Page 70 of Chaperoned By Her Enemy Duke
Mary and Elizabeth were already arm in arm, and Walter had taken up Mary's books, leaving her free to clutch his arm in one hand and her parasol in the other.
Gulping, she turned back to George to find his expression expectant.
Remembering their last tiff in the park, she couldn't bring herself to decline. And as she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, she realized that she did not, in fact, wish to.
With Catherine and Elizabeth in the lead, Walter and Mary seemed much too interested in each other to look back as she and George tailed onto the end of their little group.
And for several long moments, all she heard was the chatter of their friends ahead.
“Are you certain you are well?” George asked. He leaned in as if she might impart some secret to him.
Cecelia nodded, her throat constricted.
“I would not blame you were you to feel uncomfortable after our last meeting,” George continued. The way he rested his hand upon hers on his arm made her breathless. “My behaviour at the Rosehill ball was entirely untoward, Lady Cecelia. I wish to apologize.”
Cecelia blinked, unsure what to say.
As if the silence was much too uncomfortable for him, George continued, “I would not wish to disrespect your father's last wish nor his memory in failing in my duties as your chaperone. I do hope you will forgive me. My actions were a terrible mistake.”
A mistake …
The word cut like a knife to Cecelia's gut.
Forcing her composure, Cecelia said, “Pay it no mind, Your Grace. It should be forgotten entirely.”
Even as she said the words, she felt less and less confident that she could ever forget the moment they had shared.
Though the idea that moment did not mean to him what it meant to her, Cecelia was determined not to show any emotion as she straightened her back and pressed her lips into a thin line.
If he was to return to his old, stone-cold self, she was going to do the same.
His look of relief at her words was almost too much for her heart to bear. It was so painful that it was difficult not to halt and grab her chest.
Yet, in the weeks since her father’s death, she had become somewhat of a professional in concealing her pain, her tears, and her longing.
Certain that if she continued to meet his gaze, she would falter, she turned her attention to the others ahead and called, “Mary, Catherine, don’t wander too far without me!”
Feeling George’s arm relax beneath her hand, she slipped it from the crook and hurried forward to catch up with the others.
She was glad when they all paused at her words, allowing her to meet them beside a hedgerow that was in full bloom with a variety of purple and pink flowers.
Unsure whether those words would come, she instead dipped to smell said flowers, forcing a pleasurable sound from her lips.
“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Mary said, though when Cecelia glanced back, it was Walter that she had addressed the question to.
And as if she had asked him to, Walter juggled the books into one arm and plucked the brightest purple flower from the hedge.
“For you, My Lady,” he said, offering the most charming smile that Cecelia had ever seen.
Her heart skipped a beat, leaping into her throat as green envy seeped into her stomach.
It had always been so easy for Mary.
She and Walter had always shared a special connection. They had always fawned over each other, though in the early days, she suspected they had both been too stubborn to admit the truth.
Now, however, the mood between them was clear.
She glanced over her shoulder and caught George’s eye. Their relationship, however, couldn’t be more unclear.
