It was the connecting door between her bedchamber and LordDarlington’s.
She raised a shaking hand to her mouth.Oh, no. Was he going to dismiss hertonight? She’d hardly dared to look at him when she fled the drawing room earlier. He hadn’t looked angry, but that knock sounded likea death knell—
There was a third knock, this one louder still, then Lord Darlington’s deep voice. “I know you’re in there, Cecilia. I’d like to speak with you, but I won’t enter your bedchamber under these circumstances without your permission.”
He wouldn’t?Cecilia was tempted to test the truth of his statement by hiding behind the door all night, but what was the sense in putting it off? She’d have to face him sooner or later.
She crossed the room to the connecting door, drew a deep breath for courage, then opened it to face her fate. Lord Darlington was standing there, one hand on his hip and the other braced on the top of the door frame.
“Er…good evening, Lord Darlington.”
He straightened and stepped past her into her bedchamber. “Would you call it good, Cecilia? It’ssomething, certainly, but I wouldn’tcall itgood.”
“I, ah…no, I wouldn’t call it good, either.” Cecilia thought of the shock on Mrs. Honeywell’s face and grimaced. “It’s quite the opposite, and I beg your pardon for it, my lord. I shouldn’t have…I didn’t intend to…there’s noexcuse for my—”
He took a quick step forward, and to Cecilia’s shock he grasped her chin and tilted her face up to his. He studied her in the light from the fire for long, silent moments, the strangest expression on his face, then he asked in a hoarse voice, “Have you beencrying?”
Cecilia stared up into those bright blue eyes, her throat working. If her humiliation hadn’t been complete before, it wasnow. “I-I do believe I’m overwrought, my lord.”
He released her chin, but he didn’t step back, and to her surprise, the trace of a smile curved his lips. “Yes, I imagine you are, though perhaps less so than Mrs. Honeywell is. Lord Haslemere had to help her from the drawing room to her bedchamber. He wasn’t at all pleased about it, either. I daresay he’ll take you to task for it tomorrow.”
“Oh, dear,” Cecilia muttered, worrying at her lower lip. This evening continued to worsen with every moment. Perhaps she should retire to her bed, before she caused further trouble.
But first, she’d get the last, worst bit over with. She cast a guilty look at Lord Darlington. “I’ll gather my things together tonight, so I can be gone first thing tomorrow morning.”
He went still. “You’re…you intend to leave Darlington Castle?”
Cecilia’s eyes widened. “I assume you intendto dismiss me.”
“Is that why you think I came to speak to you tonight? To dismiss you?”
“Well, yes.” What other reason could he have for appearing at her bedchamber door?
He stood quietly before her, his hands braced on his hips and his head down. Then, without a word he crossed the room to his niece’s bed. He gazed down at Isabella for some time, then reached in and stroked his big hand gentlyover her curls.
When he turned toward her again, his face had softened. “I’ve no intention of dismissing you, Cecilia. I won’t say I approve of your musical performance tonight, but I also don’t condone Mrs. Honeywell’s behavior. The way I see it, you were…unbearably provoked.”
Cecilia stared at him, mouth agape.
“Youwereunbearably provoked, weren’t you? You don’t make a habit of singing bawdy drinking songs to your employer’s guests of an evening, do you?”
She peeked up at him from under her lashes. “Bawdy? As to that, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, my lord. It’s simply a drinking song, isn’t it?”
“I can see by your blush you know perfectly well what I mean. Where would a young woman such as yourself learn sucha wicked song?”
“Oh, we used to sing it—” Cecilia broke off, biting her lip. She’d learned that song years ago from the mudlarking boys on the Thames, but it wouldn’t do to blurt that particular truth out to Lord Darlington. For pity’s sake, one half-hearted smile from him, and she was ready to confess her every secret.
“I, ah…I learned it from one of Lady Dunton’s footmen,” she finished lamely. “He was a dreadfully wicked young man, I’m afraid.”
“I’ve no doubt.”
Neither of them seemed to know what to say after that, so they stood there staring at each other, until the silence became so awkward Cecilia found herself rushing to break it. “He was forever singing wicked songs. I might have done worse than I did, and sang “The Fair Maid of Islington,” or the one about Mother Watkin’s Ale, or…”
She trailed off, her cheeks burning again. Lord Darlington stared at her for a moment, eyebrow raised, but just as Cecilia braced herself for a stern lecture about the evils of bawdy pub songs and the unspeakable sin of singing one in a drawing room full of company, the unthinkable happened.
Hegrinnedat her.
Not his usual joyless twist of the mouth, or the pallid echo of a smile, but a true, unreserved grin that started at his lips and spread over his face, warming his bright blue eyes and revealing a pair of fetching grooves at either side of his lips.
