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Well, she certainly didn’t want to go home, not with the evidence of her father’s drinking audible from outside the house. She didn’t want Marcus, of all people, to see what her father had become.
By now he would be deep in his cups and belligerent. The thump they’d heard was probably her father throwing himself at one of the footmen. Or shoving furniture. Or trying to thrash Mr. Pritchens. Pity washed over her. Poor Mr. Pritchens. He’d been forced to deal with her father all day while she’d had a wonderful day with Marcus. She couldn’t leave the poor butler with her father the rest of the night. But she couldn’t let Marcus go inside the house, either. Not now.
“Walk with me to Ainsley’s house?” she asked, tugging his fingers to get him away from the door.
“I certainly wouldn’t let you go alone,” he grumbled. He probably knew something wasn’t right. He was a smart man. It didn’t take a genius to realize that something was off.
They walked in silence down the lane until they came to Ainsley’s father’s house. It was small and quaint, and what it lacked in grandeur it made up for with happiness.
Marcus knocked on the door and waited with her for the butler to open it. “Miss Hewitt,” the man said, shocked at her arrival.
“Miss Hewitt is here to see Miss Packard,” Marcus said.
She could speak for herself. She really could. Cecelia squeezed Marcus’s hand and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Without waiting for his response, she slipped through the door, closing it solidly in Marcus’s bewildered face.
She leaned against the closed door as Ainsley’s butler looked at her as though she were bound for Bedlam. But just then, Ainsley skipped down the stairs in her nightrail and robe. She stopped on the middle step and said, “Cece, are you all right?”
The butler watched the two of them closely, and Cecelia nodded her head toward him to warn Ainsley not to say anything that could get back to her household.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Cecelia said. “I know you said to come after dinner, but I got busy with Father and we lost track of time.”
Ainsley nodded slowly. “I’m glad you finally arrived,” she said. She pointed down the corridor. “I was just on the way to get some warm milk. Come with me.”
Cecelia nodded at the butler and walked behind Ainsley, her arms crossed over her chest. She was suddenly freezing. Her perfect day appeared to be over. Reality was returning to the forefront of her life. When no one was about, Ainsley began to warm some milk on the wood stove and asked, “Who are you avoiding? Your father or Marcus?”
Cecelia rocked her
head side to side as though weighing her next words. Perhaps she was. “Both?” she asked. “Make one of those for me, will you?” She pointed to the pan of milk.
Ainsley nodded. “I came to see you today. Your father said you were out.”
Cecelia nodded. “Was he foxed yet?”
Ainsley shook her head. “Not yet.”
“Good.”
“Where were you?” Ainsley asked cautiously.
“I went with Marcus to his grandfather’s cabin in the woods and we stayed there all day.”
Ainsley’s jaw dropped. “You didn’t!”
Cecelia couldn’t bite back a smile. “I did!”
“What did you do there?”
Cecelia grinned. “We didn’t play cards,” she laughed.
“And?” Ainsley prompted as she poured warm milk into a cup and handed it to Cecelia.
“We didn’t organize the wardrobes.”
“Did you clean the linens?” Ainsley giggled.
“The linens!” Cecelia cried. There was bound to be some evidence of their day because they hadn’t changed the linens. What the devil was she going to do? She supposed that could wait until the morning. No one would be there before tomorrow.
Ainsley’s brow arched. “And why are you worried about the linens?” she prompted.
