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“Cecile, darling!” She took the mouse’s hand without its being offered. “How good to see you again!”

Noting with satisfaction the ire in her expression, Gwendolyn continued. “I had no idea you were back in London. I had to return for business, and imagine my surprise to walk in here and find you holding court!”

Cecile barely hid her disgust. “Oh, Gwendolyn, darling,” she parroted her nemesis, her smile never reaching her eyes. “I was hardly holding court.” Motioning to the women Gwendolyn had ignored, she added, “Have you met Lady Matthews and Lady Dawson?”

Gwendolyn’s pasted smile froze. She would be forced to acknowledge the ones she had so callously disregarded moments before. Turning, she eyed the women suspiciously. After all, were they not all jealous of her?

Cecile continued the introduction. “Ladies, allow me to introduce Lady Gwendolyn Waltham.”

Before either of them could speak, Gwendolyn retorted, “Charmed,” and quickly faced Cecile again. Somewhat amused by her single-minded rudeness, the other ladies threw sympathetic looks at Cecile over Gwendolyn’s shoulder and walked away.

When the two were no longer within hearing range, Cecile said boldly, “In answer to your greeting, I cannot possibly convey my feelings at seeing you again so soon.”

Understanding her meaning, Gwendolyn smirked. “I can assure you the feeling is mutual.”

She waited for another retort and when none was forthcoming, ventured, “I wondered if you had heard from our dear Georgiana of late. The last I heard, she was truly worried about her dear cousin—the one staying at Pemberley for her health.” Gwendolyn would never admit that her source was a maid paid to collect gossip and not Fitzwilliam’s sister. Cecile’s face was an unreadable mask as she kept silent.

“I understand she is not progressing as well as they would have liked because someone tried to turn Georgiana against her from the very beginning of her stay.”

Cecile stiffened slightly before slowly smiling. “I have it on good authority that Mr. Darcy is very enamoured of his lovely cousin, and they plan to marry.”

“And that sits well with you because…”

Cecile continued to smile and lied. “I am fond of Fitzwilliam, but ours was a friendship, nothing more. If he finds happiness with his cousin, then I will wish him joy.”

Gwendolyn drew herself up straight. “I thought surely you would be devastated if he did not offer for you.”

“No, I believe it is you who will be devastated when the inevitable happens, Gwendolyn, dear.” With that, Cecile swept past her and joined her true friends.

Flushing with ire, Gwendolyn realised that several people standing nearby were studying her. Lifting her chin in defiance, she started to move forward, when a warm baritone voice and a firm hand on her arm stopped her.

“I have never seen a more beautiful...” Gwendolyn turned and Count Stefano’s gaze drifted from her face to the ruby and back again. “Gown,” he concluded.

Gwendolyn smiled at the tall, regal-looking, blond-haired gentleman, taking in his toned body and exquisite clothes. “And do you often go around admiring ‘gowns,’ sir?”

“No. I actually admire the woman in the gown, but I was afraid to admit as much so soon. Not proper, you see.” His green eyes laughed and a flash of white teeth split his tanned face. Her breath caught, as he bowed over the hand he had stolen, brushing it with a kiss.

“Count Francesco Benso de Martino, at your service, madam.”

~~~*~~~

Chapter 17

Pemberley

The Study

Before daylight, Richard made his usual solitary trip to the dining room. Mrs. Lightfoot, Darcy’s cook, always had something prepared very early just for him. Years in His Majesty’s service brought him out of bed before nearly everyone else. Only this morning when he reached the foyer, a dim light down the hallway brought him up short. Though his cousin was an early riser, he knew it was not like William to be up at this hour—it was still dark. Even so, following the mysterious light, he indeed found his cousin in his study, laid back in his chair, feet propped on the edge of his desk and eyes closed.

Since he made no move to stir and seemed to be sleeping, Richard decided to have some fun at William’s expense. However, a lone candle in the room was not enough light, and he tripped over a stack of books on his way towards his victim.

William startled, sitting upright and planting his feet firmly on the floor. “What the devil!”

Even to someone used to seeing men at their worst, Richard noted that William looked a fright—eyes red-rimmed with dark circles underneath, hair dishevelled, unshaven and not fully dressed. It was obvious that he had gotten very little sleep. With the Colonel’s experience in questioning enemy soldiers and William’s state of sleep deprivation, Richard was sure it would be an easy occupation to find out what had happened to effect this change in his normally fastidious cousin. Instead, as he attempted to get answers to his questions, William left him standing in front of the desk as he walked to the tall windows to observe the sunrise. Determined not to be denied his explanation, Richard joined him.

Neither cousin spoke—standing silently side-by-side. They shared identical stances: hands clasped behind their backs, eyes trained on the horizon. From behind, they looked very much like brothers, except that William was a bit taller and had darker hair. Not a word passed between them as the sun slowly rose over a distant line of trees. Hues of greys and purples gave way to brilliant reds, oranges and yellows, before finally settling on a shade of blue so light that it unexpectedly reminded William of his mother’s eyes. Unbidden, his eyes filled with tears, and he struggled for control by taking a deep breaths.

Richard noticed. Though he had appeared to watch the sunrise, his eyes had never left William. He not only had heard his cousin’s heavy intake of breath, but he had seen his jaw clench. Evidently, the usual demons William wrestled with had gotten reinforcements. Weariness had finally overcome his cousin’s vaulted willpower.