Chapter 23
The weeks passed by, and Cecelia became more and more determined to see her plan through.
With her promise made to her sister and her misgivings about her deal with the duke mostly forgotten, she placed all her efforts into spending as much time with Lord Greystone as possible.
And as the weather turned cold, the late autumn sunshine giving way to ice upon the lake in Cecelia's favourite park, she was utterly determined to enjoy the afternoon of ice skating that they had arranged.
With her sisters and her mother – now fully recovered – present, she dedicated her time to enjoying their laughter, watching Catherine stumble about most of all as they played upon the ice.
With all manner of people around them, Cecelia lost herself in the joy of the moment, giving not a thought to all that was wrong in her life.
Why, after all, would she do such a thing when everything she needed was right here?
Yet, there was a small twinge in her gut that said that was not entirely so. He was not here, her chaperone, her friend, someone who had mattered more to her than all the world combined.
“Do you skate often?” Lord Greystone asked as they skated arm in arm behind Mary and Walter.
Cecelia glanced back over her shoulder at her mother and Catherine, who had partnered up.
Seeing that they were well, she looked at him with a smile and said, “Every chance I get.”
“It is plain to see,” Lord Greystone said, gently caressing her hand where she gripped his forearm. “You show great skill, My Lady.”
“I wouldn't go as far as to say that, My Lord,” Cecelia said, blushing.
“Modest, as always, My Lady,” he said, and her cheeks heated further.
Cecelia wondered whether her face was as red as the tartan hat and matching coat she was wearing. But if it was, the viscount made no mention of it.
In fact, he said, “Forgive my forwardness, My Lady, but you are quite radiant this afternoon.”
“Why, My Lord, you flatter me,” Cecelia said, her chest swelling at the compliment.
“I merely state the truth,” Lord Greystone assured her.
Cecelia's attention was distracted by the sounds of squealing up ahead.
She looked to find that Mary and Walter had entered into a snowball fight, skating about as they threw balls, dodging each other's terribly aimed throws easily.
What Cecelia wouldn't give to be so carefree, to play as her sister did without worry of rumours, to be with a man who cared not how she acted in front of the rest of the ton.
Her youthful, rebellious nature reared its head, and she felt her battle beginning.
As if he noticed her longing, Lord Greystone halted and drew her to a stop with him.
“Do you wish to join them?” he asked.
Cecelia glanced over her shoulder, and at a stern look from her mother, she shook her head.
A memory flitted across her mind, more than one, of several situations in which her mother had encouraged her not to do something. And there he had been, young George, whispering that they absolutely should do that thing they weren't supposed to.
She forced the thoughts away. He was not with her now; Lord Greystone was. And besides, George had made his feelings towards her abundantly clear. Why wish for something that could never be?
She dipped her gaze to hide her continued longing from the viscount.
“Cecelia,” his voice was soft as he placed his fingers beneath her chin and urged her face up.
She met his gaze uncomfortably.
“We may if you wish,” he insisted, and at that moment, Cecelia wondered whether she was making the right decision. Could Lord Greystone truly be the man who might allow her to be herself?
“Catherine! Come back. It isn't safe!”
Her mother's words caused all thought of suitors, marriage, and the ton's rules from her mind.
She turned to find her youngest sister skating towards the centre of the lake, a place that was clear and unmarred by the scratching of skates.
“Catherine!”
Her sister's name flew from her lips on instinct.
“I just want a little space to practise!” Catherine called over her shoulder. “Everybody keeps getting in the way!”
Several onlookers had paused in their own skating at the commotion. Even Mary and Walter had stopped their snowball fight to look on from the edge of the lake, further around.
“Catherine, please!” their mother called as Cecelia skated to her.
“It's alright, My Lady,” Lord Greystone assured her as he joined them. “The ice is quite thick today. It has been frozen a while now.”
Cecelia offered him a grateful smile before she added, “Lord Greystone is right, and Catherine is only petite.”
Several more skaters behind them stopped, and Cecelia heard one of them gasp, “Look!”
Cecelia heard it before she saw it, the gut-wrenching sound of the ice beginning to crack.
“Catherine! Stop!”
The voice that sounded did not come from any member of their party, but Cecelia recognized it immediately.
George!
Her eyes met his across the lake, where he stood beside Elizabeth.
Though she hadn't allowed herself to admit it, she had noticed the two of them skating arm in arm earlier on.
Now, they couldn't have been further away. Yet, Cecelia felt the distance between them closing as their gazes locked.
It lasted only a moment before her gaze was drawn back to her sister.
Catherine, at George's instruction, had halted.
Yet, it appeared it was too late.
In what felt like the blink of an eye, the ice gave way beneath Catherine, and she disappeared.
“Catherine!”
All around them, exclamations filled the air, billowing clouds of breath escaping almost a hundred mouths.
“Oh, Catherine!” her mother screamed. “My daughter! Catherine! Someone must help her! She cannot swim!”
The way her mother gripped so tightly to Lord Greystone's arm made Cecelia's gut wrench.
Panic filled the air, Cecelia's heart raced, and gasps sounded all around her.
Nobody seemed to move, all as frozen as the ice that still remained beneath her own feet.
But one person did move.
George!
Cecelia's heart skipped a beat as she watched him break free of Elizabeth's grip, surging forward on the ice with not a care for himself.
Turning back to her mother and the viscount, she insisted, “We must do something!”
Yet, they remained as frozen as everyone else.
