“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.Everythinghad 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 theton? 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.
