“The Duke of Ainsley does not strike me as a man that would allow you to marry where you will.”
John looked back at Lady Townsend, understanding what her words implied. If he chose to pursue Cici, he would risk his father’s wrath. John smiled. “Then I suspect his grace will be most displeased.”
“It is fortunate that you are a man.” She paused to chew a bit of goose, swallowed, then said, “Thus free to do as you please.”
“Most fortunate,” he muttered to himself, as Lady Townsend had returned her attention to Sir Cunningham.
When dinner ended and the men retired, John made sure to challenge Mr. Wright and Mr. Bellamy to a hand of cards so that the men would have no excuse to follow the ladies. Fortunately, Lord Coulton was eager to play as well.
John ended up losing to Mr. Bellamy, which hurt his pride, given the way the man crowed over the victory. But the sacrifice was well worth it when Lord Brinley took his seat to continue the game. With the gentlemen engaged, John headed for the door, but Thomas blocked his escape. “Emily is so happy that you were able to join us for the holidays this year. I hope that this will be a regular occurrence,” he said.
“Yes. I do expect to make this a tradition, as I hope our family will grow closer soon.”
Thomas’s eyebrow rose.
“You know that Cicely and I have been fond of one another since we were children.” He paused, uncertain how much to say. He had never asked for a lady’s hand in marriage before.
“I do.” Thomas paused as if he were going to say more but did not.
“It has been a very long time since we have seen each other, and I wanted to inquire if she is betrothed?”
“No, sadly. My sweet Cicely has not attached her heart to anyone that I know of, and of all my children, I am certain that only love will prompt her to wed.” Thomas added the last with a hint of caution, as if trying to protect John.
“I would expect nothing less. Cicely has always been quite remarkable in that regard.” John smiled.
“With that said, I would have no objection were Cicely to form an attachment to a young man such as yourself,” Thomas assured.
John smiled. “Thank you, sir. I would be honored if that were the case.”
“Then you best be on your way. I saw how Mr. Wright was looking at my sweet Cicely at dinner. I fear you will not be the only one to throw his hat in the ring, though I am not certain Cicely would be happy as the wife of a vicar.”
“Mr. Wright is a vicar?”
“He is starting tomorrow. Lord Townsend offered him the position this afternoon.”
Chapter 10
If Cicely had to listen to one more story of Georgie’s adventures in London, she feared that she would lose the tender affections that she had regained that afternoon.
Aunt Mary must have noticed her discomfort and motioned her to come over.
“Pardon me, sister. As delightful as your stories are, Aunt Mary is summoning me.” She smiled at her sister, and Georgie ignored her, continuing to tell her tale to Misses Campbell and Pratt.
She moved to an armchair adjacent to the sofa where Aunt and Emily sat. Across from them on a matching sofa sat Lady Campbell and Miss Brinley.
She leaned in and whispered to her aunt, “Thank you.”
Aunt Mary winked at her and continued to listen politely to Lady Campbell regale them with the list of the Misses Campbells’ many accomplishments, suitors, and prospects. After more time than Cicely felt her aunt was capable of, she announced, “Dear Cicely, you must play for us.”
Lady Campbell perked up. “My Fiona plays quite well, and darling Hannah has such—”
“While that would be delightful, the girls entertained us last night. It is Cicely’s turn this evening,” Aunt Mary said.
Lady Campbell smiled weakly. “Certainly.”
Cicely was grateful to her aunt, who knew she was most comfortable behind the pianoforte. She moved to the instrument, and as she sat, her fingers glided over the keys. The sound was like hearing a sigh and had the same effect upon her. Cicely closed her eyes, enjoying the melody. Everyone in the room melded into the background as she imagined the notes flowing through the air in front of her, painting a picture of joy that made her smile. The tempo increased, and her heartbeat sped as she remembered the feeling of John’s arms around her and the way she felt when his lips touched hers. As the music came to an end, she opened her eyes to find him standing beside the piano, watching her.
He smiled, but it was his eyes that made her breath catch. His look was full of such need. Her cheeks blazed red, and she hoped that no one noticed.
“Cicely, play another, and I will sing for everyone,” Georgie announced and stood to join them, but their father gently grabbed Georgie’s arm.
“In a moment, daughter.”
“May I?” John motioned to the piano bench.
Cicely moved to stand.
“No.” He held up a hand. “Please, stay.”
She slid over, and he sat beside her. The heat of his thigh branded her through the skirt of her dress.
He smiled at her and began to play a haunting, enchanted melody full of loss, but it was the emotion on his face that captured her. Longing and pain were etched into his handsome features, but as the music changed, so did he. His lips lifted in the corners, and warmth rose to his gaze. The song was still beautiful, but instead of being haunting, it was lovely and full of such beauty and life that the room was quiet. Even the men joining them from the hall kept a respectful silence. As the music wound to an end, John kept glancing at her. The notes were livelier and brighter, as if the sun had risen from behind the clouds.
