Even now, on the carriage ride into the country, the wheels bouncing over a dirt path to some far-flung forest clearing, Cecelia could recall the ache of his diverted attention. More than that, she could still feel it, like a razor-edged dagger sliding into her heart.
Fortunately, her aunt chattered on excitedly, filling a silence Cecelia had no desire to tend to. Philip sat beside her, oblivious to her inner turmoil.
Perhaps he hadn’t realized how he had regarded the exceptionally beautiful Countess of Venerton. Cecelia’s mouth had still been humming with the warmth of his kisses when the blonde had sauntered toward them on the arm of the kindly old earl. It was Philip’s reaction that caught Cecelia’s notice before she even saw the other woman.
He had stiffened, as though struck, his gaze fixed on Lady Venerton, following her graceful glide toward them, and then away. It had been a flash of a moment, really, but it had embedded in Cecelia’s mind.
The carriage finally came to a stop at a clearing somewhere on London's outskirts, where the servants proceeded to set up the picnic, while they all took a small stroll per Aunt Nancy’s suggestion. It was a sunny day, marred only by a slight overcast and, of course, the roiling of Cecelia’s turbulent emotions.
Philip offered her his arm, and she took it as good manners dictated despite the knot of unease coiling in the pit of her stomach.
The lofty sensation of happiness and attraction now paled in comparison to dismal feelings of sadness and disillusionment. Especially to the likes of the uncaring Lady Venerton. She was a beautiful woman, to be sure, far more so than Cecelia. Lady Venerton had golden hair that looked like curled silk and a full bosom that drew many an eye. Cecelia was slim, not nearly as filled out and with hair that appeared brassy by comparison.
“Something appears amiss,” Philip softly said as they walked.
Cecelia chewed her lip, uncertain if she ought to bring it up. “Why do you say that?”
“Because I’ve asked if you intentionally dressed to match me three times but haven’t received an answer yet.”
She glanced up, realizing for the first time that the sky-blue of his waistcoat was the exact shade as the ribbons sewn along the hem of her muslin gown. He gave her a lopsided smile, one so handsome that it made her chest burn.
It was then she realized remaining silent would be impossible.
“Are you well acquainted with Lady Venerton?” she asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
Cecelia stopped, unable to walk and breathe and speak at the same time. Not when her heart hammered out of control at this confrontation. “Lady Venerton. You appeared to recognize her at Vauxhall Gardens last night.”
His smirk was congenial. “Does not everyone know Lady Venerton?”
“You seemed to pay considerable attention to her.”
“Not nearly the attention I paid to you, my dove.”
Cecelia’s face was roasting with the heat at his flippant platitude to her unease. He wasn’t giving her an honest answer, which was all she had wanted.
But then, did he ever?
As she thought back to their previous conversations, the understanding dawned on her suddenly that many of their conversations were not conversations at all—but him asking her questions and presenting charming replies. “Is that all you offer, charm?” she asked in frustration.
The smile froze on his face. “I beg your pardon?”
“You used to talk to me when we were children,” she retorted. “About your parents, your life, your dreams. Even about your fears.”
He furrowed his brows, no doubt baffled by the change in conversation.
“You don’t talk to me now,” she said.
He chuckled, the lines of concern easing from his brow. “We’re speaking at present, are we not?”
“Yes, but you aren’t telling me much about you.” She shook her head. “I don’t know where you went when you left England, or why you did for that matter. I don’t know what it is you want, aside from the need to find a wife to create the next heir with. And I know any time a conversation reverts to you, you always have a charming reply at the ready.”
The sky overhead had begun to darken with the threat of an impending storm—the same as their weighty conversation.
He was quiet for a long moment as a muscle worked in his jaw. “I see.”
She had upset him. The woman she had been several weeks earlier would have rushed to apologize. But the woman she had slowly become knew she didn’t have to apologize for what she felt. Ironically, it had been Philip who had made her appreciate her self-worth enough to stand by her opinion. He had placed value on her dreams, on her feelings. He had encouraged her to take what she wanted for herself.
