Page 2 of A Flaming Lady's Secret Valentine
Cecilia had more questions than breath with which to ask them. “Which questions do you suppose I should ask to uncover such tendencies in him without compromising myself—or divulging your fool plan?”
“You have all the tools in your arsenal, Cecilia. I am sure.” Daphne gave a wiggle of her hips.
“You are a menace, Daphne Griffin. The sooner you are off the marriage mart, the better,” Cecilia lied, knowing she would not survive a season without her most affable ally by her side. Naturally, Daphne was right. Cecilia was quickly approaching her twentieth birthday herself. They would both have to marry soon or be forever cast into spinsterhood.
Sighing, Cecilia glanced over her shoulder, at the window.
If now was not the time forfool plans, then when?
What had begun as a run-of-the-mill afternoon was quickly turning into anything but. For one thing, Raphael had been called onto the lawn by the gardener, which had interrupted the ritual of his midday reading. Raphael did not know the first thing about perennials, and he knew even less about Norfolk soil.
John insisted he inspect the flowerbeds all the same, either erroneously assuming that was part of an estate manager’s duties, or more likely longing for an ear to chew off while the duke and duchess were away.
For another, Raphael was convinced he was being watched. Not by an enemy but by an audience. John leaned over to inspect his bleeding hearts, and Raphael made the most of his distraction to turn around.
There, in the fourth window of the second storey, he saw two glinting sets of eyes. They disappeared almost as quickly, as though he had imagined them. He had not. If there was one thing Raphael had become well-acquainted with since his move from London to the countryside, it was staring.
The next was country gossip.
“Do not mind them, Mr Travers,” John said, grunting as he straightened up, shears in hand. “Our poor Lady Cecilia and her friend are all cooped up and wanting for trouble, or so I hear. It is not right for young ladies to be housebound so early in the Season. Though I suppose there’s nothing they can do until His Grace is hale and hearty.”
Raphael unknit his brow. The duke had seemed ‘hale and hearty’ enough the day before, when they had ridden into town.
The Duke of Lantham was a curious character, susceptible to ailments no doctors could diagnose let alone treat. Recently, he had been suffering from a cough: a peculiar malady with an even more peculiar set of symptoms, as the tickling in his lungs seemed to worsen whenever the duchess breached topics the duke disliked.
Namely London, but also her modiste, their extended family, their youngest son’s desire to make an officer of himself, and so on.
A pity, as the duchess greatly enjoyed her conversation. The woman’s gregariousness had not been passed down to their only daughter, Lady Cecilia. On occasion, Raphael had crossed her path awkwardly on the ground floor. She was beautiful in an unassuming sort of way, with dark, curling hair and a tempting mole just below her rosebud lips. She was possessed of gentle wit and manner, though it seemed she had a penchant for spying as well.
In another life, she was the type of woman Raphael would have fawned over to obsession. In that other life, of course, he would not have been forbidden from speaking with her. Such was the way of things, and he accepted them. Raphael would let nothing—not even a lady as alluring as Lady Cecilia Norbert—deter him from his path after everything he had done to get where he was.
“You wanted my opinion on some renovations,” Raphael said after some time. He turned away from the house, but he could not so easily shake off his disquiet. “I suggest we get on with it.”
Chapter 2
“Oh, it is no use.” Cecilia sighed, admitting defeat. She sat gingerly on the edge of her bed, staring at the overcast beyond the window. “Typical. The heavens know as well as I do that this eve is bound to end in disaster.”
In three hours, the family would be riding for Cromer, by the sea, where the Earl of Radcliff took up seat when he was not in London. She had managed to convince her father to not stay overnight, which was something of a victory, albeit a small one.
The Norbert and Elgin families had been friendly for centuries, having come together in marriage under Queen Elizabeth, or so the stories went. It seemed both parties had a vested interest in seeing history repeat itself.
As the duke’s only daughter, Cecilia preferred to look forward.
Gregory Elgin, the Earl of Radcliff, was a tolerable enough gentleman. Her brothers admired him greatly, Anthony more so than Edward. Gregory was closer in age with Edward but more similar in temperament to the younger Norbert son, both enjoying games of chance, and parties, and all the other things Cecilia found painfully taxing.
The party that evening would be just like the rest. Her father would find every excuse to speak with the earl in Cecilia’s company, and Cecilia in turn would do a rotten job of impressing him with her conversation. Her mother would regale the earl with an account of Cecilia’s many accomplishments, and Cecilia would do her best to temper his expectations, knowing they were all lies.
She was no fine artist. She had an ear for music but no talent at the pianoforte or the harp. In fact, for the daughter of a duke, she led a life that was surprisingly banal. The most interesting thing about her was her generous dowry.
The more she dissected memories of the earl, the more she began to spiral.
On more than one occasion, her brothers had excused themselves from their commitments. It seemed only right that Cecilia do the same, just once, to avoid from going mad.
Setting aside the ribbons and pearls in her lap, she made for the door.
Her father always retired to his study after luncheon, though no one was quite sure how he occupied his time before dinner. Cecilia knocked on the door, half-expecting to be turned away. No answer sounded from the other side.
“Father must still be engaged at lunch,” she murmured. She shifted on her feet, debating going back upstairs, before pushing open the heavy door and letting herself inside.
