“For what?” George asked.
“For giving me a moment to remember him,” she said, glancing over her shoulder as she felt her mother and her maid drawing nearer. “I do not like to mention him around Mama and my sisters. They … they do not handle his memory very well.”
George's gaze filled with sympathy, and he simply nodded, slow and respectful.
“Come, let us get you home,” George said gently, urging her forward before he leaned in and whispered in her ear, “I am happy to give you a moment to remember him, any time you need.”
Chapter 28
Upon their return to Fernworth, Lady Westmere instructed a groom to take George's horse to the stables to be washed, brushed, fed, and rested, insisting that he stay, at least, for some refreshments while they all decompressed from the morning's events. And George was more than happy to accept the offer with only one thing left on his mind: finding a quiet moment alone to tell Cecelia the truth.
The moment they entered the house, George could barely remove his coat before Mary and Catherine came hurtling down the stairs, demanding to know what all the commotion had been about.
He and Cecelia looked at each other, smiling as they silently decided whether to draw it out, just as they might have done when they were children.
Seeing the mischievous glint in her eye, George shook his head and said, “Oh, it was really nothing at all.”
Mary looked disappointed, yet Catherine was so positively churlish as she demanded, “I do not believe you. Tell us what happened!”
She crossed her arms over her chest, scowling her most famous, frustrated scowl, and George couldn't help his laughter.
Somehow, it was as if walking through that door had flung him right back into the past, returning him to the carefree days of play and teasing he had shared with the Flannery sisters.
“I don't know, Cecelia,” George said, looking from the sisters to her, “what do you think to our telling them?”
Cecelia, having already removed her gloves, pulled off her hat and coat and handed them to a waiting maid, offering her gratitude before she turned to say, “I am not certain they deserve to know. They were quite terrible after Catherine's incident. They simply would not listen to my instructions at all.”
George, feigning horror, gaped at the sisters and demanded, “Is this true? How dare you not listen to your kind, caring elder sister?”
Then, he lifted his hand to cover his mouth from Cecelia's view as he leant in and whispered, “I wouldn't have either.”
The girls chuckled and blushed as he offered them a wink.
His heart swelled to hear their laughter, and a small weight was lifted from his shoulders.
“Enough teasing, you two,” Lady Westmere scolded, as she too began to remove her outer garments. “If they must know, then they must join us in the drawing room for tea.”
The two younger girls’ expressions fell as if they knew entirely what that meant. Tea meant best behaviour, and neither of them seemed willing to act like proper young ladies as they both turned and practically fought each other to be the first to the drawing room.
George chuckled as Cecelia stepped across to join him, rolling her eyes at her sisters.
“You must forgive them,” she said, “it doesn't matter how old they get, they never mature. I am almost certain Mary does it just to get under Mother's skin.”
George glanced over his shoulder at the dowager and said, “It appears to be working.”
Her expression was barely readable, but what he could read was quite annoyed.
He suspected that after the morning's drama, she was in no mood for a proper scolding.
“Besides,” he added, offering her his arm in a silent gesture to escort her into the drawing room after her sisters. He was surprised when she took it, and he had to hide it from his voice as he added, “I have missed their playful nature. It makes me wish my parents had had more children.”
Cecelia squeezed his arm and said gently, “You always had us.”
George's heart skipped a beat as he fought the urge to ask whether that remained true now. He wished for the moment to be entirely right.
So many things had gone wrong so far, so many moments had been stolen or interrupted or never come to pass at all because of his cowardice, and then there was the constant reminder in the back of his mind; his father's voice given life inside his head for all these years, reminding him that whatever he did, it was never quite good enough.
But he was determined for this to be, and with that determination, he found his free hand checking his pocket for the pendant he had kept there ever since she had thrown it at his feet at the theatre. Just the knowledge that it was still there, even after his altercation with Fitzwilliam, allowed him to breathe a little easier.
