“Forgive me, but if they were, I do not think he would request to make his interest in you known through courtship.”
Cecelia pursed her lips. It was a fair point.
“He is too charming,” she replied. “I fear…”
Lord Brightstone lifted his chin, silently imploring her to continue. The moonlight caught his handsome face and reminded her when he had so solemnly asked her for permission to court her two years ago.
“It’s foolish.” She glanced out to the garden where moonlight touched the white roses on their bush and cast them in a bluish-purple hue. Staring at the flowers was easier to do than looking to the man who made her recall what she had erroneously cast aside.
“Fears are never foolish, Lady Cecelia,” he said gently.
“What if he does not find my company agreeable after a time?” And sought his affection elsewhere? Though she was not bold enough to pose the latter question.
“If that were the case, then it would be him who is the fool. But I cannot imagine that would be the case.”
She returned her attention to Lord Brightstone.
“You are a beautiful woman,” he replied with a sincerity that touched her profoundly. “I think, perhaps, you have not heard this enough in your life, but it is true. Lord Chambrook appears to be the type of man to remind you often, as you deserve.” His brow furrowed. “It is also why I would not have been a good suitor. It has been brought to my attention that I know little of women and would make a terrible husband.” He chuckled, but there was something wounded behind his words.
She opened her mouth to protest, but he put up a hand to stop her. “This is about you, not me. And I say allow yourself the opportunity to be flattered the way you deserve. And if you still have concerns, speak to him.”
Cecelia nodded as she considered his suggestion. She moved to leave the terrace but glanced back once more to the earl, who had shifted his pensive focus to the garden. “I think you would make a fine husband.”
He didn’t reply or turn back to her, but she swore she caught the hint of a smile in his profile.
Part of her had hoped he would make an offer to court her again. She hadn’t lied when she said he would make a fine husband. Though perhaps Philip would as well.
Perhaps it was time to give him a chance and see for herself.
Philip wasn’t one given to nerves. Especially not when conducting himself around women. Rather the opposite—he usually was exceedingly confident.
But then, the typical women he approached did not have a history entangled with his own. Nor were they consideration for a wife.
Lord Gullsville, a man to whom the years had not been kind, had immediately granted his permission for the offer of courtship without bothering to hear the fine speech Philip had prepared. Philip sat now on a settee in a pink drawing-room the color of summer roses, awaiting Cecelia's entrance.
A teapot and two teacups lay in wait of him with several elegant cakes stacked on a silver tiered tray. The double doors opened, and Cecelia breezed in, trailed by a maid who settled into a chair set in the corner. Cecelia wore a white muslin day dress, and her honey-colored hair was partially pulled up with a good portion of it hanging down her back, loose and tempting.
He stood as she breezed toward him.
“Good day, Lord Chambrook.” She offered a slight curtsey and took her seat. “Would you care for some tea?”
He eased back onto the settee. “I would, thank you.”
She lifted the pot over his cup, and the sweet aroma of steeped leaves whorled up in a tendril of steam. Yet another dainty, floral teacup, he noted. Such was a man’s lot in life in London drawing rooms.
“Thank you for the roses you sent earlier.” Cecelia settled back in her seat. “They were so pretty.”
He looked at her from over the rim of the ridiculous teacup. “Not nearly as pretty as you.”
She flushed to the exact red of those roses.
“I’m pleased you liked them.” He sipped his tea. It was bracing, exactly the way he liked. No cream. No sugar. Simply tea as it was meant to be drunk. “I spoke with your father.”
She said nothing, but the delicate muscles of her neck flexed with her intake of breath.
“He gave me permission to court you.” Philip set his teacup in its matching saucer. “If you should be amenable, of course.”
“I’m curious…” She pressed her lips together. “If I may be so bold…”
