The Duke Who Loved Me

by Jane Ashford

  Her aunt was accustomed to having the drawing room to herself for the first hours of the day, before it was invaded, as she put it, by Cecelia and the threat of callers. She went to her customary chair by the table and set out her notebook. Next she would open it and become immersed in something she’d written there. She would pretend that Cecelia did not exist. After a bit, her presence would actually fade from her aunt’s mind, Cecelia believed. The pattern was engrained. Aunt Valeria’s sporadic new attempts to be a chaperone would not affect it.

  Aunt Valeria did as she pleased. So had her mother, Cecelia remembered, on at least one important occasion. She had not sat waiting with folded hands for her fate to find her. The seed of a radical idea took root in Cecelia’s mind. “Aunt Valeria, do you think my mother was happy?” she asked.

  “What?” Annoyance at being interrupted filled the word.

  “You told me that Mama chose her own future like the queen bee.”

  “That is not what I said. I told you that the queen flies high and fast to test her suitors and find the strongest.”

  “Is that not a choice?”

  “Not as I understand the word,” replied her aunt.

  Cecelia waved the distinction aside. “You said that Mama decided she wanted Papa and went and got him.”

  Aunt Valeria nodded, her eyes straying to her notebook.

  “Do you think she was happy with her choice?”

  “I really do not…”

  “You knew her for more than fifteen years,” Cecelia said. “You stayed with us often during that time. You must have formed some conclusions.”

  “I am not particularly adept at deciphering people, as I’m certain you have noticed.”

  That was true.

  “She loved you very much,” Aunt Valeria added. “She was delighted to have a daughter. She told me so.”

  “I know.” Cecelia examined her memories. “I think she was happy, mostly,” she said. “I don’t think she regretted her choice.”

  Her aunt examined her, frowning as if Cecelia was a knotty conundrum. “From what I have heard, I do not think this prince would be open to the sort of arguments that…”

  “Him!” Cecelia could imbue a single word with emotion also. In this case, contempt.

  “We are not talking of…?”

  “He is an irrelevant annoyance,” said Cecelia. “Like a wasp buzzing about one of your hives.”

  “Wasps are not irrelevant. They can be quite dangerous.”

  “Not a wasp then. Some inconsequential thing.” Cecelia’s brain was full of another topic entirely.

  “Then I am not sure what we’re talking about right now.”

  “There is no need for you to be.”

  “I would so like to agree, Cecelia.” Her aunt’s gaze moved to her notebook again. She set a yearning hand upon it. “But I fear I cannot. I may be a poor excuse for a chaperone, as Lady Wilton said. Yet I can see that something has agitated you.”

  She ought to know. Cecelia told her what had transpired at the play.

  Aunt Valeria sighed when she finished. “No more than the fellow deserved, but it will raise the talk to an intolerable pitch. Humans are such exhausting creatures.”

  “At least they don’t have stingers,” Cecelia joked.

  Her aunt’s round face creased with rare concern. “But they do, Cecelia, and I do not wish you to be hurt.”

  “I know.” Aunt Valeria did care, in her peculiar way, even if she was not very good at it. “Why don’t you go out to your hives? You will feel better there.”

  “I wish to. Very much. I cannot help it. But I won’t abandon you. You know we will have a flood of morning callers after the events you have described to me.”

  It was true.

  “I won’t leave you to be…swarmed by them.” She smiled at her feeble jest.

  Must she be? Cecelia had faced down the gossips before the play. She’d shown them she wasn’t cowed. She’d cut the prince in public. She had nothing more to say to the ton and much to ponder. “I believe I will tell the servants that we are not in to visitors today.”

  “Really?” Her aunt looked absurdly hopeful.

  “Really.”

  Cecelia went down the stairs to give the order and encountered Sarah, Charlotte, and Harriet, arriving at the earliest possible moment for a morning call. Cecelia beckoned to them before telling the footman to admit no one else.

