Chapter 23
Cecilia and I lingered in the ballroom a while longer. I then wrapped my fingers around a delicate glass of red wine and we made our way toward the grand exit. Once we were out and clear of prying eyes, I came to an abrupt halt. I tilted my glass, allowing the deep red liquid to cascade over Cecilia's gown then set the empty glass behind a statue displayed on a pedestal.
I whispered, "it is not much, but it will grant you an escape from those dreadful vultures for at least an hour or two. Take your time bathing and changing."
She quickly fired back, "and what about you? Shall I hug you and share the stains, so we can both leave?"
"If we both vanish, that man shall undoubtedly come searching for us. I shall be perfectly fine, I assure you. Now, go."
Her reluctance was plain, her big, tear-brimming black eyes fixing me with a look that could have moved a mountain. Oh, how I adored those eyes. They were my undoing in every possible way, silencing my thoughts, my sarcasm, and my good sense.
I steadied myself and leaned my cane against my side. Cupping her delicate face in my palms, I tilted her chin up ever so slightly, smiling down at her with all the reassurance I could muster. "Do not look at me in that manner," I chided softly. "You are making me waver."
Her lips quirked into the faintest smile, a reluctant one that tugged at her features despite herself.
"What would you do if I fell in love with you?" I teased with a playful smirk.
Her reply came swiftly. "Well, we could be together. Did we not promise to run away together?"
Ah, that promise. We had vowed to run away together, just she and I, to live out our days in peaceful obscurity until the years claimed us. But that cherished dream lay in ruins. Crude, indeed.
"We will run away together. Just the two of us," I replied. "And we shall use every scandalous skill Mrs. Homtrash ever taught us on one another."
She blushed. Victory, as always, was mine.
Eventually, I managed to send Cecilia away and I returned to the ballroom. That dreadful place. Oh, how it tempted me to smash my head against the nearest marble column just to escape its torment. My well-practiced, utterly false smile was beginning to calcify on my face, and I could feel the muscles twitching from overuse. If I stayed even a moment longer, my polite expression would undoubtedly morph into an outright snarl. Surely, I reasoned with myself, stepping outside for a few minutes was permissible. Surely, that blasted man could not be so strict.
And so, with a deep, bracing breath, I made my way toward the garden. My absurdly long gown with its ridiculous train that seemed designed solely to torment me, caught beneath my feet. I stumbled forward, arms flailing slightly as I struggled to maintain my balance. The indignity of it all!
"Whoever stitched this gown," I muttered venomously, "ought to be cast into the deepest, most fiery pit of hell for their unforgivable crimes against decent fabric."
I made my way to a secluded bench near the grand fountain, the gentle trickling of water offering a brief reprieve from the cacophony of the ballroom. Settling at the edge of the bench, I reached out toward the fountain's cool, inviting waters, intending to dip my fingers in. But before I could even touch the surface, the unmistakable sound of approaching footsteps made me pause.
Lifting my head, I squinted slightly, trying to make sense of the figure emerging from the dim light of the garden. And there Millicent was, framed by the silvery glow of the moon. She was wearing an utterly scandalous blue gown, thin as mist, clinging to her form as if it were afraid to let go. My gaze involuntarily traveled to her bodice, which seemed to be engaged in a battle of wills with its owner's abundant curves. It appears her gown, too, is on the verge of declaring independence.
Choosing to dismiss her entirely, I turned my attention back to the fountain with an air of studied indifference. Yet, she was not one to be so easily ignored. She strolled closer with grace, clearly entertained by my blatant attempt to avoid her. And then, as if she had every right to intrude on my hard-earned solitude, she lowered herself onto the bench beside me, her lips curved into that maddeningly amused smile of hers.
"Florance, what a surprise to find you out here, all alone and so far from the adoration waiting for you inside."
I resisted the very strong urge to roll my eyes and instead adopted the cool, detached tone. "And what a surprise to see you here, Your Grace. Should you not be inside, collecting your own share of admiration?"
She smirked and inched closer with precision, narrowing the already insufficient space between us. My instincts screamed at me to retreat, but I moved away only a fraction, trying to maintain an air of composure. Unfortunately, my subtle shift did not deter her. No, she leaned in even closer, her proximity entirely unseemly. She moved with the confidence of a woman who had never once in her life considered that she might not be welcome.
I kept my gaze resolutely forward, determined not to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. But how could anyone ignore her? The warmth radiating from her, that infuriating, insufferable smirk… it was all conspiring against me!
She leaned in. Her breath grazed my ear, and I shivered from sheer irritation. "You seem awfully tense, Florance. I cannot imagine why. There is no need for all this rigidity."
I turned my head to meet her gaze with a fiery glare. "I do not recall extending an invitation for you to join me, Your Grace."
She laughed softly, and it only made my blood boil further. "Ah, but it appears that company is exactly what you need, whether you invited it or not."
My jaw tightened, my hands clenching my cane as I bit back the many, many things I wanted to say. Were it not for that devil of a man, I might have hurled every insult I knew, along with my cane, directly at Millicent's perfect head. Instead, I simmered in silence.