Cecilia was already nervous about coming to London and being presented at Court. Now she worried that all this effort was wearing on Lionel, that he might be growing tired of all the things he had to do for her. It would be understandable, she reasoned. Not many men had to go to such lengths for their wives to be accepted by their peers. On the carriage ride into London that morning, Lionel had fallen into a silence, staring out of the window, and leaving Cecilia to draw her own conclusions. Now she was afraid to voice her fears lest it prompt him to agree with the worst of them.
Lionel opened the carriage door and prepared to disembark. He paused for a moment, frowning as he looked at her.
“Is something wrong, my love?” he asked, closing the door again, ignoring the footman that stood outside ready to aid disembarkation.
Cecilia felt a chill of fear go through her. Lionel looked genuinely concerned but a sudden terror gripped her, of seeing that concern melt away. It would be replaced by coldness, by the frosty glance that Lionel gave to those he shared no intimacy with and never would. She forced a smile and nodded.
“It is all a little overwhelming…” she began, “…but exciting. Thrilling in fact!” she continued, keen to show how happy she was, “I’m so very lucky that I have a husband willing to goto such lengths for me. I cannot imagine how difficult it must have been to obtain permission to present me from the Regent’s representatives.”
Lionel took her hand and kissed it tenderly. His eyes met hers and for a moment she was genuinely reassured. There was that warmth in him that spoke directly to her heart, a connection that could not be faked. Her smile became less forced and she wanted to melt into him as he kissed her lips.
“Itwasandisnothing. For you, there is no such thing as too much. If I had to present you to the emperor of China, I would hold it as a trivial matter.”
Cecilia laughed. “Such hyperbole. How is any woman supposed to live up to such expectations! I suppose that is the artist in you.”
Lionel grimaced. “Not such an artist as you will see. Once we have toured the galleries of London, you will see what true artistic talent is.”
“I have seen all the paintings I need to in order to judge that,” Cecilia reassured him, kissing him again. “Perhaps I might speak to some of the custodians of those galleries about your work?”
Lionel barked a laugh and flung the carriage door open. “Do it and I will put you across my knee,” he whispered.
The words brought an image to Cecilia’s mind that made her go weak at the knees. She fanned a suddenly flushed face furiously with one hand. Lionel’s grin was suddenly wicked. He stepped down from the carriage and offered his hand to her. Cecilia stepped down too, immediately conscious of the buildings towering around her like mountains. It was like standing at the bottom of a gorge.
With one arm, Lionel smoothly guided her toward a house. The black-painted front door had a brightly polished door knocker but the door was opened by Blackwood as the pair of them walked up the stone steps in front of the door.
“Welcome to Bruton Street, Your Grace.” Blackwood gave a perfunctory bow. “The air is unpleasant and the noise is something to behold, but you wanted to come to London so here we all are.”
His face was sour and he twitched as a carriage went rattling by.
“No worse than a French cannonade from twenty yards away, eh, Blackwood?” Lionel laughed jovially.
“I had my ears blocked with wax for that. And it was more like thirty,” Blackwood replied back morosely.
He stepped aside and they entered. The entrance hall was long and thin with a tall ceiling from which hung a glittering crystal chandelier. Sunlight from a window above the door spilled onto the chandelier and reflected in coruscating daggers. The floor was of light gray marble while the walls were paneled in darkwood. A staircase, plush with maroon carpet, rose at the end of the hall and split into two. Cecilia’s footsteps echoed loudly, making her feel that she had stepped into a cathedral.
“My, this is impressive,” she gasped.
“I have not used the family’s London residence for quite some time. I must remember to commend the staff. They have kept it in fine condition in my absence,” Lionel remarked.
“Should have been rented out to earn its keep,” Blackwood put in. “The rental market is very lucrative I hear.”
Cecilia nodded. “Very sound, Blackwood.”
That got her a sharp nod, the equivalent of a smile from the gloomy butler. Blackwood respected nothing more than a person he judged to be competent and with common sense. He did not always see such qualities in his master.
“I just have an aversion to the idea of a complete stranger sporting about my house,” Lionel groused as he trailed a hand along one of the squeaky clean corridor walls.
“Then you vet the tenants. Or allow me to do it!” Cecilia chimed excitedly.
He shrugged. “I shall leave that to the two of you. Come, let me show you around the place, if I can remember myself.”
Lionel took Cecilia’s hand and led her towards the staircase. As they passed doors to either side, he pointed out a ballroom, study, library, and drawing room. Remembering the frontage of the house, Cecilia could not quite believe it all fitted in.
By the time they ascended to the second floor, which Lionel told her was the guest floor, Cecilia suddenly fell rooted to her spot. Her mouth was watering furiously and her stomach felt like it was turning somersaults inside her. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead.
“Oh my. I really do not feel well at all,” she breathed, pressing her hand against Lionel’s bicep for support.
He frowned. “Are you ill? Shall I send for a physician?”