  “Oh, Cecelia,” said Sarah when they’d settled in the drawing room. “Such a furor. We had to come. We said we were going walking in the park.”

  “You shouldn’t visit here secretly,” Cecelia replied. “I don’t want to cause trouble in your families.” The idea was mortifying on a number of levels.

  “We don’t care!” replied Charlotte Deeping.

  Harriet Finch’s expression suggested to Cecelia that this wasn’t true for all.

  “Ada was sorry not to join us,” Charlotte added. “She is arguing with her mother about bride clothes today.”

  “Still! With the wedding only two days away,” said Sarah, shaking her head.

  “Ada wants garments suitable for restoring a moldering castle,” said Charlotte. “Her mother is partial to delicate gauze and lace.”

  “Peter made the mistake of getting between them,” said Harriet dryly. “Social skills not being part of his…charm.”

  “Who is Peter?” asked Aunt Valeria, looking interested for the first time since their visitors arrived.

  “Ada’s future husband.”

  “A groom should never intervene in wedding plans,” said Aunt Valeria, as if it was an adage she’d heard and committed to memory with no expectation of ever needing herself.

  “I believe he has learned that,” replied Harriet.

  Sarah leaned forward. “But Cecelia, the play last night! How I wish I had been there.”

  “It was too bad of you not to warn us so that we could observe,” said Charlotte.

  “It wasn’t planned,” said Cecelia. “It was more of a spontaneous…”

  “Combustion?” finished Harriet.

  Cecelia had to smile. “Of a sort.”

  “Prince Karl must be dreadfully angry,” said Sarah.

  “Well, I am extremely angry at him,” said Cecelia. “Should my anger matter any less?”

  She received three surprised looks and a frown from her aunt.

  “Do you remember those jokes we made?” Cecelia continued. “Young men gamble, young ladies amble. Young men drink, young ladies shrink. Why should it be so?”

  “It’s not a case of should,” said Harriet. “But rather of is.”

  “Unless one wishes to be…” Sarah broke off self-consciously.

  “Gossiped about?” replied Cecelia. “Criticized, even ostracized?”

  “Well, yes,” said Sarah. “I find malice very hard to bear.”

  “Who does not?” answered Cecelia. “That is what they count on. But if one…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Cecelia,” said Aunt Valeria.

  They were all looking at her with varying degrees of concern, Cecelia saw. “Don’t worry, I shall think before I act.”

  “Act how?” asked Charlotte.

  “I’m not completely certain. Yet.”

  There were sounds below and a moment later, James strolled into the drawing room, every inch the handsomest man in London. He stopped and surveyed the company. “A footman keep me out? Really, Cecelia?”

  The three young callers broke into a round of applause.

  James looked startled, then acknowledged their reaction with a smile and a bow.

  “The cut direct,” said Charlotte. “Delivered with great style, it seems.”

  “Indeed,” he said. “And this morning I am here to take the consequences.”

  “Consequences?�
� echoed Cecelia.

  “The onslaught of hideous harpies,” James replied. “The morning callers ravenous for scandal. Present company excepted, of course.” He turned to Cecelia. “You didn’t think I would leave you to face them alone?”

  The look in his eyes made Cecelia’s heart pound. The idea that had sprouted in her mind produced branches.

  “We can plot strategy in the intervals of routing the enemy,” he added.

  “I have decided not to receive visitors today,” she said. “Any more visitors, that is.”

  “Ah.” James looked thoughtful. “Thus my…discussion with your footman. Do you think that wise?”

  “I don’t care. Let them wonder.”

  “Our adversary is unlikely to be silent,” James said.

  “The prince? What can he do? Whine that we turned our backs on him?”

  “He does seem rather more…resourceful than that.”

  “He’s already done his worst,” said Cecelia. She felt somehow certain of that. He’d expected to frighten and cow her. He was a bully unused to opposition, and he’d gotten far more than he’d imagined.

