by Jane Ashford
“We can’t allow thieves free rein,” Cecelia replied. “Mrs. Gardener’s note sounds anxious. And if the gang is not opposed, they will very likely go beyond the garden into the house. We must return and do something.”
“I should not have left my direction with Ned,” James muttered.
“James.”
This grumble was inaudible.
“You know we can’t stay here forever.” Cecelia reached across the breakfast table and put a hand over his. It was lovely to feel free to touch him whenever the impulse arose.
He turned his hand over and laced his fingers with hers. “Let us go upstairs,” he said.
“We just came down.”
“But I am ready to be up again.” His blue eyes danced wickedly over her.
Cecelia flushed. It was just as well the servants kept their distance here. Her father’s placid staff would be shocked by such a suggestive remark. “I think we must go back and put a stop to the thieving.”
“I am a duke,” he said. “I should be able to do as I wish.”
“You know a high position brings responsibilities,” Cecelia replied, and then thought she sounded horridly prim.
“I do now.”
“We must get on with clearing out Tereford House.” It was only the truth, though she didn’t relish being the prosaic one. Must she always be? And yet the tasks ahead nagged at her. She tried to estimate how long the sorting would take. “And you said your uncle’s former man of business sent boxes of documents.”
James groaned, a bit theatrically.
“As well as all those piled up in the library.”
“Oh my God.” He pulled his hand away. “Very well. We will go back. I suppose we could stay with your father for a while.”
“No.”
“You don’t wish to do that?”
“I do not! Aunt Valeria would try to push the household duties back on me. In fact, I would wager a good deal that she’d urge us to remain, so that I take them up again. And the servants would encourage her, I imagine.”
“Poor Cecelia. You are far too competent. Everyone wants you to do their work.”
The remark came with a smile and a caress, as though it was a joke. But was it? James had married her for this precise reason. A few days’ idyll didn’t change that fact, and she shouldn’t forget it. James would be expecting her to take up the burdens of the dukedom. “The season will be ending soon. There will be many houses coming available in London.”
“I suppose we could go to a hotel for a while, though we will be rather cramped.”
“Yes, good, and then we will hire a furnished house to use until Tereford House is ready. It needn’t be grand.”
“Whatever you think,” James replied. His attention had wandered to his breakfast.
“You will leave the choice to me?”
“Of course.”
Of course he would. This was the real beginning of their marriage, Cecelia thought. The reality of it wasn’t towers and gardens and sated honeybees. She would settle down to work, and James would no doubt resume his indolent habits, with an occasional objection to the decisions she’d made when he had paid no attention to the process. This picture gave her a sinking feeling. But she’d known about it beforehand. She had nothing to complain of; she arranged this life herself. And look at all she’d gained!
***
They drove back to town the following day in the same carriage that had brought them. Cecelia had not realized that the vehicle and driver had waited on their convenience. “Your friend did not need his carriage?” she asked James as they started out.
“He has several.”
He was as careless of this friend as of the one who owned the tower. He seemed to take no thought for their needs. Watching his handsome profile against the passing countryside outside the carriage window, Cecelia felt a wisp of apprehension about the future.
James engaged quarters for them at Brown’s Hotel, a fine parlor and bedchamber as well as rooms for her maid and Ned, who were duly summoned. Cecelia immediately wrote to the efficient man of business who had helped her manage her father’s affairs, and he called on them within hours, offering polite felicitations on their marriage. When Mr. Dalton heard that he was being asked to aid in management of a dukedom, he could scarcely contain his elation. He assured them that his firm was quite capable of handling the larger business.
“Matters are in quite a tangle,” said James.
“We would be more than happy to put them in order, Your Grace,” the slender, brown-haired man assured him.
“We should send him those boxes,” James said to Cecelia.
“I think we must look through them first,” she replied.
James’s impatient gesture was familiar to both of his companions. They had seen it many times over the years of the trust. Dalton did not throw Cecelia a commiserating glance. He was far too circumspect for that. He’d always been careful to keep his opinions to himself. It was one of the traits that led Cecelia to trust in his discretion. He did promise to find suitable houses available for rent in London and bring Cecelia a list of candidates. He then went on his way with a bounce in his step.
Cecelia next sent notes to her close friends, letting them know she was back. She also encouraged James to pay a visit to his club, which would accomplish the same thing. Word of their arrival would spread. It was time to take up the duties of society.
James had gone out as instructed when a hotel servant informed Cecelia that she had visitors. Three young ladies, the maid said, handing over cards. Cecelia was not surprised to read the names of Charlotte, Sarah, and Harriet. She nodded, and in the next moment the three hurried in. They were dressed for walking.
After a flurry of greetings, Sarah said, “We had to rush right over to tell you. You won’t credit what has happened!”
They waited, eyes sparkling, for Cecelia to say, “What?”
“There is a rumor flying around town that Prince Karl is not actually a prince,” said Charlotte. “That he is an imposter, who has imposed himself on the ton.”
“What?” repeated Cecelia in a far different tone.
