“Anything you wish,” he said gallantly, as if he had not just pulled her to him despite her objections, and he led her to the front door, where his groom was waiting. “I will leave you here, with a fond farewell to your mother and your sister. Until next time, Miss Dalton.”
“Of course. Thank you very much for calling.” Cecelia stepped back until her fingers met the door, taking an obscure comfort in the thought of refuge.
As she waited to wave him off, her eyes caught on his groom. It could not be... But it was: Isaiah Rourke, his hair shining bright as copper in the sunlight, the freckles on his nose lost in the pink of wind-burned skin.
She smiled before she could stop herself. Her lips curved, and her heart leapt in her chest. You, her smile said, and she could feel her heart beating wildly once again, but there was only joy, and no danger.
And you, his smile agreed. But Abraham, having missed the smile between them, only gave a stern order and turned to blow a kiss to Cecelia.
She held her smile, trembling, her fingers out before her as if to hold his kiss in the air, until they were well away, and then she leaned in the shadow of the doorway and waited, even shuddering with cold, until she could no longer see the auburn gleam of Isaiah’s hair in the distance.
Chapter 5
“...Forever and ever, amen.”
“Amen,” chorused the congregation.
As the strains of the postlude rose through the air, Cecelia unfolded her hands and looked around herself at the church. In the spring chill, everyone was glad of the crush of bodies—something that would become nearly unbearable in July and August. Now, woman wore heavy shawls over their winter gowns, and men pretended to have forgotten to take their scarves off.
“Mother. Mother? I’ll only be a moment.” Cecelia eased her way out of the pew and made her way along the side of the sanctuary, avoiding the throng who made their way out into the entrance hall for hot tea. Everyone was anxious to be home for their Sunday dinner, but not quite so anxious that they wanted to skip Sunday gossip.
And Cecelia knew what that entailed. One as interested as anyone by the whispers of whose gown looked too fine and whose daughter was being courted by whose son, she had quickly grown wary of the ritual. For every week, no matter what the topic of discussion or how great the scandal, there was always time for people to cluck knowingly at her and touch her cheek, whispering—why did they always whisper?—that they were so sorry to hear the news, and had the Daltons heard anything more from the army yet?
Cecelia, genuinely afraid of what she might say if she heard the question one more time, had taken to edging her way along the side of the entryway, and running lightly down the stairs to her family’s carriage. Her mother, thankfully, had made no comment about her breach of etiquette, and Clara was too vague these days to notice anything at all, though Cecelia sometimes saw her eyes flash when people suggested that Solomon might not ever come home.
In any event, everyone knew that she was being courted by the reverend’s son, and Cecelia was sure not to hear anything new while everyone was so keen to speculate on what was happening with her. She knew that there would be eyes who marked her on her way back to the rooms behind the sanctuary, and that there would be knowing glances. But hardly a thing could happen under Reverend Thompson’s watchful eye, or so they thought—and so any gossip would be muted, hidden behind words like “touching” and “young love.”
And was she in love? Cecelia felt herself frown as she walked. For certain, she felt as if she was. In the last two weeks, she thought she had been walking on air. The sky seemed more blue, the birdsong sweeter. Even the chill of morning frost seemed invigorating and bracing, not just another discomfort to be endured as she worked. At times, Cecelia thought her heart might beat its way out of her chest, she was so happy. She wanted to smile and sing all the hours of the day, and it was only with difficulty that she kept her feelings hidden. She wondered, sometimes, if anyone else could see the happiness bursting within her, and knew that they must.
“I thought I might find you hear.”
Her heart leapt at the words, and Cecelia turned with a smile on her face. She could not stop the speed with which she whirled, nor the light in her eyes at seeing him. She had imagined his face every night for two weeks, imagined walking hand in hand with him across the frozen ground of the fields. He would make her laugh, and she would see admiration and desire in his eyes... As she did now.
And yet, she must speak softly.
“Isaiah.”
Even his name made her stomach twist, and she wanted to shake her head and laugh at her own foolishness. What was happening to her? How could she accept the courting of one man, and yet see another man’s face in her dreams? Was she such a flighty girl that she might later take a fancy to someone else? And why, of all things, did she not care that she was treading a dangerous path? This was how women got reputations as temptresses and vixens, and Cecelia had always credited herself with having more sense than to become any of those things.
Nor, in her wildest dreams, had she ever imagined that two men might pay her court.
“You look well,” Isaiah told her, and his smile was warm.
Cecelia smiled back, breathlessly. I am well, now that I am seeing you. But surely she could not say that.
“I...er...”
“I thought the service was very fine today,” Isaiah remarked, and the very propriety of his statement only heightened the low tones of his voice.
“Yes,” Cecelia said hastily, hoping that she was not blushing. “The...prelude...”
“Beautiful,” Isaiah said, and she knew he was not speaking of the music.
They both remembered themselves in the next instant.
“I should let you get to your dinner,” Isaiah said formally. “But it was a pleasure to see you, Miss Dalton—and it is most certainly a pleasure to see you looking so well.
“It was a pleasure to see you as well.” A pleasure, and so