Chapter 21 #3
After all, Lord Greystone ticked every box.
Her tears were just beginning to subside when she heard a gentle knock upon her door.
A glance at the clock on the mantelpiece across the room told her it was almost midnight.
Surely her mother could wait until morning to hear about the theatre.
She didn't answer the knock. Instead, she rolled over and turned her back to the door.
Yet, she heard the familiar click as it was gently pushed open.
“Cece?”
Mary's soft tone made her cringe.
She had no interest in talking to her right now.
Closing her eyes, she pretended to be asleep.
That did not seem to dissuade her sister as she crossed the room and slipped onto the bed behind her.
An arm wrapped around her as Mary whispered, “I'm sorry, Cece.”
Another tear rolled down Cecelia's cheek, and she fought back a sob.
“I never meant to hurt you,” Mary continued, tightening her arm around her. “Nor did George. I only hoped we might recover some of what we had lost, some of what was stolen from us in the war.”
Every muscle in Cecelia's body tensed.
“We were all such good friends before all of this,” Mary sighed and lifted her hand to stroke the back of Cecelia's head. She ran her fingers through the loose strands of hair that had fallen out of Cecelia's braid. “I just wanted George to give things a chance to go back to the way they were.”
Cecelia could no longer hold her tongue.
Her voice shook as she whispered into the darkness, “Things will never be the same again, Mary.”
She felt her sister's body tense against her own.
“I knew you weren't asleep,” Mary said, her voice mildly amused. “Why did you try to trick me?”
Cecelia rolled onto her back and looked up at her sister as she lay propped on one elbow.
Mary continued to play with Cecelia's braid.
“I did not wish to talk.”
“And now?”
Cecelia shrugged. She glanced down, watching Mary's fingers twiddle with her hair.
“Everything is so complicated,” Cecelia sighed, her chest tight no matter how deeply she tried to breathe.
“It does not need to be,” Mary insisted. “I am certain there is a way we can all get through this.”
Cecelia smiled at her sister's constant desire to reassure her that everything would be well in the end. She only hoped she could share the same optimism.
“I am sad that you and George could not see eye to eye where Lord Greystone is concerned,” Mary admitted, and Cecelia shivered.
“As am I.”
Silence fell on the room for several moments, and in the moonlight that filtered through a sliver in the drapes, Cecelia studied her sister's face.
She looked thoughtful, her brown eyes still fixed on the hair between her fingers.
“Are you certain Lord Greystone is the one?”
That question caused Cecelia's heart to skip a beat.
She had always imagined that when this question came, she would be abundantly sure of the answer. Yet, all she felt now was confusion.
Cecelia shook her head, her lips pursed.
“If you had asked me a few days ago,” she said, her lip quivering, “I would have said yes. Lord Greystone is respectable, kind, and wealthy, and on paper, he is the perfect suitor, but—”
He has also shown me keen interest, which is more than can be said for some, she thought, unable to admit that her conundrum had begun long before now.
At that, Mary met her gaze. “What changed?”
Cecelia closed her eyes.
So much had changed.
She thought back to the very moment when all her plans had suddenly stopped making sense.
“George … he … he kissed me.”
Mary sat bolt upright in the bed, looking down at Cecelia with sheer astonishment on her face.
“I beg your pardon? When?”
Cecelia gulped. Her secret, their secret, was out. She couldn't take it back now.
“We were on the terrace at the ball two nights ago,” she explained, “we talked, and George admitted several things to me. Then we … we kissed.”
“But I thought the two of you had fallen out!” Mary protested, blinking as if she couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. “The two of you barely spoke at the theatre, and your attention was entirely upon Lord Greystone. You were so cold to each other.”
The truth of her sister's words stung.
“That is entirely why I am so confused,” Cecelia admitted.
She closed her eyes once more, exhaling deeply.
“Every time I feel George and I are growing closer, he pulls away again. I cannot bear the thought of being with a man like that. I cannot live a life unable to be truly sure of where I stand.”
