“Indeed,” Cecelia responded. “I am, thank you, My Lady. And yes, she has, though she is getting stronger every day.”
It was true. Her mother was right back to her old self, giving Cecelia her marching orders before every event that she attended, ensuring she remained on the straight and narrow path laid out before her.
“Good, I am glad.” Lady Whitmore smiled, and Cecelia hoped that would be the end of her encounter as the lady scanned the room. Perhaps she might see another friendly face and make her excuses.
Instead, she said, “Oh, Cecelia, I must introduce you!”
Before she knew it, the lady had grabbed her arm and was pulling her towards a gentleman close by.
No doubt Lady Whitmore had been in contact with her mother and the two had been conspiring.
She dreaded it and yet, as Lady Whitmore said, “Lord Greystone, please allow me to introduce you to Lady Cecelia Flannery, the daughter of one of my dearest friends,” she couldn't help noticing the handsomeness of the gentleman who turned to face them.
His smile was soft yet charming, his hair a luscious tumble of golden curls, his eyes so green they reminded Cecelia of the meadows she had played in as a child.
“Lady Cecelia, this is the son of an acquaintance of mine, Lord James Fitzwilliam, recently made Viscount of Greystone due to his heroics in the war.”
Cecelia's eyes widened. If he had been made a viscount, this gentleman had to have done something tremendous.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Flannery, and if you don't mind the familiarity, please, call me James.”
He placed a hand behind his back, offering the other as he bowed low, his golden hair falling forward to frame his sun-kissed face.
Instinctively, Cecelia laid her hand in his.
When he kissed her knuckles, she did not feel the same heat she had felt at George's kiss, yet she did feel somewhat warm. His eyes were pleasant as they raised to meet hers, and he stood, holding her gaze all the while.
“I'm charmed, Lady Cecelia,” he said, his mouth quirking into a larger smile.
There was a gentle flutter in Cecelia's stomach, for it was she who was charmed.
“I do hope you do not mind the introduction, for I do believe the two of you would get on terribly well,” Lady Whitmore told them, looking between them as if she was already well pleased by her work.
The viscount's gaze never left Cecelia's as he said, “I am most grateful for the introduction, Lady Whitmore.”
Struggling to find her voice, Cecelia said, “As am I.”
Though he released her hand, the viscount kept Cecelia pinned with his gaze as he asked, “How are you enjoying tonight's festivities, My Lady?”
Cecelia barely noticed Lady Whitmore's taking her leave as she responded, “Very much, My Lord. And you?”
“I find my enjoyment has gone up considerably in the last few minutes,” he said, and against her better judgment, Cecelia let out a tinkle of laughter. “Is something funny, My Lady?”
“Oh, heavens no!” she said, fearful she might have been rude. “I am simply glad to say that I feel the very same way.”
“In that case, might it be awfully quick of me to ask you to dance?”
The strain of the rest of the evening suddenly lifted from Cecelia's shoulders, and she took what felt like the first deep breath she had taken in hours.
“I would like that,” she said, and when he offered his hand, she did not hesitate to take it. Nor did she glance over her shoulder to look for her chaperone. She had grown used to sensing his presence and knew well that he was watching.
Determined that this should be a turning point in her evening, she wholly gave herself over to the viscount as he led her out onto the dance floor.
“I do hope that Lady Whitmore's introduction did not leave you with the idea that I am some high and mighty lord?” he said as they danced, not nearly so close as she and George had, but in a comfortable and easy closeness that felt familiar.
“How do you mean, My Lord?”
“James, please,” he said, his smile charming her once more.
