George straightened his back and declared, “I am merely doing my duty towards Father and Lord Flannery's friendship. Nothing else.”
His mother raised an eyebrow at that, her expression suggesting she was not entirely convinced.
Whether she was or not, George was determined to convince himself of the fact.
This is duty, nothing more.
Yet, when he closed his eyes again to avoid his mother's gaze, he found himself thinking of Lady Cecelia beside her mother's sickbed again. And a part of him felt an overwhelming urge to go to her.
It was only staunched by Walter’s return, and George quickly focused himself upon his friend once more. He smiled knowingly when he saw the flustered look upon his face.
“Is Lady Mary well? Did she get off safely?” he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“Don’t look at me that way,” Walter snapped as if he knew well what his friend was thinking. “She did.”
“Good, I am glad,” George said, unable to stop his smile from broadening. “I did not anticipate you returning so quickly.”
“Yes, well, we have a ride to get on with, don’t we?”
George cocked his head. “I would have waited.”
“There was no need,” Walter insisted, but George could see on his friend’s face that the idea of having spent more time with Lady Mary was most appealing.
Chapter 9
“Cece? Cecelia? Wake up!”
The way her sister shook her was nothing compared to the cramping in her neck as she straightened up in the armchair at her mother's bedside.
“What is it? Is Mama worse?” she gasped, but when she sat up and looked to the bed, she found her mother propped on her pillows, smiling.
Beside her sat Mary, equally as smiley.
“What is it? What is going on?”
Catherine crouched before her, a smile as big as that on Mary's and her mother's faces.
“A letter has come.”
Cecelia pulled herself up in her chair. “What of it?”
“It appears to be from the duke,” her mother said, sounding much stronger than before if a little croaky still.
At the mention of him, Cecelia's heart skipped a beat.
“No doubt he is writing to apologize for being too busy to help,” Cecelia scoffed. “I am not certain I wish to read it.”
“Oh, but you must!” Mary insisted. “Perhaps it is regarding something else. I have heard his mother is back in town. Perhaps they wish to invite us for dinner.”
Cecelia furrowed her brow and looked down at the envelope Catherine was offering to her.
Her throat constricted. Did she really wish to know what was inside the letter?
She remembered all too well the cold and distant look in his eyes as he had slipped past her that afternoon in the foyer. He hadn't even been able to look her in the eye. Why should he invite them to dinner after that?
“Come, be quick about it!” her mother instructed.
Cecelia gave in and took the envelope from Catherine.
