Free The Waylaid Heart by Holly Newman Page A

glared at her and stumped away.
    Nonetheless, it was with a feverish excitement that Cecilia met the first guests as their carriages pulled up before the estate. Anticipation sizzled through her veins. With her color high and a decided sparkle in her eyes, never had she looked prettier. The gown she wore was new for the occasion—ordered so by her grandmother—and designed to compliment her fair coloring. It featured twining spring flowers printed on a white ground and trimmed with rose-colored silk ribbons. Her shawl was of a deeper rose shade and edged with long tassels. In lieu of a lace cap, again by order of her grandmother, Cecilia's silver-blond locks were dressed high on her head, adding inches to her petite stature. A spray of artificial flowers, cunningly wrought to resemble the arrangement printed on her gown, was pinned among the pale curls. The overall effect of her attire was refreshingly spring like and elegant. Banished, by order of Lady Houghton, were the lavenders and grays of lingering mourning.
    Cecilia was pleased and touched by the wardrobe her grandmother bestowed on her. She was also amused for she realized the house party was the duchess's way of matchmaking and so she whispered to Jessamine in a lull between arrivals.
    "You mean you have just fallen to mama's machinations? Fie on you, Cecilia," her aunt jested. "I realized that when I read mama's letter requesting I complete her invitation list. As if I pay any attention to single young men about London! That's why I knew mama would not be happy with filling the guest list with Randolph's cronies."
    "Why didn't you tell me?"
    "What, and have you cry off or go into one of your spells? Hardly. It was better to see you excited about the party. Besides, no matter what mama thinks she is arranging, if you are not ready to remarry, no man will be able to catch your attention."
    Cecilia smiled ruefully. "That is true enough. . . . Isn't that virulent green and gold the Cresswell livery?" she asked, pointing to a cumbersome traveling coach mounted with servants in the distinctive livery that was pulling around the great drive.
    "Unfortunately, it is. And before you get hipped at mama's matchmaking inclinations, let me remind you that if she were determined to secure you a husband, she would not have invited Miss Cresswell to be one of the guests."
    "Society's latest rose shall have the bees buzzing around her for sure. I think you're correct. With competition like that, I stand in little fear of being swamped," she conceded. "Come, let's go greet London's sensation. It will probably be the only time we have the opportunity."
    "Lucky us," murmured Lady Meriton drily.
    Cecilia laughed and wrapped her shawl more closely about her shoulders as they went outside to wait on the broad stone steps.
    Miss Philomel Cresswell, the reigning queen of the London season, was the first to descend the steps of the large traveling coach. She paused on the step to look up at Oastley Hall, a curious, satisfied expression on her face. She turned to laugh gaily at something said by her traveling companions, then stepped lightly down into the drive.
    It was easy to see why she was society's darling. She was beautiful. Her hair was a glossy dark brown and dressed in masses of ringlets atop which perched a small tricorn hat of cherry red trimmed with dyed black pheasant feathers. Her curvaceous figure was displayed to perfection in a well-fitted traveling dress of cherry red trimmed with black silk scallops and braid. Amazingly, her full, pouting lips echoed the cherry red of her outfit while her brown eyes sparkled with teasing invitation.
    Cecilia pursed her lips and risked a side glance at her aunt. Lady Meriton caught her glance and raised an amused eyebrow. Together they watched the duke and duchess greet Philomel and Mrs. Cresswell, who descended the steps after her daughter. Behind Mrs. Cresswell came Sir James Branstoke.

Cecilia's eyes met Branstoke's for a fleeting moment