“What does Mary have to do with any of this?”
Bile rose in the back of George's throat, and he struggled to speak.
“She is the reason I agreed to be your chaperone,” George admitted, feeling a wave of guilt at having given up their secret. “She came to me and practically begged me to help you.”
The colour drained from Cecelia's face, and George knew the damage had been done.
“Forgive me, Your Grace, I was not aware that I was such a burden to you!”
Her back straightened, her entire body tensing up, and even in the candlelight, George could see her face clearly, see the pain that radiated there.
“I thought you had come around, that you had remembered our friendship, that you still cared for me after all of these years,” Cecelia reeled off, and George battled with the desire to grab hold of her, to tell her that was indeed why he had agreed to be her chaperone. To tell her that was exactly the reason he could no longer take up the duty, because he could not bear to see her caring for another man. Instead, he remained silent and received her tongue-lashing.
“I see it so clearly now. All those years you told me you wished not to be like your father, that you wished to put your family and friends and those you cared for first,” she snapped at him. “It was all a lie, wasn't it? You're just like him, claiming power wherever you can and manipulating those around you, throwing those away who do not suit your grand plan when you realize you cannot get what you want.”
There she was, the Cecelia that George knew, the one who was unafraid of telling him just what a fool he was, the one who had claimed him to be a coward all those years ago.
And though her words stung, he felt the unbearable need to take her in his arms.
He fought it as she raised her gloved hand to the locket around her neck.
His heart broke just as readily as the chain around her neck as she dashed the golden jewellery at his feet.
“The boy who gave me this is gone,” she hissed at him, her gaze so venomous that he barely recognized her. “I should have known better than to believe he might ever return.”
With tears in her eyes, she turned on her heels and stalked from the room.
“Cece, wait!” George called against his better judgement.
Though if she heard him, she did not listen.
George's feet itched to run after her, but instead, he crouched and picked up the locket. Its broken chain hung limply from his palm as he gazed at the heart-shaped pendant.
All these years, she had worn it, and it was still warm with the touch of her skin. Her scent of floral lavender lingered in the air as he closed his fingers around the love heart and closed his eyes.
Guilt, shame, and longing tugged at his heart so violently that he felt a need to rip it right out of his chest.
Instead, he slipped the locket into his pocket and decided it was best if he made a quick escape out of one of the theatre's back doors.
Chapter 21
The foyer seemed much smaller than before, so small in fact, Cecelia could barely breathe.
Her chest felt bare with the lack of the locket around her neck, and she raised her fingers to the emptiness, half expecting to find it there once more.
Her conversation with George felt like a blur, a dream – a nightmare – and part of her wished that it was.
Having rejoined Lord Greystone, Walter, and Mary to discuss the performance with the rest of those in attendance, she found herself glancing back over her shoulder, hoping that he might come after her.
She'd heard his plea for her to wait. She had even hesitated around the corner, and considered going back to discuss things further, just to spend one more minute in his presence.
Only her anger at the truth had kept her from doing so.
And as the meaningless words about the performance continued to fall from the lips of those around her, Cecelia could not contain herself any longer.
She grabbed her sister's wrist and hissed into her ear, “Mary, I need to speak with you.”
Mary, who had been arm in arm with Walter for most of the evening, released him and turned to look at her.
