“Lord Chambrook,” he corrected playfully with a wink.
Her skin went from pink to red. “Yes, of course. Forgive me.”
Lord Brightstone seemed to relax. “You know this man,” he surmised. “Do you wish his company?”
Cecelia blinked at Brightstone as if surprised he was still there at all. “I do, thank you, Lord Brightstone.”
With that, he offered her a bow and departed. It did not escape Philip’s attention that she scarcely paid any notice to the other man.
“I was so sorry to hear news of your cousin.” She regarded him, her eyes soft with empathy. “My condolences for your loss. I know…” She hesitated and said quietly, “I know what that means for the earldom.”
Her words struck him in the chest. She remembered.
All those years ago, he had finally confessed to someone—her—his fears for becoming Earl of Chambrook and all the responsibility it entailed. How the failure of duty would impact so many who depended on him.
And she had remembered.
“My condolences for your mother,” he said gently. “I’m sorry I could not be there to offer comfort.”
“You were at university.” She shook her head; her gaze still fixed on him.
He offered his hand to her once more. “Will you do me the honor of dancing with me? So that you might catch up with an old friend.”
This time, she placed her gloved fingers into his palm. “It would be my pleasure.”
He led her toward the dance floor and they positioned themselves opposite one another. Though her straight back and lifted chin indicated confidence, the demure cast of her eyes was unlike the girl he’d known. She would have met his gaze with unapologetic determination and said whatever it was that came to her mind.
The music began, and they stepped closer, clasping hands.
“I should like to know all about you,” he said earnestly.
“I’m afraid there isn’t much to share.” She gave a self-deprecating shrug as he passed her to another partner and took the hand of an older woman.
Several turns later, Cecelia was back in his arms. “Surely, in nearly a decade, there has been something of note.”
“Well, certainly nothing like you.”
“Like me?” he pressed.
“I may not have the gregarious nature of my sister, but I certainly am still about enough to hear rumors.”
“Rumors?”
Those fathomless blue eyes fastened on his. “About you.” She released his hands as they both turned toward their other partners in the dance.
It was just a brief lapse in their conversation, but it left him with enough time to mull over what she had said and the implication that her sister was more of note than she was.
The Cecelia he had known was certainly one of note.
Who was this woman she had become? And what had happened to so dull her spirit?
There was little to hear of her among the rumor mills. Her father had turned to the darkness of gambling and drink, but there was nothing said of any of his children.
Suddenly, Cecelia was before him once more, her smile shy and reserved. More so than it had been when she had a mask to hide behind.
“What do the gossips say about me?” he asked.
“That you’re a rake,” she replied primly. “That you’ve traveled the world and loved every moment most thoroughly.” She tilted her head as though considering him. “Is it all true?”