  “It seems I have no reason to stay then.” James waited, but Cecelia didn’t protest. She needed to speak to him. But it must be alone, and Aunt Valeria had begun making that difficult. He acknowledged all of them with another bow and took his leave. Had he looked regretful? She thought so. She’d discover the truth soon.

  “You sound so confident,” said Charlotte.

  “Do I?” Cecelia looked at her three younger friends. She so appreciated their steadfast support. “You should go,” she told them. “You shouldn’t call here when you’ve been forbidden.”

  “We want to help!” said Sarah.

  “If we can,” added Harriet.

  “I shall help myself,” said Cecelia, her mind suddenly made up.

  Sixteen

  “A footman brought this note,” Ned said to James, making a small, rather elegant obeisance as he held out a folded sheet of paper. James received the page appreciatively. Despite his youth, Ned had settled into Hobbs’s position and small chamber with enthusiasm. He had examined James’s entire wardrobe with great pleasure and absorbed information about the latest men’s fashions. He watched and learned bits of polite behavior and observed every move James made like a scholar presented with original sources. Given what seemed to James an absurdly small sum, Ned had outfitted himself in a decent coat, shirt and breeches from some mysterious source of used clothing. Handed one of James’s neckcloths for his own, he’d achieved a creditable waterfall style on the second try, and his hair had been brushed into something resembling a Brutus. Roughly. Even his way of speaking had begun to shift. He was a remarkable mimic. Clearly, with just a bit of help, Ned was going far.

  James unsealed the note. Cecelia asked him to call on her at eleven the following morning. His pulse accelerated. Could she want to see him as much as he wanted to see her? Unless… But no, he’d heard of no new outrage from Prince Karl. The fellow had gone quiet. Perhaps ominously. They would see. But before that, he would see Cecelia. Alone. He would push her aunt out of the room and lock her in a wardrobe if he had to. He would make this the opportunity to settle matters between them. He tucked the note into his waistcoat pocket.

  He looked up to find Ned slowly folding a stocking, as if he savored the feel of the smooth knit under his fingers. “That is worn with evening dress,” James said.

  Ned started, froze as if fearing retribution, and then relaxed. “Knee breeches and pale waistcoat,” he answered, repeating an earlier lesson.

  “Correct.”

  The boy grinned, pleased and proud.

  It was so easy to cheer him, though it seemed few had ever bothered. “Is all well with your mother and sisters?” James asked.

  “Yes, milord. Uncle Will mended the stable lock.”

  “Ah, he’s arrived then.”

  Ned nodded. “Staying in a room above the stables. He reckons it was the head groom’s.”

  James started to say that the man could sleep in the house. But where would he find proper quarters? The stable was probably more comfortable for now if it was fitted out for a head groom.

  “He said to tell you thankee—thank you.” Ned enunciated the last two words carefully. “And if you have any other work that wants doing, he’s ready and able.”

  There was so very much do. But first, always first, there was Cecelia.

  James arrived precisely on time the next day. He was taken up to the drawing room at once and found Cecelia waiting for him there. Alone.

  “My aunt is with her bees,” she said. “And I have given orders that she is not to be disturbed.”

  He scarcely heard through the exultation racing through his veins. Now he must retrieve the words he’d been rehearsing. He’d botched this the last time. He wouldn’t again. Even though she looked so lovely that he could think of little else.

  She sat down. He took a chair opposite. “I was wondering if you still wish to marry me,” she said.

  This was such an unexpected beginning that James stumbled over his answer.

  “Considering recent…occurrences, I thought you might. But it’s best to be sure of these things, is it not?”

  Was she calling their kiss an occurrence? That made it sound like an encounter with footpads or a carriage accident.

  Cecelia frowned. “If you have changed your mind, of course there is nothing more to be said.”

  “I have not!” All his careful phrases now escaped him.

  “Oh, well, good. Then I think we should.”

  “Should?”

  “Get married,” she explained, as if he was being purposely slow.

