Chapter 27
Just as Cecelia remembered it, the bridge was beautiful in the early morning fog.
With the sun rising, streaking the fog with yellow, orange, and red, unable to see much but the ornate railing beside them as they walked, Cecelia felt oddly at ease beside Lord Greystone, even after all that had happened of late.
With her mother and her mother's lady's maid wandering behind them a short way back, she felt comfortable in the knowledge that they were not entirely alone, yet enjoying the peace and quiet of their walking simply, side by side.
Cecelia wondered whether perhaps this moment might become a more frequent thing were she actually to find herself married to the gentleman at her side.
“It truly is beautiful, isn't it?” Lord Greystone said, breaking the silence in a gentle tone. “I am so glad you suggested this when last we spoke yesterday afternoon.”
“It is,” Cecelia said, nodding. “And as am I.”
A small lump bubbled up in her throat as she added, “Papa used to bring me here early in the morning when the fog was rolling in.”
“You must miss him terribly.” Lord Greystone sighed deeply. He laid his hand on Cecelia's, where it rested on his forearm, and instinctively, she squeezed him with affection.
“I miss him terribly,” she admitted, shocked at having voiced it for perhaps the first time since his funeral.
“I know I am poor company and cannot replace your father, but I do hope that you shall accept my offer to bring you here whenever you'd like,” Lord Greystone said, looking at Cecelia as if he were probing for something more.
“You are not poor company, My Lord,” Cecelia assured him, offering a smile.
In the chill of the morning, she moved a little closer, his body heat too welcoming to resist.
Yet, as she did, she couldn't help feeling a little uneasy.
And when the viscount drew her to a halt, her entire body started to tremble.
“Let us stand a moment and enjoy it,” Lord Greystone insisted, turning towards her as he plucked her hand from his arm and reached for her other.
The gesture felt all too intimate, and Cecelia fought the urge to snatch her hands away.
The sound of her mother's and her lady's maid's feet paused as if they were giving the two space.
A part of Cecelia wished to call her mother to join them, suddenly terrified of where this moment was about to lead.
“Lady Cecelia,” Lord Greystone said. He lifted his eyes, meeting her gaze in such a way that made her bite the inside of her lip. “I feel there is something I must say—”
Cecelia fought the urge to run. Wasn't this the moment she had been waiting for? Wasn't this the very moment her father had hoped for when writing his will and leaving word of his last wish?
Bile rose in the back of her throat until she was quite nauseous.
Though she stood before Lord Greystone, his wasn't entirely the face that she saw. Every time she blinked, she became more dizzy, her mind replacing his face with that of George.
And the bile thickened into a hard lump in her throat that threatened to choke the tears right out of her.
It was only the sensation of her mother's watching on, imagining how happy she would be at witnessing such a thing, that stopped Cecelia from doing something reckless.
“Lord Greystone, I—”
“Please, My Lady, allow me to speak before my words fail me,” Lord Greystone insisted, and Cecelia's insides clenched up into knots.
Please, please, don't say it—
She couldn't speak. Instead, she gave a faint nod. No matter how she tried, she couldn't bring herself to break his gaze.
“Lady Cecelia, since our meeting, I have been profoundly aware that you are unlike any other young lady I have ever had the pleasure of knowing,” Lord Greystone said, his tone clear and crisp, even sweet.
Cecelia closed her eyes and, for just a moment, allowed the terror to wash away in favour of being wooed by the gentleman before her.
If this were to be her one and only proposal, she did not wish to look back on it and see only the negatives. She allowed the viscount's words to wash over her as she opened her eyes once more.
“You are the most beautiful and radiant creature that I have ever laid eyes upon,” Lord Greystone continued.
“And I cannot bear the thought of wasting any more time beating around the bush. I wish to spend the rest of my life with you, and therefore, I ask, will you, Lady Cecelia Flannery, do me the honour of marrying me?”
Cecelia's face grew cold, and she knew without doubt that she must have gone terribly pale. That much was clear from the way that Lord Greystone's expression fell.
She watched as the oddest thing occurred. For just a second, she thought she saw another standing before her. Not George this time, but Lord Greystone again, or at least, a far less friendly version of him.
And it startled her into taking a step back.
A memory flashed in her mind, George warning her of the viscount. What was it that he had said all those weeks ago?
