Chapter Thirteen #3
That “good character” had disappeared about as fast as it had taken her to spit out the embarrassing sentence that she no longer had a dowry. She was fairly certain she’d not even inhaled a breath after completing the sentence before Jonathan had demanded the betrothal be broken.
“Let me handle how to announce it,” Jonathan had said.
More the fool was she for having gone along with that plea.
He’d handled it, all right. Somehow, he’d convinced Lord Tarrymount—his crony in crime—to lure her into the library at the Rochburns’ home and then kiss her just as a group of the ton’s biggest gossips strolled in—with Jonathan among them, of course.
He had somehow managed to look like the injured party, and she looked like a woman of easy virtue.
He’d also promised that he’d keep the secret of her father’s near-penniless state.
Technically, the blackguard had kept that secret, but the price of his silence was her good name, and after she had confronted him about what he and Lord Tarrymount had done to her, the price of Jonathan’s silence was her own silence.
If she dared cry foul, he’d let her family’s financial situation be known.
She’d been unwise, albeit unwittingly, but that had not changed a thing.
Since her disgrace had occurred, she’d broken nary a rule, not that she’d had much chance since the ton’s doors had been firmly shut in her face.
Yet, even if the chance had arisen, she would not have dared to take it.
She knew how much her mother hoped all would be forgotten in time and that Cecelia might still make a good match.
“Please do ignore Liam,” Aila said, disrupting Cecelia’s terrible recollections, thank heavens. Cecelia focused her attention on Aila just as she gave her brother a disgruntled look. “He does not care for the rules of English Society. He does not understand the necessity.”
Cecelia felt her frown deepen as she dragged her gaze back to the compelling Scot.
Frankly, she had never understood the need for all the rules, either, which was why she had not bothered overly much to heed them.
She still didn’t comprehend what was so god-awful about sharing your Christian name, but with all her troubles, she really should just abide by the rules that had been hammered into her since birth.
She narrowed her eyes as she watched Liam’s eyebrow arch ever higher. Challenging. Mocking.
Botheration! She’d never been one to pass up a challenge. She darted a look up and down the street to ensure that they were alone. “Cecelia,” she announced triumphantly.
“That’s a lovely name, lass,” he replied in a deep, sensual tone that made her skin prickle.
The compliment this virtual stranger had just offered pleased her so much that she wanted to grin, but somehow, she managed to make her mouth behave and appear unaffected, which was quite properly English.
She had already broken one rule of etiquette today; she dared not break another so quickly. It was like tempting fate to slap her.
“Thank you,” she replied, trying desperately not to sound breathy with her happiness.
Liam’s mouth tugged farther upward at the corners, and she suspected she had failed miserably at hiding her pleasure in his compliment, but before he could say anything else, his sister spoke. “Have ye been to the Rochburns’ home before?”
“Yes, but not in quite some time. You see, I don’t get about much socially,” Cecelia said, praying her tone did not sound strained as she glanced toward the townhome of which they spoke.
Her happiness abruptly vanished. Cecelia’s family had once been welcomed at the Rochburns’, but after her disgrace, that had changed.
Everything had changed. And a sennight later, her father had drunk himself to death.
When Aila loudly cleared her throat, Cecelia flinched, realizing she was expected to elaborate. She had no notion of what to say. Heat burned her cheeks so greatly that she pressed her hands to them. “I’m terribly sorry,” she mumbled, searching for a passable excuse. “The cold makes me, um…”
“Freezes yer tongue, aye? It does that to mine.” Liam gave her a look of encouragement, and she knew the man had purposely just offered her a perfect excuse for her rudeness.
She liked this man more than she liked most any lord she’d met in her past two Seasons on the marriage mart, despite knowing him for less than an hour.
She found herself nodding.
A slow smile spread across his face and made her heart tug.
He was breathtakingly, ruggedly manly. He reminded her of the naked Greek statues she’d seen at the museum with her father.
Except, of course, this man was clothed.
She gulped just thinking about the scandalous prospect of his nudity, and when she brought her gaze to his once more, she found him staring intently, as if he knew her secret thoughts.
Embarrassed, she focused on his sister, but she could feel his eyes upon her just as sure as she could feel the heat of the sun.
Aila turned and glanced down the street toward the Rochburns’ townhome. “’Tis funny, I thought I’d met all the family’s neighbors…”
Cecelia shifted from foot to foot, the uncomfortable knowledge of why the Rochburns had not mentioned her knotting her stomach.
“Are you, er, particular friends of Her Grace’s?
” Cecelia stumbled, finding it hard to believe the stuffy Duchess of Rochburn would befriend poor Scots, let alone have them as guests in her home.
Aila chuckled, and her brother frowned. “I am to marry her son,” she said.
Cecelia blinked in surprise. “Lord Aldridge?” Sadness tugged at her.
They had once been good friends, but that was likely never to be again.
“I hadn’t realized he’d returned from the fight against Napoleon.
” Richard Stone, Marquess of Aldridge was the Duke of Rochburn’s only heir, and the man, to his credit, had defied his father and gone off to fight Napoleon.
“He has only just returned.” Aila surprised Cecelia by grabbing her hand. “Oh! We are having a grand ball to celebrate our betrothal! Ye must come! Ye are the first woman my age here I have met who I think I might actually like! It would be lovely to have a friend—”
“No!” Cecelia snapped, not meaning to be rude, but she certainly could not let this woman, who seemed so nice, return to the Duke and Duchess of Rochburn’s home and voice her wish to invite Cecelia to the ball. They’d laugh Aila out of their presence and may even doubt her worthiness for Aldridge.
When Cecelia realized Aila was gawking at her and Liam had a puzzled look on his face, she scrambled to come up with an explanation.
“I, um, I detest balls.” Heat from the lie singed her cheeks, her neck, and her chest. “I really must go.” She offered a quick curtsy, but as she started to step around Liam, Aila touched her arm.
“I detest balls, too, but I would so dearly love to see ye there. I will have Richard invite ye, and ye may decline or accept as ye wish.”
The thought of going back to the Rochburns’ made her ill, but as she was positive the opportunity would not truly arise, she nodded.
A sudden thought struck her. What if she really could somehow manage to get back into the good graces of the ton? She would do it for her mother’s sake. Or she would at least try.
Even as she now prayed that she would receive an invitation, she pleaded to God that Jonathan not be there. Her palms still itched to slap him when she thought about what he had done to her, and her heart squeezed when she thought upon Matilda.
“Thank you,” she murmured, hoping it sounded genuine. She thought she might have succeeded, given Aila’s grin, but when Cecelia stole a glance at Liam, his narrowed, questioning eyes were trained on her.
I hope you enjoyed the excerpt.