brings you and Miss Fields back to London after all this time?’ Lady Weatherly asked.
Cecelia met their curious looks, the same awkwardness that nearly stole her tongue the night Daniel had presented her to the Richmond families at the Governor’s ball stealing over her. She squared her shoulders now as she had then, defiant against her unease and their scrutiny. ‘I brought my cousin back to London in the hope of seeing her settled.’
‘Did she not have suitors in Virginia?’ Lady Weatherly pressed like a small terrier determined to dig out a rat and Cecelia bit back the desire to tell the Countess to keep to her own affairs. Despite a dubious reputation, the statuesque young woman draped in gauzy silk was a fixture of society whose good opinion Cecelia needed to keep. Swallowing her pride, Cecelia repeated the story she and Theresa had practised during the crossing.
‘She did, but when the British burned Washington, we were no longer warmly received, despite having known many of the families for years. It wasn’t suitable for her to look for suitors under such hostile circumstances. When I suggested a Season in London, she was thrilled with the chance to come home.’
‘Speaking of gentlemen—’ Lady Weatherly waved away her interest in Cecelia with one gloved hand ‘—here is Lord Strathmore.’
‘Good evening ladies.’ Lord Strathmore bowed before fixing Cecelia with a smile more snakelike than charming. ‘Mrs Thompson, would you care to join me for some refreshment?’
‘Thank you, but I have no appetite tonight.’ His smile faltered and she widened hers. She didn’t relish the Earl’s company, but it would prove less irksome than Lady Weatherly’s questions. ‘If you’d care to escort me to the pianoforte, I’d like to see how my cousin is faring.’
‘It would be my pleasure.’
As she and Lord Strathmore crossed the room, she hazarded a glance at Randall, startled by the glare he fixed on Lord Strathmore. As fast as the look came it was gone and he turned back to the man next to him and resumed his conversation.
Cecelia wondered what about the man raised Randall’s hackles. Lord Strathmore had no reputation she could discern, or none Madame de Badeau had seen fit to reveal, and the woman delighted in revealing a great many things about a number of people.
‘May I be so bold as to say how radiant you look tonight?’ Lord Strathmore complimented, his serpentlike smile returning to draw up the small bit of skin beneath his round chin.
‘You’re too generous.’ She untwisted the strap of her fan, shaking off the strange reaction to his look. With so many things worrying her, she must only be seeing trouble where none existed.
‘Madame de Badeau tells me you have no horse in London at your disposal.’
‘No. I had to leave my beautiful horse in Virginia.’ Anger burned through her at the thought of the stables, Daniel’s stables, the ones he’d worked so hard to establish, now under the control of her selfish stepson Paul.
‘It’d be my pleasure to accompany you and your cousin in Rotten Row. I keep a few geldings in London suitable for ladies to ride.’
‘You’re most kind.’ The idea of riding properly in Rotten Row beside Lord Strathmore dampened her enthusiasm. However, borrowing horses from his stable would spare her the expense of hiring them and allow her and Theresa to be seen during the fashionable hour.
Cecelia stepped up to the pianoforte and touched Theresa’s elbow. Her cousin turned, frowning at Lord Strathmore, and Cecelia shot her a warning look. In their present situation, Cecelia didn’t have the luxury to refuse any man’s attention. Except Randall’s.
Only then did she notice the absence of his voice beneath the melody of the pianoforte. She glanced around the room, expecting to meet his silent stare, but saw nothing except the other guests mingling. Relief filled her, followed by disappointment. He was gone, his conversation and interest in her as finished tonight as it was ten years ago. Yet something about their exchange continued to trouble her. Beneath Randall’s rakish smile and desire to capture her notice, she’d sensed something else, something all too familiar. Pain.
Polite applause marked the end of Miss Domville’s piece and Cecelia clapped along with the two young men standing on the other side of the instrument.
‘Play again, Miss Domville,’ Lord Bolton, the taller of the two, urged. ‘We so enjoy your fingerwork.’
Instead of blushing, Miss Domville rose and coolly lowered the cover on the keys.
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with your own fingerwork for the rest of the evening,’ she answered in a sweet voice before coming around the piano and taking Theresa by the arm. ‘Miss Fields and I are going to take a turn around the room so we may discuss all of you in private. May we, Mrs Thompson?’
Cecelia studied Miss Domville, debating the wisdom of letting Theresa associate with such a bold young woman. However, Miss Domville’s sense of confidence and the gentlemen’s sudden notice of Theresa overcame her doubts. ‘Of course.’
‘Wonderful. We’ll discuss how much we dislike London.’ Miss Domville led Theresa away, chatting merrily, and Cecelia noticed the genuine enjoyment spreading over her cousin’s face.
If only all our worries could be so easily soothed.
Lord Strathmore lingered beside her and she struggled to ignore her discomfort as she faced him. ‘Tell me about your horses.’
He spoke more to her bosom than her face as he launched into a droll description of his stables. She forced herself to appear impressed, rubbing the gold bracelet again and hating this act. Speaking with him was like stepping up on the bidding block to be inspected by the first man who showed a modicum of interest in her. It made her feel cheap and deceitful, but what choice did she have?
The memory of Randall’s hooded eyes teasing her sent a wave of heat across her skin and her fingers stopped.
Yes, there was another option, the same one General LaFette had suggested when he’d cornered her at the Governor’s picnic, eyeing her breasts the way Lord Strathmore did now, but she refused to entertain it. She hadn’t scorned one man’s offer only to take up another’s. She wasn’t so desperate, at least not yet.
Chapter Two
‘Good evening, my lord,’ Mr Joshua, the wiry young valet, greeted as Randall entered his bedroom. ‘You’re in early tonight.’
‘So it seems.’ Randall stood still while Mr Joshua removed his coat, the skin along the back of his neck tightening as a chill deeper than the cool night air crossed him. He moved closer to the marble fireplace, the warmth of it doing little to ease the lingering tightness from his encounter with Cecelia.
She was back, the wealth and confidence of her experiences in Virginia circling her like her perfume, making her more beautiful then when she’d stood before him as a young girl with the weight of sorrow on her shoulders.
It seemed marriage had benefited her.
He grabbed the poker from the stand and banged it against the coals, trying to ignite the heat smouldering in their centres. A splash of sparks jumped in the grate, followed by a few large flames.
He didn’t doubt she’d benefited from the marriage. She’d practically rushed at the colonial after Aunt Ella made the introduction, fleeing from Randall and England as fast as the ship could carry her.
She’d escaped her troubles, and left Randall behind to be tortured by his.
He returned the poker to the stand, his anger dying down like the flames.
After everything that had passed between them, when he’d been foolish enough tonight to show weakness, she hadn’t belittled him. Instead she’d displayed an understanding he hadn’t experienced since coming to London. Considering the way they’d parted, it was much more than he deserved.
The