what?
“Shall we repair to the dining room?” Mama said as she rose, thus rescuing Cicely from her dilemma.
Andrew took her hand and placed it on his arm. His voice was a faint whisper. “I’m glad to see you again.”
“As I am you.” Her fingers warmed as his touch lingered just a moment too long. He was definitely the gentleman she’d been waiting for. “What did Papa wish to discuss?”
Before Andrew could answer, Mama said, “Cicely, please ring the bell.”
She had no choice but to leave Andrew and step across the room to the bell-pull. She had the distinct feeling her mother had said that for the sole purpose of separating her from Andrew. Had Papa warned Mr. Grayson away? Yet that didn’t make any sense. Perhaps Mama was just being difficult. Which was the reason Cicely had not been allowed to travel to London last winter in preparation for her come out.
During luncheon, Cicely, Andrew, and her father discussed shipping, with Mama interjecting the occasional astute comment. Finally, to Cicely’s amazement, Papa suggested she show Andrew the garden. She couldn’t believe they were finally going to be allowed to be alone. Granted, it was broad daylight, with all the servants within calling distance. Still, she and Andrew would be allowed to speak freely, without her mother’s close scrutiny.
“Come this way.” Cicely placed her hand on his arm and led him through her mother’s parlor to the stairs. She could have skipped with joy
Once outside, he glanced around. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
For the life of her she couldn’t think what he meant. “Like what?”
“Your house. Are there no inside stairs?”
“No. The only ones are on the outside. I take it English houses aren’t the same.”
They descended to the next level, and he asked, “What is on this floor?”
Warmth rose up her neck into her cheeks. “My apartment. It is common for the parents to have the main floor and the children to live in the lower levels. The servants have rooms in the long houses.” They continued down a few more steps, until they reached the garden level and the path leading to a large Flamboyant tree still full of bright red flowers. She sank onto the bench under the tree, and removed her wide-brimmed bonnet.
Now that they were alone, Cicely’s stomach fluttered as if butterflies were having a party in it. Unable to meet his gaze, she stared out over the water. “Mr. Grayson—”
“I would be honored if you would call me Andrew.”
The fluttering moved to her heart, and she was suddenly breathless for the second time that day. “Andrew. It’s a nice name.”
“From my paternal grandfather. Miss Whitecliff?”
She turned and looked into his soft gray eyes. “Please call me Cicely.”
He smiled gently and took her hands in his much larger ones. “It’s a lovely name.”
“Thank you.”
He gazed at her for several moments. If he didn’t say something soon she was going to expire on the spot. “I realize we’ve not known one another long . . . only a few days.”
Surely he wouldn’t suggest they wait before he declared himself. What if it wasn’t the same for him as it was for her? Cicely couldn’t take this much longer. She had to know. Suddenly she blurted, “I feel a connection.”
Andrew’s countenance became serious. Drat! She’d been too impulsive.
“I do as well,” he responded as if startled. “What I’d like to say—” A rueful grin appeared on his lips. “Pardon me. I’m not usually so inarticulate.”
She held her breath, willing him to get on with it.
His grip on her fingers tightened as he searched her face. “Would you be my wife?”
The butterflies left and her heart stopped for a moment. This was exactly what she’d hoped he’d say. Was there ever a woman as lucky as she? “Yes.” She drew a breath. “Yes, I would love to be your wife.”
He bent his head, lightly touching his lips to hers, and drew her into his arms. “You’ve
“Shall we repair to the dining room?” Mama said as she rose, thus rescuing Cicely from her dilemma.
Andrew took her hand and placed it on his arm. His voice was a faint whisper. “I’m glad to see you again.”
“As I am you.” Her fingers warmed as his touch lingered just a moment too long. He was definitely the gentleman she’d been waiting for. “What did Papa wish to discuss?”
Before Andrew could answer, Mama said, “Cicely, please ring the bell.”
She had no choice but to leave Andrew and step across the room to the bell-pull. She had the distinct feeling her mother had said that for the sole purpose of separating her from Andrew. Had Papa warned Mr. Grayson away? Yet that didn’t make any sense. Perhaps Mama was just being difficult. Which was the reason Cicely had not been allowed to travel to London last winter in preparation for her come out.
During luncheon, Cicely, Andrew, and her father discussed shipping, with Mama interjecting the occasional astute comment. Finally, to Cicely’s amazement, Papa suggested she show Andrew the garden. She couldn’t believe they were finally going to be allowed to be alone. Granted, it was broad daylight, with all the servants within calling distance. Still, she and Andrew would be allowed to speak freely, without her mother’s close scrutiny.
“Come this way.” Cicely placed her hand on his arm and led him through her mother’s parlor to the stairs. She could have skipped with joy
Once outside, he glanced around. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
For the life of her she couldn’t think what he meant. “Like what?”
“Your house. Are there no inside stairs?”
“No. The only ones are on the outside. I take it English houses aren’t the same.”
They descended to the next level, and he asked, “What is on this floor?”
Warmth rose up her neck into her cheeks. “My apartment. It is common for the parents to have the main floor and the children to live in the lower levels. The servants have rooms in the long houses.” They continued down a few more steps, until they reached the garden level and the path leading to a large Flamboyant tree still full of bright red flowers. She sank onto the bench under the tree, and removed her wide-brimmed bonnet.
Now that they were alone, Cicely’s stomach fluttered as if butterflies were having a party in it. Unable to meet his gaze, she stared out over the water. “Mr. Grayson—”
“I would be honored if you would call me Andrew.”
The fluttering moved to her heart, and she was suddenly breathless for the second time that day. “Andrew. It’s a nice name.”
“From my paternal grandfather. Miss Whitecliff?”
She turned and looked into his soft gray eyes. “Please call me Cicely.”
He smiled gently and took her hands in his much larger ones. “It’s a lovely name.”
“Thank you.”
He gazed at her for several moments. If he didn’t say something soon she was going to expire on the spot. “I realize we’ve not known one another long . . . only a few days.”
Surely he wouldn’t suggest they wait before he declared himself. What if it wasn’t the same for him as it was for her? Cicely couldn’t take this much longer. She had to know. Suddenly she blurted, “I feel a connection.”
Andrew’s countenance became serious. Drat! She’d been too impulsive.
“I do as well,” he responded as if startled. “What I’d like to say—” A rueful grin appeared on his lips. “Pardon me. I’m not usually so inarticulate.”
She held her breath, willing him to get on with it.
His grip on her fingers tightened as he searched her face. “Would you be my wife?”
The butterflies left and her heart stopped for a moment. This was exactly what she’d hoped he’d say. Was there ever a woman as lucky as she? “Yes.” She drew a breath. “Yes, I would love to be your wife.”
He bent his head, lightly touching his lips to hers, and drew her into his arms. “You’ve
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