Gideon knew at once which young woman Miss Honeywell was referring to, before he even followed her gaze. The same young woman who always seemed to be at the center of every disturbance.
Cecilia Gilchrist.
His teeth snapped together. “Which young woman is that, Miss Honeywell?”
“That one, just there, with the dark hair, cleaning the glass lanterns.” A thoughtful frown furrowed Miss Honeywell’s smooth white brow. “Her face looks familiar.”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Honeywell,” Haslemere interrupted hastily, “That young woman isn’t from London. Now, shall we adjourn to the—”
“Don’t be absurd, Fanny. How should you knowher? You don’t keep company with housemaids.” Mrs. Honeywell gave a disdainful sniff. “Lord Haslemere is right. You’ve taken her forsomeone else.”
Miss Honeywell shook her head. “Indeed, you’re mistaken, Mama. Idoknow her. I can’t quite think how, but I know her from London.”
Gideon’s gaze narrowed on Cecilia. It was odd, indeed, Miss Honeywell should recognize Cecilia from London, when she’d never ventured beyond Lady Dunton’s remote country estate in Warwickshire.
Unless she’d been lying to him since she arrived at Darlington Castle. He’d suspected it, of course, but somehow it rankled more now than it had before. “Cecilia!” Gideon’s tone was harsher than he’d meant it to be, and Miss Honeywell jumped beside him.
Haslemere frowned. “Is this really necessary, Darlington?”
“Oh, what nonsense.” Mrs. Honeywell clucked impatiently. “I beg you won’t trouble yourself with it, Lord Darlington. Fanny is forever mistaking one personfor the next.”
“It’s no trouble, Mrs. Honeywell. Come here, if you would, Cecilia.” Gideon struggled to appear casual, but if the tight look on Haslemere’s face was any indication, he failed.
Cecilia was at the far end of the hallway, well out of the way of the guests, polishing the glass in one of the lanterns. She hadn’t seemed to notice them at all, but at Gideon’s command she turned her head toward them.
He was watching her closely, and was likely the only one of the four of them who noticed the slight hesitation in her step when she saw Miss Honeywell. It happened so quickly he’d have missed it himself if he’d happened to blink.
Still, when she reached them, there wasn’t the slightest hint of apprehension in her face. She offered them all a calm, graceful curtsy, then turned a distant look on Gideon. “Yes, my lord? How may I help?”
“This young lady here says she knows you, Cecilia, fromLondon.” Gideon emphasized the last word, so as to leave Cecilia in no doubt as to the import of his question. If she thought he’d forgotten she was meant to be from Warwickshire, she was very much mistaken. He hadn’t forgotten a single word Cecilia had uttered since the first moment she arrived at Darlington Castle.
He studied Cecilia’s expression, but she was looking at him as if she’d never laid eyes on him before, nothing but polite enquiry on her smooth, blank face. “Oh, no. I beg your pardon, miss, but I’ve never been to London. If that’sall, my lord?”
“Yes, I think we’ve kept Miss and Mrs. Honeywell standing about in the hallway long enough, Darlington. Now, shall we have our tea? You may go, Cecilia.”
Haslemere waved her back toward the other end of the hallway, but Cecilia hadn’t taken more than two steps before Miss Honeywell stopped her. “No, I’m certain it was you. Perhaps I’ve seen you walking inHyde Park, or—”
“Ahousemaid, promenading through Hyde Park at the fashionable hour?” Mrs. Honeywell gave her skirts an important twitch as she looked down her nose at Cecilia. “I hardly think so, Fanny.”
Cecilia ignored this ill-tempered remark, and smiled at Miss Honeywell. “I imagine there are a great many young women in London wholook like me.”
“No, there aren’t.” The words fell out of Gideon’s mouth before he realized he was going to say them. Indeed, even before he realized he’d thought them.
Haslemere pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t be absurd, Darlington. There must be hundreds of young women in London with dark eyesand dark hair.”
“There are, indeed,” Mrs. Honeywell snapped. “Nothing special in that.”
“No. Not like Cecilia’s, there aren’t.” Gideon stepped closer to her, with his gaze still locked on her face. There might be thousands of young ladies in London with Cecilia’s coloring, but no other young woman in the world could be mistaken for Cecilia.
Her eyes were dark, yes, but it was a warm, velvety, bottomless darkness, unlike any other dark eyes he’d ever seen, and her hair…Gideon’s fingers twitched with the sudden need to touch it, run his hands through those rich, mahogany-colored locks. And her mouth, the plump pink curve of it, the hint of vulnerability in that tender bottom lip, the surprising sweetness he hadn’t noticeduntil just now—
“I know!” Miss Honeywell, who seemed utterly oblivious to the sudden tension in the air, let out an excited squeal. “I recall where I’ve seen you before. You’re a friend of Lady Gray, are you not?”
“Lady Gray? What, you mean thecountess? My dear Fanny, you’ve gone mad! What in the world would a friend of acountessbe doing cleaning Lord Darlington’s castle? It’s absurd.”
“But I’m certain I saw you walking with her one dayin Hyde Park—”
Miss Honeywell was interrupted by an explosion of shattering glass, followed by a cry of distress from Cecilia. “Oh, no! Oh, Lord Darlington, I’m so terribly sorry.”
