“You are flushed, but it becomes you. I will take you onto the balcony.”
She made no demur, though this large term merely de scribed the veriest foothold built outside each one of the twelve long windows of the ballroom and fenced in with low iron railings. Mr. Fawnhope parted the heavy curtains that veiled the window at the far end of the room, and she passed through them into a shallow embrasure. After a slight struggle with the bolt, Mr. Fawnhope succeeded in opening the double window, and she was able to step out on to the narrow ledge. A chill breeze fanned her cheeks; she said, “Ah, what a night! The stars!”
“‘The evening star, love’s harbinger!’ “ quoted Mr. Fawnhope, somewhat vaguely scanning the heavens.
This idyll was rudely interrupted. Mr. Rivenhall, having observed the retreat of the young couple, had followed them, and now stepped through the brocade curtains, saying harshly, “Cecilia, are you lost to all sense of propriety? Come back into the ballroom at once!”
Startled, Cecilia turned quickly. Already agitated by the unexpected encounter with Lord Charlbury, her nerves betrayed her into a hasty rejoinder. “How dare you, Charles?” she said, in a trembling voice. “Pray, what impropriety am I guilty of in seeking the fresh air in the company of my affianced husband?”
She took Mr. Fawnhope’s hand as she spoke and confronted her brother with her chin up and her cheeks very much flushed. Lord Charlbury, who had drawn back the curtain with one hand, stood perfectly still, as pale as she was red, steadfastly regarding her.
“Oh!” cried Cecilia faintly, snatching her hand from Mr. Fawnhope’s to press it to her cheek.
“May I know, Cecilia, if what you have just announced is the truth?” asked his lordship, not a trace of emotion in his well-bred voice.
“Yes!” she uttered.
“The devil it is not!” said Mr. Rivenhall.