No one wanted her at home anymore.
Tears burned her eyes.
This night had been sheer magic. It was exhilarating and romantic and had threatened to rescue her from all the pressing loneliness. And now came the coup de grace that not only was she no longer helpful or wanted, but that she was making life difficult.
Suddenly, she was grateful she’d taken the initiative to speak with Aunt Nancy, to set this courtship into motion. She had allowed happiness to slip through her fingers once.
It would not happen again.
Another night, another ball, another dance card without any names. But then, Cecelia usually relegated herself among the wallflowers and spinsters, assuming that to be her lot. She glanced around the room in an effort to locate Lord Brightstone.
There were many guests in attendance at Lady Sumpton’s ball that evening, and Cecelia had it on good authority Lord Brightstone would be there as well.
He hadn’t called on her the day after the masquerade ball, surprising her as she had expected a visit. Guilt had nagged at her during the yawning stretch of time that she’d waited in vain. No doubt his absence had much to do with her sudden disappearance. Perhaps he thought her missish for having left so abruptly after their kiss.
Her cheeks blazed, thinking of that kiss again. She put a cold hand to her face in the hope it would bring her color down.
“Cecelia, dear, are you well?” Julia asked with concern.
The duchess had recently returned from her country estate, where she and her new husband spent a good deal of time and had generously agreed to chaperone Cecelia at the ball rather than Father.
“I’m rather anxious if I’m being fully honest,” Cecelia replied, knowing Julia would understand what she referred to.
“I’m sure you’ve nothing to worry about.” Julia reached for her hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze. “And you look lovely.”
Cecelia had added embellishments to an older gown to make it appear more fashionable: silver beads lining the bottom of the blue silk, along with a length of ribbon interwoven in lace on her short sleeves. Her hair had been pinned up in its usual simple fashion with a matching ribbon set among her pinned curls. In truth, when she had left earlier that evening, she did feel lovely.
Now, the nervousness churning in her stomach overwhelmed any sense of confidence.
“There he is,” Julia whispered under her breath.
Cecelia’s gaze followed where her friend was looking, and, yes, there among a cluster of gentlemen was Lord Brightstone. Her heart lodged in her throat, and she found herself frozen in place, held there by uncertainty.
What if he had decided he wanted nothing to do with her? Perhaps she had been too forward in their kiss.
“You’ll never know unless you speak to him,” Julia said, as though reading her thoughts.
It was true, of course, regardless of how much Cecelia did not wish to hear it. She mustered up her wits and made her way toward Lord Brightstone.
He glanced in her direction and promptly redirected his focus to the conversation at hand. At least, that is, until she was practically in front of him. He startled and offered a curious look as he held up his forefinger to the man speaking, silently excusing himself.
“Lady Cecelia, what a pleasant surprise.” He smiled at her in the same reserved way she recalled from their previous interactions years ago. Not with the charisma he’d exuded at the Midsummer Night’s Dream ball when he’d played Demetrius to such titillating perfection.
“Good evening, Lord Brightstone,” she replied primly. “Forgive the interruption.”
“Of course.” His eyes looked different without the masked helm he’d worn. More blue than green, but just as handsome.
Really, he was fine in all ways. His dark blond waves were neatly trimmed and swept to the side. His expression was pensive as though he had just been pondering the complexities of the world. Which was generally the case with a man like Lord Brightstone.
“Is there something I may help you with?” he asked.
It was far more polite than asking why she was staring, which she realized to her utter mortification she very much was.
She offered an apologetic smile. “I confess, I had expected to see you earlier today.”
Lord Brightstone studied her and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, appearing somewhat in a state of discomfort.
As well he should when he had failed to follow polite decorum and call on her after what they had shared at the masquerade ball the previous night.
