may tell Mary that I rescind my promise,” he said, watching the confusion unfold upon her radiant face.
“What does Mary have to do with any of this?”
Bile rose in the back of George's throat, and he struggled to speak.
“She is the reason I agreed to be your chaperone,” George admitted, feeling a wave of guilt at having given up their secret. “She came to me and practically begged me to help you.”
The colour drained from Cecelia's face, and George knew the damage had been done.
“Forgive me, Your Grace, I was not aware that I was such a burden to you!”
Her back straightened, her entire body tensing up, and even in the candlelight, George could see her face clearly, see the pain that radiated there.
“I thought you had come around, that you had remembered our friendship, that you still cared for me after all of these years,” Cecelia reeled off, and George battled with the desire to grab hold of her, to tell her that was indeed why he had agreed to be her chaperone.
To tell her that was exactly the reason he could no longer take up the duty, because he could not bear to see her caring for another man.
Instead, he remained silent and received her tongue-lashing.
“I see it so clearly now. All those years you told me you wished not to be like your father, that you wished to put your family and friends and those you cared for first,” she snapped at him.
“It was all a lie, wasn't it? You're just like him, claiming power wherever you can and manipulating those around you, throwing those away who do not suit your grand plan when you realize you cannot get what you want.”
There she was, the Cecelia that George knew, the one who was unafraid of telling him just what a fool he was, the one who had claimed him to be a coward all those years ago.
And though her words stung, he felt the unbearable need to take her in his arms.
He fought it as she raised her gloved hand to the locket around her neck.
His heart broke just as readily as the chain around her neck as she dashed the golden jewellery at his feet.
“The boy who gave me this is gone,” she hissed at him, her gaze so venomous that he barely recognized her. “I should have known better than to believe he might ever return.”
With tears in her eyes, she turned on her heels and stalked from the room.
“Cece, wait!” George called against his better judgement.
Though if she heard him, she did not listen.
George's feet itched to run after her, but instead, he crouched and picked up the locket. Its broken chain hung limply from his palm as he gazed at the heart-shaped pendant.
All these years, she had worn it, and it was still warm with the touch of her skin. Her scent of floral lavender lingered in the air as he closed his fingers around the love heart and closed his eyes.
Guilt, shame, and longing tugged at his heart so violently that he felt a need to rip it right out of his chest.
Instead, he slipped the locket into his pocket and decided it was best if he made a quick escape out of one of the theatre's back doors.
Chapter 21
The foyer seemed much smaller than before, so small in fact, Cecelia could barely breathe.
Her chest felt bare with the lack of the locket around her neck, and she raised her fingers to the emptiness, half expecting to find it there once more.
Her conversation with George felt like a blur, a dream – a nightmare – and part of her wished that it was.
Having rejoined Lord Greystone, Walter, and Mary to discuss the performance with the rest of those in attendance, she found herself glancing back over her shoulder, hoping that he might come after her.
She'd heard his plea for her to wait. She had even hesitated around the corner, and considered going back to discuss things further, just to spend one more minute in his presence.
Only her anger at the truth had kept her from doing so.
And as the meaningless words about the performance continued to fall from the lips of those around her, Cecelia could not contain herself any longer.
She grabbed her sister's wrist and hissed into her ear, “Mary, I need to speak with you.”
Mary, who had been arm in arm with Walter for most of the evening, released him and turned to look at her.
“What is the matter?” she asked as if she could clearly see the lack of colour in Cecelia's face.
“Not here,” she whispered.
“We shall return in but a moment,” Mary assured Walter, dipping her head to Lord Greystone before she allowed Cecelia to urge her into a corner of the room.
They were obstructed from view by a large plant pot brimming with gloriously golden flowers. And yet, Cecelia was all too aware of their would-be audience, were she not to keep her voice down.
“What did you do?” she demanded, her tone low.
Mary's brow furrowed. “I don't know what you mean.”
She snatched her wrist from Cecelia's grip, and when she rubbed it with her other hand, Cecelia realized she must have been holding on far too tightly.
