Page 22 of A Flaming Lady's Secret Valentine
“It is forgotten, my lady.” Jane stood from her armchair and flicked back her blonde ringlets. “Is there aught else I can do for you?”
“Oh, not at all, sweet thing. Head downstairs and have something to eat. We are headed out in an hour, and I am not sure when we will be back.”
Jane nodded and closed the door behind her.
Alone in the drawing room, Cecilia put her feet up on the coffee table. She turned to look through the window, surprised at how contended she felt at Lantham House—at least while Anthony was busy in Parliament. Things were considerably more stressful when he was home, nit-picking the staff and barraging her with questions.
A knock sounded on the door, and Cecilia straightened up.
“Is that you, Jane?” she asked.
Daphne appeared instead, still dressed in her matching teal pelisse and bonnet.
“You are back!” Cecilia patted the seat beside her. “How is your aunt faring?”
“Sad.” Daphne tutted, removing her gloves. “She is out of half-mourning now, not that you would think it to look at her. I tried to convince her to travel up to visit Mama and Papa in Norfolk, but she refused. She says there is too much to keep her here, but we both know that to be a lie.”
“Not unless she means the memory of your uncle.” Cecilia took her friend’s hand. “Did it upset you?”
“A little bit, but you know me.” Her eyes widened as she noticed the dumbwaiter. Cecilia selected a small almond cake for her, and Daphne took it gladly. “No luck with your callers?”
“Unless you consider it lucky to have counted every bead on the curtains.”
“Well,” Daphne began with a mouth full of cake, “I know of one man in London who would make you feel very lucky indeed.” She cocked her head, and Daphne pointed downward.
Cecilia tutted and rolled her eyes. “Mr Travers has enough on his plate without you forcing your fantasies on him.”
“They are not fantasies.” Daphne reached forward for a napkin. “They’re observations. Musings, if you will.”
“Go on, then. What have you observed?”
“That he…” Daphne paused.“…is very yummy.”
“And very uninterested.”
“That is a lie, and you know it. I heard you in the carriage,” she declared proudly. “I was only pretending to sleep. Mr Travers is anything but uninterested.”
Cecilia dropped her voice low. “I thought you wanted to steal MrTravers’ kiss for yourself. Why try and convince yourself—falsely, I might add—that he cares for me in any way?”
Daphne huffed, throwing her sticky hands in the air. “Because we are both sad and boring women who lead sad and boring lives. If Mr Travers is blind to my qualities but not to yours, it seems only right that I let you have him.”
“Well, I do notwant him.” Cecilia’s throat tightened. “I cannot want him.”
“But you admit that he is lovely?”
“I…” She was not sure lovely was the word, but Raphael was certainlysomething. “I admit that if I do not get a move on, I will be late for my appointment.” She hopped off the sofa and left the room. Quickly retracing her steps, she peered around the door. “No bothering Mr Travers while I am gone!”
The shop bell chimed above her. Cecilia hastened to close her reticule, taking a cautious look down the road. Jane followed her out, carrying the boxes with her mother’s Valentine’s Day gown. The modiste had requested that Cecilia stand in for the fitting, given that their measurements were not so different from one another.
The seamstress had noted it as a point of concern, but Cecilia took it on the chin. Her mother was one of the most gorgeous, powerful, fashionable women in all of England. It was hardly an insult to be compared to her.
She turned to make sure Jane was not overly encumbered, taking the two boxes that sat highest on the stack with her mother’s accessories and shoes. Her maid offered her a grateful smile before they made the short walk to their carriage.
As the driver packed away their things, Cecilia tended Jane a small velvet pouch, heavy with coins.
“My lady—” she began to protest.
“It is nothing at all,” Cecilia promised, jangling the pouch temptingly.
