At last, Mrs. Webster said they had other calls to make and rose stiffly from the sofa, turning down Cecilia’s offer of assistance. Cecilia accompanied them to the entrance hall, where Talbot waited with their bonnets and wraps. He stood patiently as they adorned themselves, his gaze turned away with respect.
Cecilia saw the change come over Talbot’s normally impassive face as he glanced up to the first floor, open to the hall below. To her shock, he cried, “Watch out!” dropped the garments, and launched himself at Cecilia, pushing her backward. She fell onto her backside and he tripped over her legs just as a bust that had sat upon the balustrade fell and cracked into a thousand pieces.
Right where she’d been standing.
Chapter 7
After the loud crash had settled into a frozen, shocked silence, Miss Jenyns screamed and covered her face. From her place on the floor, Cecilia vaguely heard people beginning to come to life all around her, the rustle of the ladies’ skirts, and the vague cries from other servants nearby, but she could only gape at the ruined bust shattered on the marble floor.
“Lady Blackthorne!” Talbot cried, crouching beside her in an undignified manner for the proper man. “Are you hurt?”
“No, no, I’m fine.” She let him help her to her feet and didn’t protest when he still clutched her elbow. “What happened?”
“I do not know,” he said, looking bewildered. “Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement and realized something was falling.”
When he looked up to the first-floor balustrade, she did the same. They both saw the head and shoulders of Susan, one of the upstairs maids, her cap askew as she gaped down at them between the giant potted ferns that framed the opening. Then she promptly burst into tears.
“Oh, Lord Blackthorne, I’m so sorry!” the girl wailed.
Then Lord Blackthorne leaned over the balustrade at her side. “Is anyone hurt?”
Cecilia should have answered at once; she should have reassured him. But she kept staring at him, wondering why he wasn’t out shooting with Oliver.
Lord Blackthorne’s frown could have frozen a winter pond. “Madam? Are you well?”
“I’m—I’m fine,” she said, then cleared her throat. She refused to sound weak although, at that moment, her knees began to wobble. A strange little shiver seemed to work its way up her back until her neck ached. She put a hand there in distant wonder.
“Damn, stay still,” Lord Blackthorne called.
She swayed again, and Lady Stafford surged forward to grab her arm.
Cecilia blinked at her. “I’m all right. Truly I am.”
“You are too pale, Lady Blackthorne,” the other woman said, not releasing her. “I think you should sit down.”
Cecilia had no choice, as Lady Stafford and Talbot guided her backward until she sat on an overstuffed chair. She could hear her husband’s quick, uneven steps as he came down the marble staircase far too fast for a man with a cane.
She looked up as he limped toward her. “I am well,” she said, unable to stop staring into his concerned face.
Why had he been on the first floor near the maid? How could that slip of a girl have knocked over the bust? It had been created in homage to her distant great-grandfather, wreathed in jowls, as the man had been. The maid almost would have had to throw her shoulder against it and push.
“My lady?” Lord Blackthorne said, crouching before her chair. “Are you going to swoon?”
She straightened her spine. “I do not swoon.”
“I didn’t think so,” he said dryly. He glanced at Talbot, who stood on the other side of her. “What did you see?”
Talbot licked his lips and spoke sincerely. “Nothing except the bust falling forward. And Lady Blackthorne—” He broke off, his eyes a bit wide.
Cecilia touched his arm. “I will be fine. I’m simply in shock.”
“Nice of you to diagnose yourself,” Lord Blackthorne practically growled.
Then he lifted up both of her arms and turned them over, examining them as if she were a doll. She tried to pull away, but he ignored her, taking her whole head in his hands and running his fingers along her scalp, dislodging strands of her hair.
“I say!” she cried. “Is this necessary?”
The three older women stood together in a little knot and gaped at Lord Blackthorne’s familiar handling of her.