“And you know where you stand with Lord Greystone?” Though it sounded like a question, Cecelia sensed the statement in her sister's words, and so, she simply nodded.
Lord Greystone's intentions towards her had been abundantly clear from almost the very moment they had met. He had never made her question, never left her feeling cold and unwanted.
But nor has he made my heart race as George does, Cecelia thought, quickly pushing the thought away as she opened her eyes to look at Mary. “What am I to do?”
Mary's gaze softened, and she brushed Cecelia's hair back behind her ear.
“I don't know,” her sister admitted, lifting one shoulder nonchalantly. “One thing I do know is that I ought to grab George by the ear and demand to know why he has the gall to kiss you when he cannot bring himself to court you.”
Cecelia blushed. Her heart ached. If only he would. Maybe then all of this might be clearer.
“I don't believe that George and I courting has ever been an option,” Cecelia admitted. She remembered all the times during their childhood when they had grown close, all the intimate moments during games, all the times they had stumbled into each other's arms, and the opportunity had been there.
Not once had either of them uttered a word towards the notion, though Cecelia had certainly felt the urge to. She could not be so sure that George might feel the same way.
“James is kind and charming, and he clearly knows what he wants,” Cecelia pointed out, trying to convince herself as much as her sister. “He has never given any hint that our courtship shall not end in marriage. George, on the other hand, has never shown an ounce of wishing in courting me.”
“What of the kiss?” Mary protested.
Cecelia's body lit up at the mention of it, but she quickly stamped the fire out.
“It came in the heat of an emotional moment,” she said, her insides flipping with anxiety. “It cannot be relied upon.”
“Then, it sounds to me as if you have decided upon Lord Greystone,” Mary said, her gaze pointed as if she wished to draw the truth from Cecelia's lips.
“I suppose I have,” she said, the hairs on the backs of her arms standing on end. “What of you?”
She was desperate to change the subject.
Mary blinked. “What of me?”
“Do not play the fool with me,” Cecelia said, propping herself up against her pillows so she could meet her sister's gaze more firmly. “I have seen with my very own eyes the way you and Walter have been inseparable these last few weeks.”
Even in the silver moonlight, Cecelia saw how her sister's cheeks started to burn.
Mary glanced down, fiddling with the embroidery on her dressing robe.
“He and I have grown close, yes,” she admitted.
Hearing her sister admit the truth, finally, she pressed, “Do you think it shall lead anywhere?”
For a second, her sister remained silent, her gaze utterly on her working fingers.
Then, she met Cecelia's gaze as she whispered, “I do hope so.”
Cecelia's own misgivings were suddenly overwhelmed by excitement and joy for her sister.
“Do you believe he feels the same?” she asked, gripping her sister's hand to stop her fidgeting.
She heard how her sister gulped before she answered, “I believe so.”
“Oh, Mary! Why didn't you say anything before?” Cecelia demanded, pulling her sister into her arms.
For a moment, all her troubles, all her anger, were forgotten. She merely wished to relish in this moment, in their sisterly bond, in the hopes that at least one of them might one day be happy.
Mary pulled back as she said, “Because until you are wed, it does not matter.”
Cecelia's stomach twisted.
“I have not even made my debut, and I cannot until you have made your match,” Mary pointed out, and guilt threatened to overwhelm Cecelia.
It was at that moment she felt utterly sure of what she needed to do, of how to fulfil her father's last wish and see her sister's happiness fulfilled.
“I swear to you, Mary, one way or another,” Cecelia said firmly, “I shall see myself settled by the end of the Season.”
The weight of such a promise landed heavily upon her shoulders, only eased slightly by the beaming grin on her sister's face.
“Walter and I should be most grateful if you did,” Mary said, hugging Cecelia tightly before she pulled back to add, “but please, follow your heart, Cece.”
Cecelia's entire body turned to stone then.
That was one thing she absolutely could not do.