And that worried her.
Mary gripped hold of both her hands, causing her to open her eyes swiftly. And when she looked into her deep brown eyes, all she saw was reassurance.
“Does it truly matter why?” she asked, and before Cecelia could respond, she added, “if it does matter, then the only way you can find out is by attending tonight so that you might ask him for yourself.”
A shiver ran down Cecelia's spine as she realized her sister might well be right.
Smiling sadly, she asked, “When did you get so wise?”
Mary scoffed at that, shaking her head. “I have always been wise. I was just too little for you to take notice before.”
Cecelia ruffled her sister's hair playfully as she responded, “You willalwaysbe little to me, but I'll admit, you're certainly bigger than you were before.”
“Does that mean you'll go?”
Cecelia inhaled deeply.
“I shall at least get ready,” she sighed, squeezing Mary's hands. “Then we shall see if I am prepared to go or not.”
***
Standing in front of the floor-length mirror, Cecelia had to admit she had never quite felt so beautiful.
There was very little remaining of the rebellious little girl she had once been. Dressed in ivory, her hair pinned up in the latest fashion with pearls decorating it, her ears, her neck, and her wrists, she could almost believe that she might fit in at a debut ball.
Twisting her feet in her small-heeled shoes, she wished they didn't pinch so, as she was sure being more comfortable would make her feel a little more confident.
“You look breathtaking,” Mary said, sitting on the bed behind her as Sophia put the finishing touches to her makeup, adding just a little more rouge to her cheeks.
“If only you were the eldest,” Cecelia sighed. “I am quite certain you would not hesitate so.”
Mary chuckled at that. “Were I the eldest, I am certain I would have messed all of this up a long time ago.”
They laughed together, their agreement unspoken.
“I think you are ready,” Sophia said, taking a step back to admire her work.
Cecelia pulled on her long silk gloves, adjusting them at the wrists.
Why she preened in the mirror so, she could not say. She still hadn't entirely made up her mind as to whether she would go.
How was she to sit in a carriage with Lord Cumberland? How could she step into a ballroom on his arm? How was she to question him as to why he had changed his mind?
There were too many questions, too many unknowns. And every time she thought of walking down the stairs to the foyer where he would most likely be awaiting her, all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and hide.
Yet, she was certain there was no place that she could do so without her mother finding her and dragging her out.
“Just think of Father,” Mary suggested as if she knew the turmoil that was still going on inside her.
Cecelia closed her eyes at the mention of him. Why, oh why, had he done this to her?
Her father had many friends, many of whom had perfectly acceptable sons who might have been her chaperone, and yet, he had chosen this one.
“I am,” she said, opening her eyes once more. All she had done recently was think of her father, of all the responsibilities he had left upon her shoulders after his passing.
The tears threatened once more, and she held them back, telling herself she did not wish to spoil all of Sophia's hard work.
Mary rose from the bed and took Sophia's place in front of her. Gripping hold of Cecelia's hand, she said firmly, “Youcando this.”
