And it was in the depths of her sister's large brown gaze that she managed to find the strength to breathe.
Inhaling, Cecelia breathed out the words, “You had better take me down to the carriage before I change my mind.”
Mary seemed to need little more instruction as she gripped Cecelia's hand firmly and started to guide her towards the door.
Sophia followed after, and Cecelia could feel her readjusting parts of the back of her gown as if she meant for her to be utterly perfect.
The excitement between her sister and lady's maid was palpable as they walked along the hall and down the stairs. And it made Cecelia want to scream.
Yet, when she made it to the top of the stairs and saw that the front door was open below, she bit back said scream in favour of staring in surprise at the man standing just outside the door.
There he was, in all his glory, looking as perfect as ever he had.
Dressed in black and white, his hair smoothed back and freshly shaven, he was the picture of dukedom. And when their eyes met, Cecelia felt as if her legs might give way beneath her.
“Come on,” Mary hissed under her breath, giving Cecelia a small nudge to the small of her back. “He is waiting.”
Cecelia held her breath as she was urged down the stairs and out through the front door to find the carriage awaiting them.
Unable to bear looking at him, Cecelia quickly turned to Mary and placed a kiss on her cheek.
“Thank you for helping me to prepare,” she whispered into her sister's ear, “wish me luck.”
“I do not think you will need it, but I wish it anyway,” Mary said, kissing her cheek in return.
With little else to say, Cecelia was forced to turn around and face him.
Lord Cumberland towered over her, taller than she remembered him from their childhood and much broader than before, too.
His hair seemed darker, his features sharper, and that cold and distant look in his eyes made her feel quite unpleasant.
“Please allow me,” he said, offering her his elbow, and Cecelia slipped her hand into the crook.
Even through the sleeve of his jacket, she felt his warmth.
His scent overwhelmed her. Many things had changed over the years, but it seemed he still wore that same sandalwood and cinnamon scent he had always worn before.
With every footstep down the porch stairs, Cecelia felt as though she might stumble and fall if not for his arm carrying her.
She was certain she felt him looking at her, yet when she glanced up, his eyes were dead set ahead.
His posture was stiff, his jaw clearly tensed, and for a second, Cecelia thought to turn and flee back into the house.
When they reached the bottom of the steps to the open door of the carriage, she was surprised to find him offering his free hand. “Please, allow me.”
Her cheeks grew hot as he stared at her, awaiting her taking his hand. As she slipped it from his arm to place in his palm, she felt her world shifting.
The warmth of his hand beneath hers was so astounding that it caused her to lift her head and meet his gaze.
She was certain he had felt it too as she saw his expression soften. The stiffness in his shoulders seemed to ease, and she could have sworn that she saw the beginnings of a smile at the corner of his lips.
Everything around her seemed to stop. The sounds of the evening, the crickets chirping, and the wind rustling in the trees down the driveway, seemed to grow silent. Even her heart stopped beating as if not to spoil the moment.
And for just one second, Cecelia looked into the eyes of the boy she had loved and saw him smiling back at her.
There was that devilishly charming glint in his eye, that twist to his lips that said he was confident in their friendship, ineverything being fine between them because they were Georgie and Cece and they always had been.
Then the duke urged her into the carriage, and just like that, their hands were separated.
