“Do you think that Lord Seymour shall ever be married?” Elizabeth whispered as they spied the old bachelor across the room.
Cecelia bit back laughter at the thought. At almost her own father's age, the man had had a poor time of things, and over the years, she had almost begun to feel sorry for him.
“He is kind enough,” she said, watching the man as he entered into conversation with a young lady who was barely old enough to be his daughter. “And I have not heard tell of anything untoward about him.”
“Yes, he has always been a perfect gentleman to my understanding,” Elizabeth agreed, taking a sip of her wine. “It is a shame that nobody snapped him up in his younger days.”
“Perhaps you might see fit to take pity on him and share a dance this evening?” Cecelia suggested, and the two laughed.
“Can you imagine my mama's face if I did?”
And that made them both laugh all the more.
Cecelia gave Elizabeth an affectionate nudge with her shoulder, glad of a familiar face to stand beside for the evening.
“The two of you seem to be quite amused.” Walter's voice made them both jump. “What are you discussing?”
Blushing, the ladies turned to Elizabeth's brother, and Cecelia was about to explain when her breath caught in her throat.
Beside Walter stood His Grace, the Duke of Cumberland.
Dressed in all his finery, neatly groomed, and imbued with confidence, Cecelia wasn't sure she had ever seen him more handsome, more the picture of nobility.
“We were—” words failed her.
“We were just discussing the prospects of poor Lord Seymour,” Elizabeth said, keeping her voice down as the crowd bustled around them.
His grace, whose gaze had been entirely upon Cecelia, glanced towards the nobleman in question.
“I have heard tell he is engaged,” he said, and Cecelia's mouth dropped open in shock.
“I beg your pardon?” Elizabeth exclaimed, clearly just as shocked.
“Yes, it is true,” Walter added, his smile broadening at their surprise. “He has been boasting about it all over town for days.”
“Well, if it is true, then there is sure to be hope for the rest of us,” Elizabeth said, and as she spoke, his grace's gaze returned to Cecelia.
She met his eyes as confidently as she was able, her knees feeling weak beneath his scrutiny.
“How are your prospects coming along, My Lady?” he asked, his tone low, the question causing Cecelia to quiver.
She glanced away, looking for a quick exit, unwilling to have such a conversation with him.
“Lady Cecelia has barely left the dance floor all evening to my knowledge,” Walter said, and Elizabeth nodded.
Cecelia looked back at the duke just in time to witness him stiffen.
No doubt he had something to say about every single one of her dance partners. All poppycock. She was certain of it. Why he wished to see her a spinster, she did not know.
But the way he looked at her—
It sent shivers down her spine.
“Perhaps, Your Grace, you might take Lady Cecelia for the next dance?” Elizabeth suggested, and Cecelia shot her friend a warning glance. “The two of you might discuss matters further.”
Before either of them could say a word, a voice said gently, “Excuse me, Lady Cecelia?”
Having been so intent upon his grace, Cecelia spun around in surprise to find Lord Greystone several inches too close.
