The Virgin Who Vindicated Lord Darlington

by Anna Bradley

  He told himself he simply wished to enquire after her, just as he would any servant who’d been injured in his house, but the excuse rang hollow, even to his own ears.

  * * * *

  Cecilia didn’t see Lord Darlington again for the rest of the afternoon.

  She’d spent most of the day with Isabella, but while the child took her nap she’d scoured floors, polished looking glasses, and helped Amy clean every intricately carved mahogany bedpost in the guest bedchambers, rubbing away the dust from every whorl and curve until they shone. By the time they finished their work and ate a quick meal in the kitchens, she’d convinced herself she didn’t care a whit if she never saw him again.

  “Miss Honeywell appears to be utterly besotted with Lord Darlington, doesn’t she?” Amy placed the silver spoon she’d just finished polishing on the piece of black velvet spread out before them.

  They were in the butler’s pantry, polishing what looked to Cecilia like enough silver to sink a ship. “Mrs. Honeywell looks a great deal more besotted with him than her daughter does,” she snapped. “I’ve never seen a lady look better pleased with herself.” Amy’s eyes widened at her tart tone, and Cecilia added, “I didn’t pay the least bit of attention to the way Miss Honeywell looks at Lord Darlington.”

  “It sounds to me as if you did.” Amy let out a sly cackle. “But you’re right enough. Anyone can see Mrs. Honeywell’s not the sort to let a marquess escape her clutches.”

  Cecilia snorted at that, but said nothing.

  “You can’t blame Miss Honeywell if she is besotted with him. Lord Darlington is very handsome,” Amy went on, oblivious to Cecilia’s darkening mood. “She seems a nice lady, doesn’t she? She’ll make a proper mistress for Darlington Castle.”

  Cecilia snatched up a knife and began a violent assault on it with her polishing cloth, her lips pressed tightly together.

  “You’re in a bit of a temper this evening, eh?” Amy set aside her cloth with a sigh when Cecilia remained silent. “It’s Isabella’s bedtime, anyway. Let me just go and fetch the last tray of spoons, then you can go up.”

  Cecilia set aside the spoon in her hand with a trifle more force than needed, and snatched up another one, but as she attacked the tarnished crest engraved in the handle, her conscience began to prick at her.

  Amy wasn’t to blame for her vile mood. She’d been on edge since Miss Honeywell mentioned Sophia’s name today, and goodness knew her stinging palm and Mrs. Honeywell’s poisonous tongue didn’t help matters.

  “I beg your pardon for my snappishness,” she said, when she heard Amy’s step behind her. “I’m afraid Mrs. Honeywell’s ill humor put me out of temper.”

  “That’s not any way to talk about my future mother-in-law, Cecilia.”

  Cecilia’s hand froze on the spoon.

  Lord Darlington’s soft, husky laugh brushed across her nerve endings. “Well? Nothing to say for yourself? I don’t recall that ever happening before.”

  Cecilia turned, her face on fire. Lord Darlington was standing in the doorway, one hip leaning against the frame and his arms crossed over his chest.

  She wished with everything inside her the floor would open up and swallow her whole, but it wouldn’t, and so she did the only thing she could do. She raised her chin, and met his gaze. “Surely you didn’t come to the butler’s pantry to hear my opinion, my lord.”

  “No. I came to have a look at your injury.” He sauntered toward her and held out his hand when he reached her side. “Let me see it.”

  Cecilia hesitated, her breath catching. It didn’t seem a good idea to turn any part of her body over to Lord Darlington just now, not when a delicious shiver chased up her spine every time she thought about his large, warm hand cradling hers earlier today. “I, ah…there’s no need, my lord. It’s fine.”

  He raised that commanding eyebrow at her, and she held out her hand, swallowing.

  He caught her wrist, his fingertips grazing her knuckles as he unwound the linen cloth Mrs. Briggs had wrapped around her hand to protect the wound. The glass had left a livid red gash across her palm, and the skin around it was swollen. He frowned when he saw it, and raised those blue, blue eyes to hers. “Does it hurt?”

  His voice was soft, his tone unbearably gentle, and for a single, blissful instant Cecilia let her eyes drift closed to savor it. “A little.”

