He only paused at the door to utter, “I no longer recognize you, my friend, and it saddens me greatly.”
There, Walter left him utterly alone, trembling with the effort of not going after him. A part of him wished to beg for his help, to gain the confidence of his truest and oldest friend and finally see a way out of his misery.
Yet, how could any of that be accomplished if he could not even admit the truth aloud? How might one ask for help when he could not even voice the problem when sitting alone in his room at night?
Chapter 23
The weeks passed by, and Cecelia became more and more determined to see her plan through.
With her promise made to her sister and her misgivings about her deal with the duke mostly forgotten, she placed all her efforts into spending as much time with Lord Greystone as possible.
And as the weather turned cold, the late autumn sunshine giving way to ice upon the lake in Cecelia's favourite park, she was utterly determined to enjoy the afternoon of ice skating that they had arranged.
With her sisters and her mother – now fully recovered – present, she dedicated her time to enjoying their laughter, watching Catherine stumble about most of all as they played upon the ice.
With all manner of people around them, Cecelia lost herself in the joy of the moment, giving not a thought to all that was wrong in her life.
Why, after all, would she do such a thing when everything she needed was right here?
Yet, there was a small twinge in her gut that said that was not entirely so.Hewas not here, her chaperone, her friend, someone who had mattered more to her than all the world combined.
“Do you skate often?” Lord Greystone asked as they skated arm in arm behind Mary and Walter.
Cecelia glanced back over her shoulder at her mother and Catherine, who had partnered up.
Seeing that they were well, she looked at him with a smile and said, “Every chance I get.”
“It is plain to see,” Lord Greystone said, gently caressing her hand where she gripped his forearm. “You show great skill, My Lady.”
“I wouldn't go as far as to say that, My Lord,” Cecelia said, blushing.
“Modest, as always, My Lady,” he said, and her cheeks heated further.
Cecelia wondered whether her face was as red as the tartan hat and matching coat she was wearing. But if it was, the viscount made no mention of it.
In fact, he said, “Forgive my forwardness, My Lady, but you are quite radiant this afternoon.”
“Why, My Lord, you flatter me,” Cecelia said, her chest swelling at the compliment.
“I merely state the truth,” Lord Greystone assured her.
Cecelia's attention was distracted by the sounds of squealing up ahead.
She looked to find that Mary and Walter had entered into a snowball fight, skating about as they threw balls, dodging each other's terribly aimed throws easily.
What Cecelia wouldn't give to be so carefree, to play as her sister did without worry of rumours, to be with a man who cared not how she acted in front of the rest of theton.
Her youthful, rebellious nature reared its head, and she felt her battle beginning.
As if he noticed her longing, Lord Greystone halted and drew her to a stop with him.
“Do you wish to join them?” he asked.
Cecelia glanced over her shoulder, and at a stern look from her mother, she shook her head.
A memory flitted across her mind, more than one, of several situations in which her mother had encouraged her not to do something. And therehehad been, young George, whispering that they absolutely should do that thing they weren't supposed to.
She forced the thoughts away. He was not with her now; Lord Greystone was. And besides, George had made his feelings towards her abundantly clear. Why wish for something that could never be?