  “Dash it, Cecelia.”

  “What? I thought you said…”

  “I spent half the night trying to find the right words to convince you to marry me.”

  “You did?” Her tone was softer.

  “Yes, and now you jump in before I’ve used any of them. You have a pronounced autocratic streak.”

  “So you have often said.”

  “Because it’s true. What about the time you shoved a quill into my hand, and it spattered ink all over my favorite waistcoat? Those spots never came out. I had to dispose of it.” James’s errant brain wondered if the garment had gone to the sort of place where Ned had acquired his refurbished wardrobe.

  “Well, you and Papa had been wrangling for an hour,” said Cecelia.

  “I was wrangling. Your father was wishing himself elsewhere and, unless I am mistaken, emitting very soft moans.” He shook his head. “I am not mistaken.”

  “Yes, and we all knew how it was going to come out, with you signing the deed.” Somewhat oddly, she was smiling.

  “Well, I know, but I wished to be…argued into it.”

  “Did you?” Cecelia sat straighter, with folded hands. “Very well. The points of the case then. You wanted my help with your estates. Which appear to be in disarray.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “And so you suggested that we should marry in order to acquire my services.”

  “I did not put it as well as I might…”

  “Which are quite valuable, if I do say so,” she interrupted with calm conviction. “In return I will have an advantageous social position, as you mentioned.”

  “That was before,” replied James. He had said any number of idiotic things. But much had happened since then. She’d been there for most of it.

  “Before?” She raised her eyebrows. “Ah, the prince and the gossip have changed my situation, of course.”

  “That wasn’t what I meant!”

  “I had thought you didn’t care about the rumors.” For the first time, she sounded tentative.

  “Less than I do about a flea in the coat of a mongrel dog,” he replied.

 
She blinked, startled. “So we shall go ahead then? We will make an agreement.”

  “Agreement?” This was not the term James would have chosen.

  “Considering the points in favor and of…mutual benefit.”

  “You are going to marry me, Cecelia? You promise.” He heard the plea in his tone.

  She met his eyes. “Yes.”

  That was all that mattered, really. They could set aside this odd conversation, adding it to the litany of others they’d had over the years. “Splendid! I’ll send a notice to the Morning Post.”

  “I suppose we must,” she replied.

  “Why not?” Was she drawing back?

  “There will be talk.” She sighed. “I’m so weary of talk. I believe a special license and a quiet ceremony would be the best course of action.”

  “You’ve thought about this, I see. Are you in a hurry to be wed?”

  She blushed. James thrilled to see it. He was beginning to be amused as well as bemused by this exchange. “I find that I am, rather.”

  “So that I will take over your work,” Cecelia said.

  She’d rallied. Cecelia always rallied. It was one of the things he admired most about her, James realized. “So that you are my wife.” He said the last word caressingly, trying to make her blush again.

  She disappointed him. Except that she didn’t. He appreciated the raised chin and the steady gaze. Had Cecelia ever actually disappointed him? She’d irritated him and surprised him and made him laugh. But disappointment? No. Never that. “I’d best go see the archbishop,” he said.

  “Archbishop?”

  “I believe one must apply to the Archbishop of Canterbury for a special license.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “A man on the town picks up these little tidbits of information.”

  As James had hoped, she laughed. He looked forward to seeing her laugh often in the years that lay ahead. And to so much else as well.

  ***

  Cecelia attended Ada Grandison’s wedding with her aunt, a grudging but surprisingly solid presence. Tereford and Prince Karl were not invited, not being friends of the couple, and this was a relief. It was the reason she’d chosen this as the first occasion to appear since the public announcement of her engagement. Easier to be gaped at without their contentious presence, she’d thought, and so it proved. She also found the gossips’ attitude changed, now that she was about to become a duchess. The past was not forgotten, but the general consensus seemed to be that she had triumphed over it. Decisively. Some were glad; some were sourly envious. But no one snubbed her. These were the ups and downs of society.