  He traced a finger over the uninjured part of her palm. A soft gasp broke from Cecilia’s lips before she could stop it, and his gaze flew to hers. They stared at each other, one moment after the next ticking by without either of them looking away.

  He stepped closer, crowding her against the table at her back, the heat from his big body making Cecilia’s head spin with dizzying awareness. “Miss Honeywell seems to be quite certain she knows you, Cecilia. She mentioned it again at tea.”

  Cecilia’s heart began a panicked thrashing against her ribs. “She’s mistaken.”

  “Is she?” He touched her chin, tipping her face up to his. “Or are you lying to me?”

  “I-I’m not lying.” Dear God, how could he smell so divine? Cool and soft, like a silent snowfall, a faint hint of port on his breath.

  He pressed his fingertips more firmly into her chin, titling her head back. “You say so, but I don’t know if I believe you, Cecilia. I don’t know if I’ve ever believed you. What will I do with you if I find out you’ve lied to me?”

  It might have been an innocent question, but the wicked edge to his voice turned it dark and sultry, as if he’d already made up his mind what he’d do to her, and was very much looking forward to doing it.

  “I-I don’t know, my lord.” Cecilia fought to keep her eyes from dropping to half-mast as his warm breath drifted over her, stirring the loose hair at her temples. “I suppose you’d have no choice but to order me to leave Darlington Castle.”

  The corners of his lips curved. “I already tried that. You gave me the scold of a lifetime for my troubles.”

  “One doesn’t scold a marquess, my lord.” She meant the words lightly, but the stroke of his fingers against her skin made her breathless, and they fell from her lips as a soft tease.

  His gaze dropped to her mouth, his eyes darkening to a hot, stormy blue. He stroked his thumb over her chin, and the tip of it brushed her lower lip.

  Cecilia’s mouth opened a little in response to the caress, and his own lips parted on a strangled breath. He leaned closer, his mouth drawing nearer to hers, but just when she was certain her heart would leap from her chest, a shadow came over his face.

  He cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, the huskiness had bled from his voice. He released her chin and turned away, but paused before vanishing through the door. “The dressing on your hand needs changing. Good night, Cecilia.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Cecilia closed the castle door behind her and descended the stone steps onto the drive, her lips curved in a satisfied smile. She was well pleased with herself this afternoon.

  Anyone who happened to catch a glimpse of her wouldn’t think she was anything other than a devoted nursemaid taking her adorable charge for a walk in the gardens. That is, she was that, but then that was the brilliance of the thing.

  It was an inspired idea, disguising herself as…well, herself.

  But she wasn’t only a nursemaid this morning. No, this morning she was part nursemaid, and part investigator. She wasn’t quite sure what she was investigating yet today, but one thing was certain. In another six days, Fanny Honeywell would marry Lord Darlington.

  She was nearly out of time and the mysteries at Darlington Castle kept piling up, one after the other. She wouldn’t get any closer to unraveling them sitting about the castle. After some discreet prodding at breakfast this morning, she’d discovered from Duncan that the White Lady had only ever been seen near the edge of the woods, or wandering through the rose walk before she disa
ppeared again somewhere near the kitchen gardens.

  So, Cecilia and Isabella were headed toward the rose walk for a morning’s stroll. Cecilia doubted she’d find a ghost there waiting for them, but perhaps something else of interest would turn up. She’d simply have to hope for the best, and trust she’d recognize anything suspicious if she saw it.

  “All right, Isabella?” Cecilia glanced down at her charge.

  “My nose is cold.” Isabella rubbed the offending organ with a mitten-clad hand. “The outside part, and the inside.”

  “It does look rather pink.” It was colder this morning than it had been yesterday, the scent of snow sharp in the air. Cecilia was a firm believer in fresh air for children, but she didn’t want Isabella to catch a chill. She’d been tempted to tuck her into a buggy under a thick layer of blankets, but Isabella wouldn’t hear of it. She’d insisted on walking, and Cecilia had wrapped her up so thoroughly if it hadn’t been for her pink face, she might have been mistaken for a bundle of laundry.

  “What about the rest of you? Any frozen bits?” Cecilia asked, dropping a quick kiss on the tip of Isabella’s nose.

