Page 5 of Chaperoned By Her Enemy Duke
It didn't matter really. No matter what she thought, she would remember her comportment lessons and remain respectful. On this day of all days, she did not wish for anything to go wrong.
Elegant, graceful, composed. That was what she allowed all to see. There was little left of the ‘feral’ child she had been several years ago thanks to all the tutors her parents had paid to instruct her how to be the perfect lady.
And today, she felt it utterly important to be that, for her father.
It was as the coffin made it into the grave that all those around her started to whisper.
At first, the whispers were inaudible, but soon they grew louder, loud enough for her to hear snippets.
“He's back,” one mourner gasped.
“He looks well considering,” another said.
“I wonder if he plans to remain a while.”
“Can it really be him?”
That final question was what made Cecelia look up.
Her gaze travelled over the turned heads on the opposite side of her father's grave, and her heart stopped.
There, standing atop a small hillock, beneath a blossom tree, was her oldest friend.
Or: the friend she had once had.
It had been years. In fact, she hadn't seen him since that fateful day in the gardens at her family home.
A stinging sensation jabbed her chest as she realized he was staring right at her.
The others might have been disbelieving of his presence, they might even believe they were mistaken in believing his identity, but Cecelia knew without doubt. It washim.
Even at this distance, she recognized him. Tall and imposing, breathtakingly handsome, his brown hair just long enough to give his mother cause for concern.
But it was those eyes she recognized, piercing blue eyes that pinned her where she stood, making it impossible even to blink.
They were still the same eyes she knew, the same cornflower blue eyes she had looked into a hundred times or more. Yet, there was coldness in them, a sadness that stung her heart and made her wish to look away.
It's a funeral,she reminded herself. He had every right to look that way. After all, he was the closest thing her father had everhad to a son. Their fathers had been friends for even longer than either of them had been born.
And yet, in that singular moment, Cecelia would have given anything to see a beam of happiness in his gaze.
It was the hand that landed on her forearm that finally made her blink.
“Cece?”
Catherine's voice caused her to jump, and she looked around to realize that the funeral was over.
Mourners had begun to slip away from the graveside, back to the churchyard, to wait to pay their respects to the earl’s grieving widow and children.
Cecelia gulped. Why must she be one of them?
“Are you coming?” Catherine asked, her mother and Mary had already headed towards the yard.
“Go ahead,” Cecelia said, “I'll follow on in a moment.”
Catherine did not question her. Instead, she dipped her head and followed on.
Cecelia turned back to her father's grave with every intention of saying one final, private farewell.