Cicely realized that was exactly how the moment felt to her. She had been in a haze since John had left, doing what was needed day-to-day but never genuinely enjoying anything, not as she did with him beside her. She wanted desperately to kiss him, touch him, anything. Instead, she clasped her hands in her lap, knowing that it was the best thing she could do for him.
When the music ended, the room burst into applause, but John only looked at Cicely. “Did you like it?”
“Yes,” she said, not trusting herself to say more.
“I’m glad. When I wrote it, I did not know that it was for you, but now, I do.”
Her cheeks burned.
“Perhaps Mrs. Ward and the Vicar would sing for us,” John announced.
“I am certain one of the young ladies would prefer to sing,” Emily insisted, but Father had already moved to stand beside the piano and wait for her.
He had such a lovely voice, and it had been so long since Cicely had heard it.
“Come, my dear,” Father said.
With everyone watching, Emily joined him. John began to play, and their voices combined into a lovely duet. Father’s deep voice complimented Emily’s higher pitch as if the song were not to be sung any other way or by anyone else.
John’s accompaniment was brilliant, but he had always been an amazing pianist, mostly because his father felt it was unmanly. Anything the duke disdained, John naturally loved, but even then, such talent could not have been learned.
When Father and Emily finished the song, the listeners applauded. John smiled at Cicely, and she smiled back. It would have done no good to be bitter about losing him. Instead, she decided to make the most of their time together as friends. He stood and offered her his hand. She reached for him, and the brush of his skin against her palm made her ache.
Later that night, when all the guests retired and Christmas Eve had turned to Christmas Day, Cicely snuck from her room down to the conservatory. As promised, John waited for her on the bench beside the mermaid statue.
He was so handsome that her heart ached to look at him. His black hair was mussed, giving him an attractive disheveled look. His cravat was untied, and the top of his shirt gaped open to reveal smooth tan skin that she longed to touch. His jacket was undone, and his vest, though still on, was unbuttoned.
He rose when he saw her. Hi
s face held such wanting that she instantly felt aflame. Without words, they kissed slowly and tenderly. Moments seemed like hours as he held her in his arms. All the while, in the back of her mind, she dreaded what she must do.
She pulled away. “I-I…” she stammered, unable to say the words that would end things between them.
“Cici, will you m—”
“No,” she interrupted, every part of her tensed. “I came to tell you this has to end.”
He stiffened and took a step back. “What are you saying?”
“Your father will not allow us to be together.”
“My father? He has no say in what I can do.”
“And yet you have been away for eight years. Eight years, John. Do you realize what it has been like without you?” She gasped. Having said the words aloud only brought back all her hurt and pain, the rejection she had felt from the unreturned letters until she had finally stopped writing.
“I already apologized for that. All I can do it make is up to you if you will let me.”
“And who is to say that when you return to London, the duke will not interfere again? That you will not return and forget about me?”
“He will not. I cannot.” The strength in John’s voice made her believe him, but she knew too well that the duke was a harsh and manipulative man.
“Even if that were true, I…” She paused and changed her intention, knowing that the words would break him as much as they would her. “I do not love you.”
He jerked back as if slapped. “That is not possible.”
It took every last ounce of her will power to stand, face him, and say, “And yet it is the truth.”
He turned away from her and left.
She fell back to the bench with a sob, knowing in her heart that she had done what was right. Her family had never had much, and she knew what it was like to be without. She would never wish that upon anyone and, more specifically, not upon John. She sat there, sobbing, until Georgie found her.
Georgie wrapped her in her arms and held her until no tears remained then quietly walked Cicely to her room. Georgie tucked Cicely into her bed, and as she fell asleep, she heard Georgie assure her it would all be better in the morning.
John paced his room, knowing that if he stopped for even a moment, all the pain and regret would come crashing down on him. She did not love him. The words had been like daggers to his heart, and worse, he deserved every thrust. He had left her and never looked back—why had he done that?
Does Cici love someone else? His pacing stopped. Mr. Wright? They were so comfortable in one another’s company. How long has she really known the man? John had never liked him. Mr. Wright’s charming smiles and humility were an act. John was certain of it. What is Mr. Wright hiding? Before John could consider it more, there was an insistent tapping at the door.
Hope flared within him, and he rushed to open it. Surely, Cici had changed her mind. But when he opened the door, it was only Georgianna, still in the clothes she had worn for dinner.
“What do you want?” He knew that he was being incredibly rude, but he was so angry that it was not Cici at his door, he could not help it.
“Invite me in,” she said, smiling.
“No.” He closed the door until the only opening was blocked by his body.
She shrugged. “Then I guess you do not want to know why my sister is refusing you.” She turned to leave.
“Wait.” John looked up and down the empty hall. Every inch of him told him to close that door, but for Cici, it was worth the rise. He stepped back and opened the door wide.
Georgianna entered, swishing her hips as she went.
John groaned. It was an awfully bad idea.
She walked around the room, picking up John’s things, inspecting them, then putting them back down. When she picked up his shirt and smelled it, John snatched it from her hands. “Say what you came to say and then leave,” he said.
