Cecelia had never felt more strongly towards George than when he said, “Your duty to your sister becomes you, My Lady.”
Her cheeks flushed, her chest swelling until she felt her heart might explode.
“I thank you, Your Grace,” she said, dipping a curtsey to him before she offered another to Lord Greystone. “I regret that I must insist upon returning to my sisters, for I am quite certain it will not be long before they negate the doctors' orders for my sister to remain in bed until any real danger has passed.”
Lord Greystone looked as if he might object again, but George was quick to interject once more. “I am certain that Lord Greystone and I are more than capable of keeping your dear mother company while you attend to your sister.”
His genuine words, the concern he had clearly shown for Catherine, made Cecelia's chest ache, and not for the first time, she wished she might be alone with him, even for but a minute,to properly thank him. He alone seemed to care far more for her wishes than his own, and for that, she would forever be grateful.
She remembered once more the care he had shown as her chaperone, realizing perhaps for the first time that his interferences had been nothing more than genuine affection for her. And her throat constricted.
“Your Grace, My Lord, Mother,” she said, offering each a dip of her head before she hurried from the room, relieved that even her mother seemed willing to allow her escape.
At least one thing had come of her sister's accident.
Chapter 26
The next morning, George sat in his study – as he did every morning to go over estate business – unable to stop from thinking of the goings on of the day before. His visit to Fernworth had not gone as planned. He had anticipated telling Cecelia the truth, had wished with all his heart to do so, and yet, upon seeing Lord Greystone there and how shaken Cecelia was over her sister’s accident, he had decided the time hadn’t been right.
How could he possibly have placed that upon her when she was already suffering on all sides?
Yet now, he couldn’t help wondering, would his admittance of such feelings really have added to her suffering?
In truth, he wasn’t entirely sure what her reaction might have been, and perhaps that was what had really stopped him, not the fact that Lord Greystone might have borne witness to his declaration or that Lady Westmere might have found some fault in him.
No, it was that Cecelia herself might have rejected every word that came out of his mouth as some vain attempt to try to stop her from living her own life, to stop her from going through with whatever plans she might have towards the viscount.
How might he come back from such a thing? How might he get her to believe him when, in truth, he couldn’t quite believe his feelings himself.
Leaning back in his chair, he exhaled deeply, running his fingers through his hair before holding his head in his hands.
Maybe, just maybe, even after all his heroics at the lake, he really was the coward everyone had claimed him to be all along.
He gritted his teeth, grinding them miserably as he tried to come up with some solution, some plan to stop himself from going utterly insane with lack of action.
Just as he had begun to consider going for a ride to clear his mind, he heard the loud thud of the brass door knocker on the front door rumbling through the house.
A glance at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room told him it was still early, far too early for friendly visitors, and his stomach twisted.
The shuffling of footsteps down the hall told him that his butler was already on his way to the door, and yet, George slipped from his chair and crossed the room to open the study door.
“We must speak with the duke immediately!”
The tone of Walter’s voice made George’s spine stiffen, a cold shiver running down the length of it as he gripped the door handle just a little tighter.
For a second, he thought of closing the door, blocking out whatever was coming his way this time.
He stopped only when he heard Walter add, “This is Henry Beaumont, and he has information the duke needs to hear.”
The last time George had heard Henry’s name uttered, the conversation had turned to Lord Greystone.
Though a part of him wished never to hear the man’s name uttered again, he knew what that might mean, never seeing nor hearing of Cecelia again, either. Were they to forever align themselves in marriage, he would never find himself in her presence again; he was almost certain of that. Something in Lord Greystone’s gaze the day before had said as much.
And though George had been unable to find the moment or the words to tell Cecelia the truth, he wasn’t at all ready to give up on her just yet.
He pulled the study door open the rest of the way just as his butler started to say, “His grace is working and is not to be dist—”
“It is alright,” George said, marching down the hall to the foyer beyond, where – through an archway – he saw Walter, Henry, and, surprisingly, his solicitor, Mr Stephen Browning.
