When they entered the drawing room, they found Mary and Catherine sitting in the armchairs beside the roaring fireplace, the excitement on their faces making George smile.
“So, you really wish to hear the tale?” George asked as he escorted Cecelia to a couch, careful not to sit too close beside her.
“Yes! Of course we do!” Catherine insisted.
“If it please you, Your Grace,” Mary added, reaching over to tap Catherine to remind her of her manners.
“George, please,” he insisted, and he looked to Cecelia for permission.
“Go ahead,” she said, “you always were better at storytelling.”
And so, George began to tell the story. With every new piece of information they learned, the girls gasped and exclaimed, and showed great interest, and for a while George lost himself as he so often had in the past.
It was only when his story was drawing to an end, as if she had specifically allowed him the time to tell it, that Lady Westmere finally entered the room, quickly followed by a maid.
“Cecelia, honestly!” she snapped as soon as she entered, “take yourself upstairs and get out of those wet skirts!”
Cecelia glanced at George, and they shared a playful look before she dipped her head to him and hurried from the room.
He remained where he was, feeling disappointed at the loss of her beside him. The emptiness there was quickly filled by Lady Westmere.
“I must thank you, Your Grace,” she said with the sincerest tone George had ever heard. “I fear what might have become of us had you not stepped in.”
As George might have his own mother, he tentatively reached out to tap her gently on the back of her hand as he said, “I could never have sat idly by and allowed that man to do anything to this family.”
Lady Westmere's unreadable expression became one of quiet happiness, though there was a small glimmer of sadness in her eye as she said, “I remember how often your mother had called itourfamily during those long summers in the country. They seem so long ago now.”
At the mention of his mother, George flinched. He smiled, and in an effort to change the subject from his mother, he corrected, “I would never allow anything to hurtourfamily.”
He was even more surprised when Lady Westmere reached up and placed her hand against his cheek. Her eyes flashed with indecision as if she were unsure about whether he would take the touch as disrespectful. Then, she strengthened the pressure on his cheek as she assured him, “Your mother would be terribly proud if she could see you now.”
George leaned into her hand, wishing that his own mother were there to tell him such things, wishing she were the kind of woman who might do so.
“I thank you for saying so, My Lady, but I fear it may not be entirely accurate,” George said, removing her hand from his face to squeeze her slender fingers. “She would likely scold me for having waited so long to ask you if I might have a moment alone with your daughter, Lady Cecelia?”
At that, the dowager raised a brow. Her lips pursed, and for one moment, he feared she would reject his request.
Yet, at that moment, Cecelia returned, and quicker than he had ever seen her move, Lady Westmere ordered, “Mary, Catherine, help me in the hallway!”
“But Mama—” Catherine started, but Mary grabbed her sister by the elbow as if she too knew what it meant.
Catherine, dragged past the table, grabbed a couple of biscuits from the table before they all disappeared from the room.
Lady Westmere only slipped her head back in to assure them, “We shall be just on the other side of this door!”
With that, she closed it, and Cecelia turned to look at him in confusion. “What on earth was all of that about?”
George, feeling suddenly more nervous than he ever had before, rose from his seat and offered her his hand.
“Come here, will you?” he asked, when Cecelia only looked at him with mild curiosity.
She pursed her lips, and George feared she might be difficult.
Then, she started to smile, crossing the distance between them to lay her hand in his.
“What are you up to,Your Grace?” she asked, her tone playful, though there was an anxious kind of anticipation in her gaze that only made George’s insides clench up harder.
“Sit with me?” he suggested, guiding her gently down onto the couch where he had been sitting alone only moments before. “I asked your mother if I might have a moment alone with you.”