“So rude, John. I expected better of you.”
He was already heading to the door to throw her out when Georgianna added, “I hope that you are not so rude to my sister.”
His shoulders slumped, and all his outrage drained from him.
Georgianna sat in one of the chairs before the fire and held out her hands to warm them.
Before joining her, John poured himself a glass of whiskey and emptied it in a single swallow. Then he sat and watched her. She was clearly in no rush and enjoying every moment of having him at her mercy, yet there was nothing he could do. So he waited silently, staring into the flames, trying to keep his heart from racing and keep his hands from throttling Georgianna.
“Why didn’t you ever love me, John?” Her words were soft and full of such loneliness that John looked at her. Georgianna was beautiful—there was no doubt—but it was simply not what he wanted.
“I have loved Cici since the moment we met. There has never been anyone else, and there never will be. I just did not realize it until I saw her again.”
Georgianna nodded. “Cici will not marry you because of the duke. She is afraid of what he will do to you.”
“He will do nothing,” John insisted, certain of it. There was nothing the duke could do. John was his only heir despite his father’s best efforts.
“My dear stepmama and I are worried about what the duke will do to Cici.”
That gave John a longer pause. It was true that his father could make life difficult. “I will never let my father hurt Cici in any way.” He clenched his fists just thinking of it.
“Then I will help you, but on one condition.” Georgianna’s green eyes bored into him.
“Anything. You need only ask.”
Chapter 11
The next morning, Cicely awoke in bed. Her eyes felt puffy, and the misery of what she had done crushed her. It was Christmas Day, her favorite day of the year, but she felt no joy, no excitement for the day ahead. In truth, she did not know how she was going to face John again, but she knew that it was unavoidable.
She quickly dressed for church and made her way down to the breakfast room. The scent of chocolate and tea called to her as she walked in to find all the men except John present.
“Merry Christmas,” she said by way of greeting.
They all stood and returned her sentiment.
“It is wonderful to see you up so early, daughter. I feared all the ladies would be taking trays in their rooms as they fussed to get ready for church. Come and sit with me.” Her father nodded to the chair beside him.
She smiled and headed to the sideboard to fill her plate with eggs, ham, toast, and a cup of chocolate, all while fearing that John would walk through the door. What little of her food that she ate was tasteless.
“You look very pale this morning, child. Are you feeling unwell?” her father asked.
Tears welled in her eyes before she could stop them.
“What has happened?” His voice was harsher than ever before.
“Nothing.” She patted her eyes with her napkin and took a deep breath to rein in her emotions.
“Did you refuse John? He was knocking at my door this morning before Emily was even dressed.”
“Refuse him? I never let him ask. You know the duke would never allow us to wed,” she replied in a hushed tone, though she need not have worried. Most of the men were leaving to gather the ladies for church.
“Come. It is time to go. We will discuss this when we return.” He stood and waited for her. Together, they walked to the staircase. He cupped her cheek and smiled at her. “Do not be so sad, poppet. It is Christmas, and God often works in unknown ways.” He hugged her, and she inhaled his comforting scent of books, ink, and fresh linen.
“What is this?” Emily said, walking down the stairs with all the children behind her.
They each hugged Cicely and shared a Christmas greeting. The little ones made her laugh by telling her about the gifts of peppermint and wooden soldiers they had received thus far. Cicely felt like herself for the first time all day. Surro
unded by their joy, she knew that even though she would not have John, at least her family would always be there to cheer her up.
Father grabbed her arm to get her attention. “Go and fetch your coat, Cicely, or we will be late.”
“Thank you, Father.” She kissed him on his cheek and ran up the stairs.
When she returned, the foyer was empty. She tugged on her red pelisse with black trim and walked out the front door to find John standing beside an open carriage with a pair of matching black horses. Her breath caught—he was so handsome in his tan breeches, black hessians, and a long black coat. She could see a glimpse of a red vest beneath, and a white cravat completed his attire. The wind blew softly and rustled his hair, though it still fell to almost cover his eyes.
He smiled. “I fear the others have left already, and you will have to settle for my humble company.”
She feigned a smile and strode down the remaining steps. “I do not know what you are planning, but it will not work.”
He did not reply.
She sighed, preparing herself for a longer ride. The open carriage would not travel as fast as the closed one, and she would arrive at church terribly disheveled. She climbed in and covered her legs with a fur blanket.
“That will not be nearly enough.” He began to tuck the blanket around her legs with great care. His touch lingered longer than necessary but moved on before she could object to his familiarity. She met his smoldering gaze and was certain that it could warm her more than the blankets.
“Ready?” He climbed in beside her and covered himself with the blanket, leaving his thigh pressed intimately against hers.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
The carriage rolled forward, and the cold air cooled her burning cheeks. She inhaled deeply. Overnight, it had snowed, leaving everything a crisp white with icicles hanging from the trees. Light flurries of snow followed the wind on its northerly trip.
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