Page 57 of Chaperoned By Her Enemy Duke
He made certain to look into the eye of every man he passed, hoping that one or two of them might see sense and leave before he was forced to take matters into his own hands.
When the butler showed him into the drawing room, he was only half surprised to find that he was not in fact the first man in attendance.
Sitting beside the fireplace, at Lady Mary's side, was Walter.
Opposite them sat Lady Westmere and Lady Catherine, all four of them sharing in what appeared to be a delightful conversation.
But at his entrance, the room grew silent, and all rose from their seats.
“Your Grace, thank you for coming,” Lady Westmere said as she did every morning that he arrived to assist with callers. “We are most grateful to you.”
“Indeed, some of these men would be absolutely intolerable without your company,” Lady Catherine said, approaching George to slip her arm into his and guide him in an affectionate, almost sisterly manner towards one of the spare seats.
George allowed her to do so, though he did not sit himself and instead asked, “Where is Lady Cecelia?”
“That girl,” Lady Westmere grumbled. “She is always running late these days.”
“I can fetch her,” Lady Mary offered, rising from her seat once more, where she had returned beside Walter.
“I shall escort you, if that is permitted?” Walter said, looking to her mother.
George gritted his teeth. He was frustrated. He did not wish to sit around waiting for the young lady.
Before Lady Westmere could respond, he cleared his throat and said, “I shall find her if you will point me in the right direction? I wish to speak with her before she permits her callers an audience.”
Every one of them looked at him as if intrigued, but he was relieved when not a single question was asked.
“She said she wished to take some air before joining us,” Catherine said, and George knew exactly where he might find her.
With a dip of his head, he left the room, utterly ignoring the questioning looks of the gentlemen in the hall as he made his way through the house to the gardens.
It was there, beside the fountain, that George found Lady Cecelia and her maid.
The pair were sitting on the fountain seat, and Lady Cecelia appeared to be taking great pleasure in smelling a bunch of lavender in her hands as her maid said, “My Lady, we really ought to join your mother and sisters. You shouldn't keep your callers waiting.”
“Just one more moment, Sophia,” Lady Cecelia protested, her voice lighter than he had heard it in a long time. “I wish to think just a little while longer.”
George did not know why, but for several moments, he remained in the shadow of one of the large hedges that surrounded the fountain.
This moment, so peaceful, he wished to last.
Unaware of his presence, Lady Cecelia appeared quite at ease, her admiring gaze fixed upon the flowers in her hand.
She wore the very same colour as those flowers, a matching ribbon tying back her raven locks, locks that seemed impossibly dark against the pale purple.
And though he could only see her profile, she was more beautiful then than she had ever been before, her face unmarred by expectation, softened in a way that told him she was utterly secure in her surroundings.
He almost couldn't bring himself to interrupt.
“Please, My Lady, you know how unbearable your mother shall be if you keep her waiting much longer,” her maid insisted, and George found his reluctant moment.
“Your maid is right, Lady Cecelia,” he said, stepping out of the shadows.
Both women jumped to their feet like a pair of startled doe, and George silently cursed himself.
With his hands on the pockets of his jacket, he entered the enclosed space of the fountain and dipped his head in greeting.
“Forgive my startling you,” he said, keeping his gaze averted until he lifted his head once more and met Lady Cecelia's gaze. “Your mother requests your presence.”
