Page 30 of A Flaming Lady's Secret Valentine
“That is none of your concern, Cecilia.” He gestured for Raphael. “Come, Travers. Father will want a word.”
Cecilia’s heart lurched in her chest. Raphael shook his head almost imperceptibly as he passed her, putting her doubts to rest. He communicated nothing else as he followed Anthony into the drawing room.
“Your family has a funny way of expressing their love,” Daphne mused as she stepped beside Cecilia. “One could be mistaken for thinking you all loathed each other.” She sighed. “Cecilia? What is the matter?”
Cecilia flinched as the door to the drawing room closed. She shook off her coat, laid it atop Antony’s in the butler’s arms, and grabbed Daphne by the wrist.
“I think I have done something quite stupid.”
Chapter 10
Of all the words Cecilia would use to describe her family, ‘perceptive’was not one of them. A night and a day had passed since the Norberts had flocked to Lantham House, and no one had said a word about Mr Travers to her.
No one except for Daphne, who had spoken of nothing else since Cecilia had confessed to their kiss.
The family had settled in for dinner, cutlery and glasses chiming as the footmen served white soup. Cecilia grimaced, the smells of creamed veal and almonds wafting up into her face.
Her father had invited a few old acquaintances to dine with them. The Lords Brannon and Westshire, and Westshire’s son, were keeping the duke and duchess busy at the head of the table, while Cecilia ate with Daphne and her brothers. Lady Daphne was the only woman in London who could tease a smile from Anthony, and he made quick work of cornering her with his conversation, leaving Cecilia at the mercy of a sulking Edward.
“You will be pleased to know that Gregory Elgin will be staying with us on the morrow,” Edward muttered beside her. “He is riding down from Cromer at the break of day and will be here before nightfall.”
Cecilia set down her spoon, her appetite safely curbed. “Lord Radcliff has property in London. What is his reason for staying with us?”
“Officially, his staff have not readied his new house yet. But something tells me that is a farce. I would wager he intends to catch a glimpse of you before the ball. Does that unnerve you, sister?”
“Does it unnerve me that a man who is about as interesting as a blank leaf of paper has lied his way into my home in the hopes of securing my hand in marriage?” She sneered. “No, it does not unnerve me at all.”
“Good, because there is no deterring him if our father is to be believed.”
It had been easy to pretend that Radcliff did not exist in London, for better or for worse. There would be no escaping him once he made the journey down. Cecilia had spent four Seasons avoiding the man’s traps, but her father was growing impatient, desperate for her to marry before he shuffled off his mortal coil.
“What if you had a word with him in my stead?” she asked Edward. “You could convince the earl that no amount of allegiance to our family is worth marrying me. After all, you will be the duke after Papa. He will be my husband butyourbrother-in-law.”
“God’s wounds, as if I could forget.”
Edward picked up his goblet of sparkling wine. “Believe me, if there was anything I could do to help you, I would have done it years ago. Father is nothing if not stubborn when it comes to the fates of his children. If you are determined not to marry Radcliff, your only recourse is to reject his offer for your hand when it is made. Father will not be pleased, but he will not post the banns without your consent.”
“In one breath you say Papa is stubborn, and in the next you say he will not force me into marriage!” Cecilia composed herself when she drew the eye of Westshire’s son, dropping her voice to a whisper. “By your own account, we can be certain of nothing. Well, nothing except my refusal to even entertain such nonsense.”
“For what it is worth, most women would take it as a point of pride to be noticed by one England’s most eligible bachelors. With every fibre of my being, I loathe Radcliff, but that has nothing to do with his suitability as a husband for you and everything to do with his poor character.”
Edward brought his goblet to his lips, pausing as Cecilia quirked a brow in his direction.
“He is a bootlicker,” he summarized. “And a sore loser.”
“Well, most women do not have powerful, loving brothers to look after them well into spinsterhood,” Cecilia joked, taking a hesitant sip of her soup.
“Is that what you think?” Edward set his goblet down, chuckling. It clinked against the walnut tabletop. “Oh, have you no dreams for yourself, sister?”
“I was only joking.”
“Well, I am not. Do you not want to marry?”
Cecilia took a sip of wine to wash away the bitter taste in her mouth.
“Of course, I do. But I have never met a man during my seasons that I liked enough to accept,” she confessed, pushing away thoughts of Mr Travers. “God willing, I will not have to bear the awkwardness of rejecting Lord Radcliff until such a time comes.”
“God willing, Cupid will smile upon you this year.”