“He is absolutely livid with rage,” said Sarah. “Whenever one sees him now, he looks like he’s going to explode.”
“Or hack something to pieces with his sword,” added Charlotte.
“Can it be true?” wondered Cecelia. It seemed so unlikely.
“No one knows,” answered Harriet. “He denies it, of course. But we know how difficult it is to deny scurrilous talk.” She gave Cecelia a wry glance as the other two girls nodded.
“Doesn’t he protest too much,” said Charlotte.
“No smoke without fire,” said Sarah.
The four young ladies exchanged satisfied looks. These things had been said of Cecelia when she tried to counter Prince Karl’s insinuations.
“You are completely vindicated, of course,” added Harriet. “The victim of a deceiver.”
“And now a duchess,” said Cecelia dryly, knowing that this change was the important factor for society.
“And that,” Harriet agreed.
“We all wish you very happy by the way,” said Sarah. The others nodded.
“And we must go,” said Charlotte. “Mama will be wondering what’s become of me. We will see you tomorrow, Cecelia.”
They rushed out again, leaving Cecelia bemused.
“I don’t think it is true,” said James when he returned to the hotel sometime later and discovered that Cecelia had already heard the rumors. The speed of gossip was always a marvel. If it could be harnessed for finer purposes, how much might be accomplished.
Cecelia nodded. “I didn’t see how he could carry off such a large deception.”
“Indeed.” As soon as he’d heard the story at his club, James remembered what Henry Deeping had to
ld him about the prince’s father. He suspected that this slander was Stephan Kandler’s move to curb the prince. And very satisfying it was, too.
“But why did it begin?”
He was uncertain about sharing what Henry had told him. He would ask him first. “Perhaps someone wanted him to see what fighting a false accusation feels like,” said James. “Poetic justice.”
“I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep from enjoying his struggles.”
“And why should you?”
“Overscrupulosity?” asked Cecelia. “If that is a word.”
James laughed. “I don’t think it is. Nor should it afflict you.”
“Do you never worry about other people’s feelings? Or pity their misfortunes?”
“Not those like Prince Karl, who richly deserve them.” James was puzzled by her tone. She sounded almost melancholy when a touch of genteel gloating seemed more justified.
A knock at the parlor door heralded Ned, who brought a note addressed to them both. James broke the seal and opened it. “Grandmamma wishes to hold a ball in honor of our marriage,” he told Cecelia. “I say ‘wishes,’ but it is clear that she has already planned it and sent out the invitations.”
“I don’t believe we received one,” replied Cecelia with a smile.
James waved the page. “This is to be considered our…command to appear.” He looked down and read, “‘We don’t want people to see anything furtive’… That word is heavily underlined… ‘about the match. A ball is traditional, and I shall do my best to make it a grand occasion.’”
“Knowing Lady Wilton, she will certainly succeed. And we have no house in which to hold it ourselves.”
For the first time, James heard this as a criticism. He had married her, made her a duchess, but he had no home to offer her. Tereford House could scarcely be called that, not for some time. Months, no doubt. Their honeymoon had been so sweet. Now life stretched ahead, and as far as he could see into the future, it was crammed full of meetings with Dalton and musty documents and piles of broken-down possessions to sort through. He feared a cascade of disputes, because he and Cecelia had always disagreed about business matters.
That was the old Cecelia, he told himself, the one who did not approve of him and was engrossed in boring tasks that he could not endure. But she was gone or, at the least, modified by the woman who responded so eagerly to his caresses. And yet, the former Cecelia had existed for much longer than the ardent wife.
James looked up to find her gazing at him. “Do you not want your grandmother to hold a ball?” she asked.
“I’m sure she has the right idea.” He examined the lovely creature on the other side of the hearth—golden hair, serenely beautiful face, the body that he now knew so well. He had never satisfactorily answered the question of why Cecelia changed her mind about marrying him. When he’d hinted at it, she’d distracted him in the most delicious way. She’d done that more than once, he realized. Physical pleasure could have been an answer, but she hadn’t known what that would be like, between them, beforehand. And oddly, passion was not enough of an answer for him. He wanted more. But what precisely? He didn’t know how to ask in a way that she would tell him.
It was ironic that Cecelia’s very slightly tarnished reputation was now restored by Prince Karl’s fall from grace. If she’d married to save her good name, she must now see that was unnecessary. Might she regret her hasty decision? And surely this whole line of thinking was foolishness?
“I am eager to get to work over at Tereford House,” she said.
“Are you?” James had looked in on his way to the club and reassured Mrs. Gardener.
“I was thinking we might involve one of the large auction houses,” Cecelia added. “They have people accustomed to valuing property, and they will be eager to sell the things we don’t wish to keep. They could probably provide workers able to sift through the piles and make judgments.”
James felt a trace of nostalgia for his days with the Gardener children searching for buried treasures. They had looked endearingly ridiculous in the old wigs. This new method would take all the fun out of the process. And yet, he had been growing weary of sorting. “Very well,” he said.
“You don’t sound enthusiastic.”
“I’m sure you know what’s best. You always do.”
