Yet, even as he said the words, he began to wonder. The old Lady Cecelia had hated these things, and yet, since having been reunited with her, he had found her somewhat changed. The way she held herself with such elegance, how she put so much investment into trying to find a husband, how upset she was with him for believing it was all ridiculous.
“Some of us cannot afford to stay away from such things,” Lady Cecelia said, a tone to her voice. George opened his mouth to respond, but before he could do so, she dipped a curtsey and said, “If you will excuse me, I ought to be conversing with potential suitors.”
George barely had the time to nod before she spun on her heels and stalked away, leaving only her scent behind. And what a wonderful scent it was, lavender and honey, just as she had worn when she was younger. If he closed his eyes, he could still see heras she had been, rambunctious and dirty, rebellious and loud, fun even.
What had happened to that girl?
She was still beautiful, devastatingly so now, and yet it appeared her spark had been dulled. And that made George's heart ache.
“Is it just me, or is Cece even more sour than before?” Elizabeth asked, nudging George in a way that caused him to realize he had been staring after her.
George huffed and ran his fingers through his hair, hair he had taken careful consideration to have cut along with a shave, at his mother's insistence, of course.
“I believe she is feeling the pressure,” he admitted, his chest aching somewhat at the thought of all she was being forced to endure. Having only recently lost her father – whom George knew she had been very, very close to – the very last thing he suspected she wished to do was look for a husband.
But what do I know?he thought, reminding himself of his grudge against her quickly so not to fall into any foolish trap.
“Well, it is good she has you to help guide her,” Elizabeth insisted, and George realized her hand was still upon his arm.
He placed his hand over hers and smiled down at her. “I am unsure as to whether she would agree.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes and gave his arm a gentle nudge. “You and I both know Cece has always been the most stubborn of us all. She would never admit it, whether she valued your help or not.”
George laughed at that, feeling a little more at ease with an old friend and confidante beside him.
With one glance at Lady Cecelia – seeing she was occupied with a gentleman he knew well and had no obvious complaints about – he asked Elizabeth, “Shall you have a drink with me, Miss Avery?”
The way she fluttered her lashes at him was so unlike the sour expression Lady Cecelia might have given him, and he decided, for today at least, he would let her go about her own business.
“It would be my honour, Your Grace,” Elizabeth responded, and for once, the title did not grate on him as it did with others. He could almost imagine that they were children playing a game in which he was merely pretending to be a duke and she a pretty young lady.
Perhaps that was how he might get through all of this, by playing pretend? And so with that in mind, he guided Elizabeth after her brother and Lady Mary, only glancing back once to see that though her attention was entirely upon the gentleman before her, there were a line of suitors all buzzing about and waiting for her attention.
And he could see why, for she shone like the brightest flower, putting all others in the gardens to shame.
“Are you alright, Your Grace?”
Only when she spoke did George realize that he and Elizabeth had made it to the tent.
Clearing his throat, determined to put Lady Cecelia from his mind for a little while, he assured her, “Yes. I was merely looking to see whether there might have been any new arrivals. And please, call me George, Lizzie, we are friends, are we not?”
Elizabeth smiled at that, and they began to talk just as old friends might, of his travels and of Elizabeth's own in Italy, where her parents had sent her to learn due to France's having been at war. He listened attentively to her as he came to remember that Lizzie had always been a wonderful storyteller, and before long, he had almost entirely forgotten his reason for being there.
It was only when he spied Walter and Lady Mary walking up the lawn towards them that he suddenly remembered.
Cece!
His heart skipped a beat as he realized he had allowed himself to pretend a little too well, giving all too much attention to Lizzie and none at all to his duties as chaperone.
Seeing Lady Mary, and seeing that her sister was not with them, he felt his throat close off.
Rather rudely cutting off Lizzie mid-sentence, he called to Walter and Lady Mary, “Have you seen Lady Cecelia on your wanderings?”
Lizzie did not seem in the least bit flustered by his rudeness – as if she knew well why he was really there – and she followed his gaze across the gardens in search of their old friend.
“I don't see her,” Lady Mary said before she turned her attention right back to Walter. “Tell George what you just–”
“Please, Lizzie. Forgive me, but I’m afraid I must take my leave of you,” George said. He placed the half-empty glass he had been drinking from on the tray of a passing servant and dipped a bow.
