“I must go after them,” George insisted, already grabbing his coat and hat, which the butler had taken from him when he had suggested he wait for their return.
“George, whatever is the matter?” Mary insisted, hurrying after him. Yet, he was already out the door and down the steps. “Has something happened?”
George paused only to tell her, “Your sister is in danger of making a terrible mistake.”
With that, he threw himself up onto his horse and started to race for the bridge.
And as he went, he couldn't help thinking that all this might have been avoided if only he had tried harder, if only he had come to tell himself the truth sooner.
Chapter 27
Just as Cecelia remembered it, the bridge was beautiful in the early morning fog. With the sun rising, streaking the fog with yellow, orange, and red, unable to see much but the ornate railing beside them as they walked, Cecelia felt oddly at ease beside Lord Greystone, even after all that had happened of late.
With her mother and her mother's lady's maid wandering behind them a short way back, she felt comfortable in the knowledge that they were not entirely alone, yet enjoying the peace and quiet of their walking simply, side by side. Cecelia wondered whether perhaps this moment might become a more frequent thing were she actually to find herself married to the gentleman at her side.
“It truly is beautiful, isn't it?” Lord Greystone said, breaking the silence in a gentle tone. “I am so glad you suggested this when last we spoke yesterday afternoon.”
“It is,” Cecelia said, nodding. “And as am I.”
A small lump bubbled up in her throat as she added, “Papa used to bring me here early in the morning when the fog was rolling in.”
“You must miss him terribly.” Lord Greystone sighed deeply. He laid his hand on Cecelia's, where it rested on his forearm, and instinctively, she squeezed him with affection.
“I miss him terribly,” she admitted, shocked at having voiced it for perhaps the first time since his funeral.
“I know I am poor company and cannot replace your father, but I do hope that you shall accept my offer to bring you here whenever you'd like,” Lord Greystone said, looking at Cecelia as if he were probing for somethingmore.
“You are not poor company, My Lord,” Cecelia assured him, offering a smile.
In the chill of the morning, she moved a little closer, his body heat too welcoming to resist.
Yet, as she did, she couldn't help feeling a little uneasy.
And when the viscount drew her to a halt, her entire body started to tremble.
“Let us stand a moment and enjoy it,” Lord Greystone insisted, turning towards her as he plucked her hand from his arm and reached for her other.
The gesture felt all too intimate, and Cecelia fought the urge to snatch her hands away.
The sound of her mother's and her lady's maid's feet paused as if they were giving the two space.
A part of Cecelia wished to call her mother to join them, suddenly terrified of where this moment was about to lead.
“Lady Cecelia,” Lord Greystone said. He lifted his eyes, meeting her gaze in such a way that made her bite the inside of her lip. “I feel there is something I must say—”
Cecelia fought the urge to run. Wasn't this the moment she had been waiting for? Wasn't this the very moment her father had hoped for when writing his will and leaving word of his last wish?
Bile rose in the back of her throat until she was quite nauseous.
Though she stood before Lord Greystone, his wasn't entirely the face that she saw. Every time she blinked, she became more dizzy, her mind replacing his face with that of George.
And the bile thickened into a hard lump in her throat that threatened to choke the tears right out of her.
It was only the sensation of her mother's watching on, imagining how happy she would be at witnessing such a thing, that stopped Cecelia from doing something reckless.
“Lord Greystone, I—”
“Please, My Lady, allow me to speak before my words fail me,” Lord Greystone insisted, and Cecelia's insides clenched up into knots.
