For a moment, there was nothing but the silence that followed her fall. Then she heard footsteps approaching and soon, his shadow stretched across the floor, practically swallowing the space around her.
“Are you…crying?” he asked quietly.
Cecilia’s eyes blinked rapidly, unsure whether she was about to laugh or sob at the absurdity of the entire day. “No, I’m not crying,” she answered, flustered. “It’s just this blasted dress! I have no idea why it ripped in the first place. It cost us so much money to get it made by one of the best seamstresses in all of London. Why would it rip?”
Cecilia groaned. “I practically tore it off my body because I didn’t think I was going to wear it again, and now it’s impossible to put it back on! The buttons won’t fasten, and I’m all tangled up in the fabric.” Her words tumbled out in a breathless rush. “What is going on today?”
“Miss–”
“Sir, are you certain that this is your room?” she blurted, panting.
“Yes,” he answered plainly. “I am in fact certain.”
“Then that means my bags are not here,” she mumbled. “So, I really have to put on this dress again and walk back outside to look for my chambers.”
He reached down and gently helped her to her feet before she could protest. Cecilia’s hands trembled as she fumbled with the dress again, hoping that this time, she could put it together well enough to leave the room. Flustered, she bit her lip and muttered curses under her breath as she struggled to fasten the buttons.
“Do you need help?” his deep voice cut through the silence.
Cecilia snapped her head up. “Of course not,” she replied quickly. “This is already a highly inappropriate situation. I would, however, appreciate it if you turn away.”
“I quite agree,” he said evenly. “I am only offering my help so you can leave quickly.”
“I’m going as fast as I can.”
“I’m not going to harm you,” he said quietly, reaching out a hand toward the laces.
Before he could touch them, Cecilia’s hand shot out and smacked his fingers away. “Don’t!” she snapped. “I can do it. I just need a moment.”
He blinked in surprise, stepping back slightly. “Did you really just smack my hand?”
“I did tell you quite nicely that I can manage on my own.” She paused, then softened her tone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. This is all rather overwhelming.”
“This would go a lot quicker if you just let me do a few buttons and lace it up properly,” he said. “I have somewhere to be, and you’re making this unnecessarily difficult.”
Cecilia pulled back. “What exactly do you know about ladies’ dresses, pray tell? You’re not a seamstress.”
“Perhaps not. But since you don’t have eyes in the back of your head, how do you expect to fix that dress all by yourself?”
“I’m perfectly capable, thank you very much. I just prefer not to have a man fussing over me.”
“Fussing?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what you call it? I was merely trying to be helpful; not coddle you like a child.”
Cecilia shot back, “Well, it certainly feels like coddling. Now, turn away!”
He folded his arms, eyes narrowing with disbelief. “The gown is already on you. Why on earth do you need me to turn away?”
“Because it’s torn, and I feel exposed,” she said, glancing at him as she continued to struggle with the buttons. Deep down, Cecilia knew she needed help, but there was no way she was going to allow this stranger to give it to her.
He stepped closer. “What is your name?”
Her fingers froze mid-struggle, and she shot him a cool, guarded look. “I don’t see why that matters.”
“Is obstinacy your only form of communication?”
Before she could respond, a sharp knock struck the door, once, briskly, but the courtesy ended there. The door creaked open a heartbeat later, and Aunt Marianne swept into the room.
“Your Grace, is everything all right? Everyone is expect–”