Cecelia’s stomach twisted, remembering how well the ball had gone only to have all her prospects destroyed the very next day.
“It sounds as if it were magical,” Mary agreed. She turned to Cecelia and added, “I do hope you had a wonderful time.”
“I did,” Cecelia said plainly, spooning her second course about her plate with no real intention of eating it. With every moment that passed, she found her anger boiling up once more. It took all her effort to remind herself that she had promised she would stick to her mother’s wishes.
“Lady Cecelia was kept rather busy all evening,” His grace put in. “I am surprised her feet are not still sore from all the dancing she did.”
The way he looked at her out of the corner of his eye made Cecelia stiffen.
“Yes, well, I’ve had a lot of practise these last few years,” she responded coldly.
“I was glad to see it,” his grace said, and he looked at her directly then as he added, “I am grateful for your not standing on anyone’s toes as you did so often when we were children.”
Cecilia almost smiled. If not for her anger, she might have done.
“Yes, well, it was near impossible not to stand on your toes when all you seemed able to do was put them beneath my feet,” she countered, glaring back at the duke openly.
His grace scoffed at that, and her mother appeared quick to get between the two of them. “Is the food to your liking, Your Grace?”
“Yes, of course, Lady Westmere,” his grace said, smiling at the dowager, “your cook has outdone themselves as per usual.”
“Good, I am glad.”
Cecelia returned her gaze to her own food, hoping that would be the end of all conversation between them.
From the moment she had entered the dining room, she had decided it best to remain as quiet as possible, not to be drawn into anything that might upset her mother.
“Perhaps once we have seen your sister settled, we might look to your debut next Season, Mary,” her mother said, and Cecelia’s insides twisted.
How was she to be seen settled when the duke seemed bent on making it impossible?
“I have every confidence that you would shine, Lady Mary,” his grace said, making Cecelia’s jaw clench so hard she thought she might actually crack a tooth.
“If only you would allow me to do so now,” she muttered under her breath, picking up a piece of pear with her fork.
“I beg your pardon?” his grace asked, leaning back in his own chair to look at her plainly.
It was clear from the look upon his face that he had undoubtedly heard her, and so she lifted her gaze, meeting his silently.
“Do I detect some anger towards me, Lady Cecelia?” his grace asked, his dark brow furrowed in a way that made him utterly handsome and utterly annoying in equal measure.
Cecelia’s toes curled at the sight, her grip on her fork intensifying.
She opened her mouth to tell him that, of course, she was angry with him, but before she could do so, her mother said, “Of course not, Your Grace.”
His grace relaxed a little and shook his head. “Good, for I would not wish to cause any upset.”
Cecelia’s anger grew then. Of course, he had caused upset, and he knew it. She could not forget how he had forced her to storm from the drawing room, and she was certain he hadn’t forgotten it either.
“Why ever would I be upset that you frightened off every suitor at my door?” she said, her tone accusing.
The duke’s lips parted, and for a second, he seemed to smile. Then, he pursed them and dipped his head. His contrite expression only angered Cecelia further.
“I did not anticipate there being so many amongst your suitors that could be so easily frightened away,” he countered, leaning forward to cut up some of his food. Cecelia watched him place the mouthful upon his tongue, watched how he savoured it before he continued, “Though I do believe you are deserving of someone who is far less easily frightened.”
“And where might I find a man such as that, Your Grace?” Cecelia demanded, putting down her fork as she felt an urge to hurl it at him.
He raised his gaze to hers and responded, “We shall find him. It is only a matter of time.”