She blinked, and her lovely lips turned down. Was she offended? Hurt? James realized that he had never paid such close attention to her reactions in past years.
“This is my part of the arrangement after all,” she said.
“Arrangement?”
“As we agreed.”
“I never used that word,” replied James. His chest felt tight.
“It was implied in your proposal, when you pointed out what I would gain by taking on the estate management.”
She kept reminding him. Yes, he had said that, because he had been an idiot. But now he was…less of one? Or even more? He didn’t know. “You’ve said you like such tasks.”
“Yes,” she replied.
“Yes, you have said so? Or you do like them?”
“Those are one and the same,” she answered. “You can trust me to do a good job.”
He did trust her for that, but could he trust her with his heart? And where had that very odd thought come from? James noticed an array of bottles on the sideboard. “Would you like a glass of wine?” He intended to have one. At least.
“Yes, thank you,” she said.
He rose, poured, and returned with the glasses. When he handed hers over, he noticed a list in her other hand. James groaned, only half teasing. “That is the longest list I’ve ever seen you make.”
Cecelia smiled up at him. “There’s much to do.”
He sat. She sipped her wine. James took a gulp of his.
“We needn’t discuss every item,” she said. “Just a few of the most important.”
“Suppose I simply declare that you are right about all of them.”
“And then complain when the thing is done that you wished it otherwise? We have seen how that goes.”
“That was…”
She waited, then said, “Yes?”
He wanted to say that was the past, and that everything was different now. But he knew she would ask him how things were different, and he had no answer.
Fortunately twenty minutes later, the hotel servants arrived with the dinner Cecelia had ordered, and she put the list aside.
Cecelia had seen James’s restlessness growing as she discussed the tasks that needed their attention. He seemed even more resistant than in the past. She’d thought of this before their marriage. They could no longer wrangle over some bit of business and then part while the dispute faded. Or, if they did, this would be a sad sort of marriage. They must have more to talk about than estate management, and the truth was, she could manage most of it without bothering him. That might be best.
She changed the topic over their dinner, asking which friends he’d seen at his club and what fresh gossip was circulating. Since he could now tell her some of the more spicy stories, she heard some eye-opening tales. She raised her eyebrows at the right spots and let her shock amuse him.
And when the dishes had been cleared away and they were alone, she went to sit on his lap, suggesting he demonstrate one of those scandalous stories he’d been telling her. That made him laugh. Cecelia sank into delirious kisses with the realization that they were happy together in this. Soon, surely, they would be in other ways as well.
Nineteen
“Well, I must say, you have never looked better,” said Lady Wilton to Cecelia when they arrived at her home for the promised ball. “That gown is splendid.”
Cecelia smoothed a hand over the froth of creamy silk and lace. She was pleased with her new ensemble. She’d judged that it was just the right combination of high fashion and elegance for a duchess,
and she was glad Lady Wilton agreed.
“What about me?” asked James.
His grandmother waved this away. “You always look well. It is easier for gentlemen.”
“If you think so, you know nothing about it,” he replied with a rueful smile.
“Well, I certainly care nothing about it,” said the old lady. “Have you any news from your agent about Ferrington?”
“I’ve been rather busy. Getting married and so on.”
“Always thinking first of yourself. You haven’t even thanked me for putting on this ball, you know.”
“Thank you very much for setting us up on display to the ton, Grandmamma. And increasing your own consequence by issuing a coveted invitation, which will draw a great crush even so late in the season.”
Lady Wilton sputtered. “Rogue.”
“I suppose people will begin arriving soon,” mused Cecelia, to distract them.
“They will,” said James’s grandmother. “Come along and display yourselves.”
And so the Duke and Duchess of Tereford took their places beside Lady Wilton to greet a burgeoning stream of guests.
It was soon apparent that the ball would be very well attended. Many were curious or pleased about the new couple and eager to look them over. Some were undoubtedly envious and hoping to see cracks in their facade. Cecelia’s swooping changes of reputation over the last few weeks added interest. People offered their congratulations and took in every detail of the Terefords’ appearance as they passed along into the ballroom.
She and James opened the dancing with a waltz, and Cecelia couldn’t help comparing it with the same dance at the beginning of the season, which seemed so long ago now. Outwardly, all was the same—his hand at her waist, his fingers warm on hers, the whirl across the floor. Their steps were still well matched, and it was still a delight, floating across the floor with him. But inwardly, all was different. The waltz was no longer the thing that brought them closest. The warmth in his blue eyes as he looked down at her spoke of bare skin and tumbled sheets. She felt her cheeks warm with thoughts of those caresses.
She danced with others and then with James again. They spent the supper interval together, sitting with Sarah, Charlotte, Harriet, and their partners, and then resumed dancing. The room grew very warm despite long windows that opened on the night. The scent of the flowers that decorated the ballroom was heavy on the air. James had just gone to fetch Cecelia a glass of lemonade when there was a flurry at the doorway. The murmur of the crowd rose in volume, and people started to stir like water being parted by the prow of a rushing boat.