She couldn't remember the full details, but they were enough to make her hesitate now. Maybe she ought to have listened, at least until George had finished telling her all he had to tell. Instead, she had insisted that she would not hear of it.
Now, here she stood, trapped between the viscount and her mother, their wishes aligned, and yet hers were suddenly so clearly the opposite.
“Lord Greystone, I—”
“What is the matter?” Lord Greystone said, his grip on her hands tightening a little. Alarm spread through Cecelia’s chest as it bordered on uncomfortable. “Have we not waited long enough for this moment?”
Cecelia struggled to swallow past the lump in her throat.
The sound of blood pounding in her ears made it almost impossible to hear what he was saying.
She felt as if the entire world were spinning around her, and only Lord Greystone’s grip on her was anchoring her there.
Yet, somehow, she prayed for him to let her go, even if it meant never finding which way was up again.
“Lady Cecelia, if you do not accept my proposal, people will begin to talk,” Lord Greystone said, never blinking. “Our courtship has dragged on long enough. People have already begun to speculate.”
“Lord Greystone,” Cecelia said through gritted teeth, her panic rising, “you … you’re hurting me.”
He seemed not to hear her as his grip tightened further, becoming truly painful now. Cecelia’s heart raced so violently she thought it might burst from her chest, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get her hands free of his grip.
“You can’t continue to lead me on in this way, My Lady,” he said. His voice had gone from that of a charming gentleman to a wolf in sheep’s clothing, the sneer just too much to keep hidden.
“I … I don’t know what you mean—”
“You will make fools of us both,” Lord Greystone continued, his voice becoming low. He stepped closer, pulling her to him as he whispered in her ear, “I won’t have a frivolous woman like you be the ruin of me.”
That word was the undoing of Cecelia’s panic and the beginning of her anger. It boiled up inside her as she remembered how, once, George, too, had called her such a thing.
She had sat back and accepted it with the quiet patience of a lady then. After all, it had come from the lips of someone who had once known her, the real her, not this lady she pretended to be.
But there was no way on Earth that she was going to stand here and take such an insult from a man who barely knew her, a man who had clearly been deceiving her. Whatever his reason for doing so, she wasn’t about to fall for it any longer.
“How dare you call me such a—” she began, finally managing to pull her hands away in her anger.
She never got to finish the sentence, for the sound of horses’ hooves on the bridge came charging towards them.
Though she did not see it immediately through the fog, she sensed its direction and turned just in time to find the large black stallion skidding to a halt a few metres from her mother.
The woman screamed as if she thought the stallion were about to hit her, and she and her lady’s maid scurried out of the way even as the rider dismounted, yelling something Cecelia could not quite hear.
“Get away from him!”
When the voice finally hit her ears, George’s face came swimming into view through the fog.
“Cece! Come here. Get away from that vagabond!” He gestured her towards him as he stormed across the distance that lay between them. “You stay right where you are, sir!”
“Your Grace, what is the meaning of this?” her mother demanded as she came hurrying after the duke.
George did not answer. Instead, he flung himself between Cecelia and Lord Greystone. The way his hand gripped her hip, how he protectively placed her behind him, made her heart jump.
“What is the meaning of this, Your Grace?” Lord Greystone echoed her mother's sentiments, though there was a darkness in his gaze that frightened Cecelia as she peered around George's shoulder.
Instinctively, she placed her hand on the duke's arm, not only to steady herself but somehow, to offer him strength. As if he sensed it, she felt him squeeze her side gently where his hand remained as if he wished to bar her from moving out of his protective embrace.
The heat of his hand on her was almost unbearable with the true knowing of what it meant.
“This man is not who he claims to be!” George announced, the tone of his voice grim, loud, and commanding.
“Please, explain yourself, Your Grace,” Cecelia's mother insisted as she came forward and stood a little way off, her maid close at hand. Both were utterly pale, as if the shock of the situation had left them utterly breathless.
Cecelia too felt breathless, light-headed, and confused. Though more than anything, she was relieved at the interruption.
“This is preposterous!” Lord Greystone bellowed, taking a step forward.
“Not one step further, sir!”
“Lord, I am a Lord!” Greystone snapped, sounding like a child who was about to throw a tantrum. “You shall respect me as such.”