Page 43 of The Virgin Who Vindicated Lord Darlington
“All right, Isabella?” Cecilia glanced downat 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. Yousaid 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 asyou 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 likeMrs. 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 suchdreadful 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 ahalo of gold.”
A halo of gold? Cecilia’s breath escaped in a frosty huff. Surely, that was doingit 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 greateffect, like a…
Halo ofgold, blast it.
Cecilia glanced wildly around, but short of leaping into the shrubbery and dragging poor Isabella with her, there was noplace to hide.
And then, itwas 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’resilly, 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 ahot, dark blue.
