“Clumsy girl! If you were my servant, I’d have that outof your wages!”
Mrs. Honeywell’s face had turned red with outrage, but it wasn’t until Cecilia dropped to her knees on the floor that Gideon realized whathad happened.
She’d been carrying her polishing cloth and the glass globe from the lantern when she came into the hallway. When Miss Honeywell mentioned Emma Downing’s name, Cecilia had dropped the glass, and it now lay in a pool of shards on the flagstonesat their feet.
“Oh, dear. I can’t bear the sight of blood.”
Miss Honeywell turned toward Gideon as if to hide her face in his chest, but he dropped her arm and knelt down next to Cecilia. “No, don’t try and pick up the glass. Don’t touch it again.” He caught her wrist to keep her from gathering up the shards. “Let mesee your hand.”
He gently turned her hand over, revealing an ugly gash on the fleshy part of her palm. It was deep, with blood already gushing from it. For a moment Gideon stared down at her hand, transfixed by the sight of her pale, tender skin, the dark red blood welling in her palm, and his much larger handcradling hers.
When he raised his gaze to her face, he found her dark eyes wide with alarm, and her lower lip trembling. “It’s all right, Cecilia.” Gideon released her hand, but slid his palm under her elbow to help her up. “We’ll go find Mrs. Briggs. She’ll know how to bind it properly.”
“I’ll take Cecilia to Mrs. Briggs.” Haslemere shot Gideon a warning look before nudging him firmly aside. “Take Mrs. Honeywell and yourbetrothedinto the drawing room, Darlington, and have a footman fetch them their tea. I’ll join you there soon.”
Gideon glanced from Mrs. Honeywell’s splotched face to Haslemere’s pained one. Mrs. Honeywell was already apoplectic with rage at the suggestion her daughter might be cast aside for a mere housemaid, and poor Haslemere was doing his best to preventfurther damage.
Gideon snatched his hand away from Cecilia’s arm and let it drop to his side. “Er, yes. Very well. Join us when you’re able. Miss Honeywell? Mrs. Honeywell? May I take you into thedrawing room?”
Miss Honeywell offered him a gracious nod, but it was going to take more than one lump of sugar and some superior tea cakes to restore Mrs. Honeywell to good humor. He escorted them to the drawing room, but paused after they passed through the door to watch Haslemere lead Cecilia down the staircase to thekitchens below.
She was holding her injured hand in the palm of her other one, and Haslemere still had ahold of her elbow to keep her steady. He towered over her, his shoulders twice the width of hers, and Cecilia looked small and fragile next to him.
Gideon clenched his fists at the sight of them so close together, with Haslemere’s auburn head bent protectively toward Cecilia’s, murmuring something, as if the two of them were sharing a secret.
Before he had a chance to prod at this startling reaction, he was interrupted by Mrs. Honeywell’s voice, lamenting the smallness of the drawing room, the fact that it faced east rather than west, and complaining about the lack of heat emanatingfrom the fire.
Gideon followed the ladies into the room with a smothered sigh. He managed to remain courteous toward Mrs. Honeywell, and he took a tepid sort of pleasure in Miss Honeywell’s beauty and good humor, but his mindwas elsewhere.
When Haslemere joined them in the drawing room, he quietly reassured Gideon Cecilia’s injury had been attended to, but that didn’t stop Gideon’s mind from drifting toward her again and again throughout the afternoon. As soon as his guests retired to their bedchambers to rest before dinner, he went insearch of her.
He told himself he simply wished to enquire after her, just as he would any servant who’d been injured in his house, but the excuse rang hollow, even to his own ears.
* * * *
Cecilia didn’t see Lord Darlington again for the rest ofthe afternoon.
She’d spent most of the day with Isabella, but while the child took her nap she’d scoured floors, polished looking glasses, and helped Amy clean every intricately carved mahogany bedpost in the guest bedchambers, rubbing away the dust from every whorl and curve until they shone. By the time they finished their work and ate a quick meal in the kitchens, she’d convinced herself she didn’t care a whit if she neversaw him again.
“Miss Honeywell appears to be utterly besotted with Lord Darlington, doesn’t she?” Amy placed the silver spoon she’d just finished polishing on the piece of black velvet spread out before them.
They were in the butler’s pantry, polishing what looked to Cecilia like enough silver to sink a ship. “Mrs. Honeywell looks a great deal more besotted with him than her daughter does,” she snapped. “I’ve never seen a lady look better pleased with herself.” Amy’s eyes widened at her tart tone, and Cecilia added, “I didn’t pay the least bit of attention to the way Miss Honeywell looks at Lord Darlington.”
“It sounds to me as if you did.” Amy let out a sly cackle. “But you’re right enough. Anyone can see Mrs. Honeywell’s not the sort to let a marquess escapeher clutches.”
Cecilia snorted at that, but said nothing.
“You can’t blame Miss Honeywell if she is besotted with him. Lord Darlingtonisvery handsome,” Amy went on, oblivious to Cecilia’s darkening mood. “She seems a nice lady, doesn’t she? She’ll make a proper mistress for Darlington Castle.”
Cecilia snatched up a knife and began a violent assault on it with her polishing cloth, her lips pressed tightly together.
“You’re in a bit of a temper this evening, eh?” Amy set aside her cloth with a sigh when Cecilia remained silent. “It’s Isabella’s bedtime, anyway. Let me just go and fetch the last tray of spoons, thenyou can go up.”
Cecilia set aside the spoon in her hand with a trifle more force than needed, and snatched up another one, but as she attacked the tarnished crest engraved in the handle, her conscience began toprick at her.
Amy wasn’t to blame for her vile mood. She’d been on edge since Miss Honeywell mentioned Sophia’s name today, and goodness knew her stinging palm and Mrs. Honeywell’s poisonous tongue didn’thelp matters.
“I beg your pardon for my snappishness,” she said, when she heard Amy’s step behind her. “I’m afraid Mrs. Honeywell’s ill humor put me out of temper.”