Realizing that if she spent all her time trying to call others to action, she would fail her sister, Cecelia turned, and on shaking legs, skated towards the centre of the lake.
“No!” George snapped at her, waving his arm at her as he reached the hole in the ice where Catherine had disappeared. “Stay where you are, Cece!”
His order made her halt.
Heart racing, she watched on hopelessly as George leaned over the edge of the ice, his body spread in a way that hopefully wouldn't crack the ice further.
Cecelia's heart leapt into her throat when he yelled, “I can't see her!”
“There!” someone called, and Cecelia glanced over her shoulder to see Walter pointing. “I see the pink of her jacket!”
In an instant, George was moving. Cecelia watched in astonishment as he swiftly removed one of his skates and started to hammer at the ice.
Unable to breathe, Cecelia placed her gloved hand over her mouth, her throat constricting painfully.
The ice cracked audibly, and Cecelia could barely comprehend George's speed as he dove into the water, disappearing for only a second before he reappeared with Catherine in his arms.
“Somebody help him!” Cecelia screamed, unable to move as she remembered his urging her to remain still.
Yet, it appeared he did not need any help as he shoved Catherine out onto the ice and hoisted himself up.
The cracking sound of ice filled Cecelia with dread as she watched George grab hold of her sister and scramble away from the growing hole.
“Oh, please God, no!” Cecelia uttered under her breath as she started to skate the shortest way around the lake to meet them.
The seconds seemed to tick by with agony as she urged her feet on quicker and quicker.
All around her, people watched on in horror. Only she dared move, coming to meet George and Catherine at the edge of the lake.
Without a second thought, Cecelia dropped to her knees over her sister, who George had already laid on her side. He slapped her back so hard that for a second, Cecelia wanted to snap at him to stop.
Then, Catherine coughed, her entire body shuddering as a mouthful of water came up.
Everyone finally began to move. Their mother, Walter, Mary, and even Lord Greystone came to stand around them. Others came too, all verbally expressing their hopes that they were alright.
Cecelia almost scoffed in their faces. Not a one of them had done anything to help.
Nobody had moved save for him. And she stared at him over her sister's trembling body, their gazes meeting without restraint.
Unable to utter a word, Cecelia mouthed, “Thank you.”
George didn't respond, though his gaze softened as a cloud of breath bellowed from his mouth.
His nod of acknowledgement was barely perceptible. His shivering, however, was enough to make Cecelia's insides twist with concern.
“Lord Greystone,” Cecelia said, without taking her eyes from George. “Might I please borrow your coat?”
“I beg your pardon?” the viscount exclaimed, and instead of wasting any more time, Cecelia started to strip off her own coat.
As if he knew exactly what she was doing, George propped Catherine into a sitting position, and together, they wrapped her up in Cecelia's fur-lined coat.
“Your jacket, please, My Lord,” Cecelia said, finally turning to look up at the viscount.
He hurried to remove his coat, and Cecelia took it from him, offering it to George. “Here.”
George's gaze met hers, flitting to Lord Greystone for only a second before he took the coat and wrapped it around his shoulders.
“My gratitude, My Lord,” George said in a most clipped manner, and not for the first time, Cecelia came to realize the truth.
When her sister's life had hung in the balance, not one person had moved, not one save for him.
Without a second thought, he had dived into the water to rescue her.
Was that truly the act of a man with a stone-cold heart?
She was certain that it wasn't.
“We need to get you both home,” Cecelia insisted, seeing how they continued to shiver. She worked hard to pull off Catherine's skates, her sopping socks, her sodden gloves. The lake water soaked through her own gloves, icy cold, and she began to shiver too.
She couldn't even begin to imagine how much her sister and the duke were hurting now with the biting cold.
Without instruction, George placed his arm under Catherine and hoisted her up onto her feet.
He stood beside her, holding on tight until she stood firmly on her bare feet. And when she winced at the cold, he yanked her up into his arms.
“I'll carry you to the carriage.”
Luckily for them, it seemed that the coachman had some sense and was already pulling the carriage around to their side of the lake.
“Let me help you,” Cecelia insisted when she saw how much he was shivering with cold.
George looked at her, his gaze so strong as he said, “I've got her. I promise.”
Those words heated Cecelia's insides in a way she never would have been able to imagine.
“We must make haste,” Lord Greystone insisted, skirting around the two as if to make way for them, but only in fact doing the opposite.
Cecelia bit the inside of her lip, noting how flustered he appeared, seeing the way he looked between the two of them.
He was not, in fact, the man she had hoped him to be.
And when they made it to the carriage, her mother shaking, Catherine shivering, and Mary positively beside herself, there was nothing Cecelia wished to do more than thank George.
Instead, she found herself before Lord Greystone.
He held her hand, dipped his head, and said, “Please, do let me know if I might be of further help, My Lady.”
She had to bite her tongue to stop herself from pointing out that save for his coat, he himself had been of little help at all.
“Thank you, My Lord,” she forced herself to say, glancing over her shoulder to find that George was much preoccupied with Lady Elizabeth.
“Please, allow me to escort you all home,” Walter insisted, his eyes fixed on the carriage where Mary had disappeared to comfort their mother.
“Thank you, Walter,” Cecelia uttered the words she so longed to offer to his friend.
And as she climbed into the carriage, the gentleman following quickly behind her, she offered one final glance to the duke before the door was shut.
Walter slammed his fist against the carriage, and the coachman obeyed; the carriage swiftly carried them away from the lake, away from everything, away from him.