“George told me everything,” Cecelia hissed under her breath. It wasn't entirely true. She didn't know the ins and outs of the arrangement that had been made between the duke and her sister, but she knew enough to be furious.
Just the thought that George had taken on his role of chaperone as a promise to Mary, as a call to duty – and not for his caring for her – made her insides turn to water.
She felt so sick that it was a struggle to speak.
“You went to him, didn't you?” she continued when the confusion on her sister's face became overshadowed by knowledge. “You pleaded with him. He did not have a change of heart at all. He never wished this. He never cared enough to come to his senses alone.”
“Cecelia, it wasn't like that at all,” Mary protested, shaking her head. She reached for her hand, but Cecelia snatched it away.
“You thought I couldn't do this alone, and so you went behind my back. What did you say to get him to agree? Did you tell him that I was desperate? That I couldn't possibly do any of this without his help?”
Even as she spoke, she realized she did not want to know the answer.
It didn't matter, truly, all that mattered was that her sister had gone behind her back.
“You should be thanking me!” Mary said, her voice louder than before, and Cecelia cringed.
She was relieved when she glanced over her shoulder to see that everyone appeared preoccupied in conversation.
“Thanking you? For what? Making a fool of me?”
The rage boiled so violently in her veins that she felt like her chest might burst.
“I am the eldest. I am the one who is supposed to fix these problems, not you!”
Mary glowered at her then.
“Perhaps if you weren't so stubborn and you had gone to speak with him yourself, you might have been able to,” she said, her tone dark. “But it was left to me to fix because you couldn't see past your own pride!”
“This is all so easy for you, isn't it?” Cecelia snapped. “You just bat your pretty lashes, and any man you come into contact with will do exactly as you wish. We can't all have men wrapped around our fingers like you do.”
Mary's mouth fell open. She took a step backwards, stopping only when the flower pot got in her way.
“It wasn't like that, Cece. I was trying to help.”
“Well, all you did was make trouble for me! You made me a burden to the duke. You made him loathe me because he was blinded by duty. You made him believe I needed his help when I might have been able to do all of this on my own.”
Mary looked as if she were about to argue. Unable to bear the thought of what she might say, Cecelia raised her hand.
“Do not try to justify your actions to me,” she said, looking away. “We both know your intentions were entirely selfish.”
“Excuse me?”
Mary's tone was baffled.
Cecelia could no longer see past the red mist of anger that entirely enfolded her.
“With me married off, you would have no obstacles to chase your own happiness,” Cecelia pointed out. “Don't think I haven't noticed your fawning over Walter all these years!”
“Walter has nothing to do with any of this!” Mary protested. “Don't you dare try to use our friendship to suit whatever narrative you have come up with in your mind just because you're angry with me for doing something you were too stubborn to do yourself!”
Cecelia paused. Her sister was right. The blame did not lie with Walter.
“You're right. All of this is entirely down to you and George! You conspired behind my back, and now he has decided to break his promise to you. I am to be unchaperoned from this point on. I might as well have been from the beginning!”
“What do you mean, he—”
Cecelia could not bring herself to argue any longer.
Just as she had in the duke's box, she turned on her heels and hurried away, this time towards the nearest powder room.
The tears that had been stinging her eyes for several minutes now threatened to be unleashed, and she forced herself to smile her way through the crowd of people in the foyer, wishing the front doors were closer so that she might instead escape into the cool night air.
***
Why Cecelia lay alone in her room, weeping, she did not really know. She ought to have been relieved.
She had, after all, been hoping to see to her own affairs without the duke's interferences, but the knowledge that he and her sister had gone behind her back to make an agreement made her nauseous.
Replaying her last conversation with the duke made her feel all the worse.
With her hand on the empty space where her locket used to be, she felt hollow.
She hadn't truly realized how much that one piece of jewellery had meant to her until now. And now, it was gone. What George had done with it, she didn't know, and that made her quiver as the tears overwhelmed her.
Why couldn't things just be simple? Why had she felt so absent as she had returned to Lord Greystone's side?
Why couldn't she simply be satisfied with having found an amicable suitor?