  Isabella squirmed away, and gave Cecilia’s hand an impatient tug. “No. I want to walk in the garden. You said we could!”

  “We will, but wait just a moment.” Cecilia slid a finger under the neckline of Isabella’s thick coat, nodding as her fingers landed on warm skin. “Ah, good. Cozy as a kitten, just as you should be.”

  Isabella was dancing with impatience. “Please, Miss Cecilia?”

  “All right, then.” Cecilia was as anxious to disappear into the grounds as Isabella was, before they ran into someone she’d rather avoid.

  Someone like Mrs. Honeywell.

  She cast a furtive glance around. She’d heard Mrs. Honeywell in the entrance hall half an hour earlier, her shrill voice easily discernible from the first-floor landing. She’d been complaining about the coldness of the day and fretting about catching a chill.

  Lord Darlington must be taking the party for a tour of the grounds. Cecilia might have delayed her own excursion to be certain they’d miss them, but by then she’d already wrapped Isabella up like a small mummy. She couldn’t bear to disappoint her, and they could always dart into the kitchen gardens if they needed a quick escape. Lord Darlington wasn’t likely to take his guests there—

  “Have you noticed, Lord Darlington, how well that particular shade of blue flatters my daughter’s complexion?”

  Cecilia’s eyes widened. Oh, no.

  There was no mistaking that screech, but which direction were they coming from?

  “The Duke of Ashford himself raved about the color of Fanny’s eyes. He said they’re the same pure blue as a brilliant summer sky.”

  A male voice—Lord Darlington’s, presumably—said something Cecilia couldn’t hear in response, but it sounded as if the party was getting closer.

  Oh, why must I have such dreadful luck?

  “His Grace insisted it’s as if the sun himself smiles down upon her, and indeed, I can’t but agree with him,” Mrs. Honeywell declared, as if not quite satisfied with the homage being paid to her daughter’s beauty. “Just look, Lord Darlington, at how even these feeble rays turn Fanny’s hair into a halo of gold.”

  A halo of gold? Cecilia’s breath escaped in a frosty huff. Surely, that was doing it a bit brown—

  “You look lovely, Miss Honeywell. As dazzling as a summer day.” Lord Darlington’s deep voice carried clearly through the frigid air, and Cecilia looked up just in time to see him raise Miss Honeywell’s dainty hand to his lips. The winter sun toyed with Miss Honeywell’s hair, highlighting the gilded curls to great effect, like a…

  Halo of gold, blast it.

  Cecilia glanced wildly around, but short of leaping into the shrubbery and dragging poor Isabella with her, there was no place to hide.

  And then, it was too late.

  There was no escape. Lord Darlington’s party was upon them, and they were taking up the whole of the pathway. Lord Darlington had Miss Honeywell on his arm, and behind him was Lord Haslemere, escorting Mrs. Honeywell. She was preening as if the entire upper ten thousand was watching her, but Lord Haslemere looked as if he wished himself under the thin layer of ice crusting Darlington Lake.

  Mrs. Honeywell was still prattling on about halos and blue skies, oblivious to everything around her, but Lord Haslemere met Cecilia’s gaze and, quick as lightning, comically crossed his eyes.

  It was so unexpected Cecilia had to bite her lip to smother a laugh. It was wicked of her to laugh at poor Lord Haslemere’s predicament, but his droll expression had put her in mind of Georgiana when she was attempting to explain mathematics to the duller pupils at the Clifford School.

  “Good afternoon,” Lord Darlington called as his party approached. “Is that you under all those layers, Isabella?”

  Isabella giggled. “Yes, it is! You’re silly, Uncle.”

  “I hardly recognized you.” Lord Darlington chucked Isabella under the chin before turning his attention to Cecilia. “Good afternoon, Cecilia.”

  Cecilia swallowed. His tone was pleasant enough, his address utterly polite and proper. To look at him now, one would never believe he was the same man who’d teased her last night—who’d taken her hand so carefully in his and stroked her palm with his fingertip, his eyes a hot, dark blue.

  The wind was taking liberties with him, tousling the thick, dark locks of his hair and biting color into his cheeks. His snug, buff-colored breeches showed off the long, muscular line of his legs to perfection, and the blue of the coat he wore under his long, dark cloak perfectly matched the color of his eyes.

