"What you need at the moment is a soothing glass of Madeira." He looked at Randolph through the veil of his lashes. "Shall we see you downstairs, Haukstrom?"
"What? Oh, yes, in a bit."
"Until then," Branstoke said blandly. He offered Cecilia his arm.
She hesitated a moment, then gratefully accepted it. They turned to walk down the gallery, leaving. Randolph to stare angrily after them.
"That headache of yours," Branstoke said conversationally as he held another door open at the end of the gallery. It led to the Great Chamber, which was mercifully empty at the moment. "It is probably due to an irritation of nerves. I believe you did one time say you were particularly susceptible to that disorder? Rather than resorting to some medicinal draught prescribed for you by Dr. Thornbridge—mind, I am not impinging on the man's learned judgment—my suggested remedy is a little Madeira and a little dancing. I have a theory," he explained stolidly, "that such disorders are better cured by relaxation and frivolity. I would like the opportunity to test my hypothesis."
"Really, Sir James," laughingly protested Cecilia.
He stopped and turned her to face him. "The other day, you addressed me as Sir James," he gently reminded her
She stopped, her smile dimming, and a wariness haunted her eyes. "I did?" The words came out on a mere breath. The hammering of her heart was louder in her own ears. She looked up at him, trying to read the meaning of his words in his face and half afraid to try.
Sir James looked at her calmly, a slight, encouraging smile on his lips. No sensual need or banked flames burned in his eyes. "I am no Borgia, my dear. You are troubled, I know, though I cannot begin to imagine what could bedevil your gentle soul. But as I think I've told you before, I am willing—nay, wanting to help you battle your dragons."
His quiet words brought a sheen of tears to Cecilia's eyes and an unaccountable lump to her throat. "I—I thank you for your concern, but it is best you stand away from me, sir, and do not get involved."
He seized on her words. "Then I am correct; there is something bothering you."
She sighed and looked about her, anywhere but at him. She stared for a moment at a painted cherub on the ceiling. "Yes," she admitted and felt a great weight lift from her chest. "But that is all I will say. Please, don't plague me with questions."
"I'll agree, only under the condition you promise to call on me if you need help."
She smiled wanly at him, a flicker of her energies returning. "I promise. Now, I suggest we rejoin the ball. We have both been absent much too long, and that is bound to cause talk. What will Miss Cresswell think?" she asked teasingly.
"Hang Miss Cresswell."
Cecilia was in mixed spirits when she returned to the ball. Her mind was so troubled she threw herself into the gaiety, searching for some numbing balm for the riotous emotions she felt.
She laughed and danced willingly, first with Branstoke and then with her grandfather. After them, she whirled across the floor with every male who could claim a dance. So full was her dance card, not all could. She was gay with a feverish intensity that had some matrons looking at her askance. Dire mutterings behind gloved hands said she'd no doubt be confined to her bed on the morrow. Even Jessamine, who was well acquainted with her stratagems, felt it behooved her to drop a word in her ear.
"Fudge: My reputation is quite ruined anyway," Cecilia said breezily.
"What are you talking about?"
"Randolph caught Branstoke and me together in the Long Gallery and came up with the most amazing conclusions," she said, carefully omitting the substance of the encounter.
Lady Meriton dismissed her fears. "Randolph judges everyone by his lamentable standard."
"True, but I should not have been alone with a gentleman. In defense, I shall say it was not deliberate."
"There is no need to tell me that! I well know your opinion of Sir James. Although when I consider it, it will do well for Randolph to spread his scandalous story, whatever it may be. You cannot be taken amiss for being in Branstoke's company as you could among any of those ramshackle court cards Randolph calls friends. It will do you credit."
"Credit?" asked Cecilia, remembering how she responded with searing intensity to his kiss. She pinked at the memory.
"Yes, for he is considered a gentleman of exquisite taste and manners." She cocked her head to study her niece. "You know, my dear, I do like the new way Sarah has of doing your hair. It will cut out beautifully. Will you sit for me now?"
"Jessamine, you must have hundreds of pictures done of me."
"Yes, but none in quite this style. Come, I've my corner arranged with proper light and everything." She hooked Cecilia's arm in hers and guided her toward the corner she'd been using. "Besides, I think you need a respite. Your color is a trifle higher than I like."
"At least that won't appear in your picture."
Lady Meriton chuckled. "Most unfortunate. Here, now sit down and turn your head to the right. Lift it a bit . . . perfect." She sat down in a nearby Hepplewhite chair and pulled her portable desk onto her lap. "I've noticed Randolph's friends have been as attentive this evening as they were last night. What have you done to encourage those connections?"
"Nothing! I swear, I did nothing, other than perhaps hope, pray, and scheme to claim their attention. Suddenly last night, they were huddled around me like bees around honey. My suspicion is that Randolph has said something to remind them of my wealth, and they, being unscrupulous as to the source of my funds, have decided I am worth pursuing."