  She’d never seen him look as handsome as he did today. Perhaps he’d taken greater care than usual with his appearance in order to charm Miss Honeywell.

  Cecilia squirmed at the thought.

  She tore her gaze away from him, shifting her attention to the shrubs, the lake, the half-boots on her feet until Lord Haslemere’s quiet cough recalled her attention, and she realized with warming cheeks she hadn’t replied to Lord Darlington’s greeting.

  “Er…good afternoon, my lord.” Cecilia dropped into a belated curtsy. “Lord Haslemere, and Mrs. and Miss Honeywell,” she added, with a polite nod. “Isabella and I thought we’d have a walk this afternoon while the sun’s shining.”

  Mrs. Honeywell let out a scandalized gasp. Cecilia jerked her head toward the woman, and found Mrs. Honeywell staring at her, outraged. “Isabella? Is that how you address the Marquess of Darlington’s niece, girl?”

  Cecilia blinked. It was a foolish question, really, given that was the child’s name. “Well, Isabella Olivia Cornelia is rather a mouthful. Too many syllables for such a small little bit of a thing. Isabella suits her better, I think.”

  “It does, indeed.” Lord Haslemere agreed, taking Cecilia’s side.

  “She’s Lady Isabella to you, impertinent chit.” Mrs. Honeywell shot Cecilia a look colder than the wind. “You may be certain my servants don’t address the family so familiarly.” She settled her ostrich feathers with a violent twitch, but her sneer faded when she noticed Lord Darlington’s frown, and she quickly pasted on a bright, false smile. “This is Lady Isabella then, my lord? Let’s have a look at her, shall we?”

  Cecilia would have preferred to stick her hand in a fire than turn Isabella over to Mrs. Honeywell, but Miss Honeywell, who’d remained silent throughout the whole of this exchange, suddenly spoke up. “Oh, yes! Let us see the dear, sweet little thing.”

  Lord Darlington could hardly refuse such a request from his betrothed, and thus, Isabella’s fate was sealed. Cecilia settled for holding Isabella protectively to her side for an instant before pressing a hand to her back and easing her gently forward. “It’s all right, Isabella,” she murmured into her ear. “Bid Miss and Mrs. Honeywell a good afternoon. Show them what pretty manners you have,
and then you and I will go for our walk in the garden.”

  Isabella shook her head. “I-I don’t want to, Miss Cecilia.”

  “Don’t be silly, child.” Mrs. Honeywell tugged Isabella forward impatiently. Cecilia pressed her lips together, nettled beyond measure, but being only the lowly nursemaid, there was nothing she could do except wait for it to be over.

  Mrs. Honeywell looked over Isabella with feigned interest, but there wasn’t a flicker of warmth in her face as she assessed her. “So, this is your niece, Lord Darlington? Humph. Rather small for her age, isn’t she?”

  “Not at all, Mrs. Honeywell.” Cecilia bit the words out through clenched teeth. “On the contrary, she’s rather tall.”

  “Why, what a lovely face, and such pretty curls!” Miss Honeywell gushed, but she wasn’t looking at Isabella. “But then your entire family is handsome, my lord.” She darted a flirtatious look at Lord Darlington from under her eyelashes.

  Miss Honeywell gushed on for a bit, in raptures over Isabella, but for all her delight, she lost interest in the child rather quickly. She gave Isabella’s head an absent pat, then abandoned her in favor of Lord Darlington. “Shall we go and see the rose walk now? I believe you said—”

  “It’s fortunate your brother didn’t have a son, isn’t it?” Mrs. Honeywell assessed Isabella with cool eyes. “A son would have been tremendously inconvenient.”

  Cecilia froze, certain she must have misheard Mrs. Honeywell.

  “It’s a great deal better for you, Fanny, the child happened to be a girl. She won’t be much in your way, thankfully.”

  A shocked silence fell as Mrs. Honeywell made it abundantly clear she had, in fact, meant just what Cecilia feared she had. Lord Haslemere turned on her indignantly, and Lord Darlington stiffened.

  The only one who didn’t seem to understand the implication of her mother’s words was Miss Honeywell, who regarded her blankly. “Whatever do you mean, Mama? Why, little boys are perfectly charming.”