“Oh, I see,” he said, sounding relieved by this explanation. “Of course, I understand completely, Your Grace. I shall step out and allow you and Cecilia to talk.”
“Thank you, Mr. Baxter, that will be all” the Duchess said, with a smile.
Cecilia felt a wave of frustration rising within her. How dare she dismiss my father from his own workshop? What more could she have to say to me? With an effort, Cecilia stopped her mind from traveling further down this path. She reminded herself that a Duchess dismissing a carpenter was a perfectly ordinary event, and that she must remain calm during whatever discussion they were about to have.
After a brief pause, Cecilia turned to face the Duchess of Huxley, smiling politely.
“Your Grace,” she said calmly, “please tell me your concerns about the wardrobe. I will do my best to ensure that we build a piece that meets all of your needs.”
“Come now, child,” the Duchess was amused by Cecilia’s request. “We both know that I am not here to discuss my wardrobe. It is a wardrobe, it needs to hold my gowns. I trust that you know how to build a wardrobe without significant guidance from me.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Cecilia said, realizing that it would do no good to say anything further.
“As I am sure you have realized already, I am interested in talking to you about my son, the Marquess of Clive.” The Duchess continued.
Cecilia had known this, of course, but felt that to admit it would be unwise, so she merely looked briefly at the Duchess. She had meant to hold her gaze, but after a few seconds Cecilia looked away, feeling uncomfortable.
“Perhaps you have not paid as much attention to me as you have to my son, Miss Baxter, but I can assure you that I have paid attention to you.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Yes?” the Duchess asked, “What do you mean by saying yes? Yes, you have paid attention to my son, but not to me? Yes, you are aware that I have been paying attention to you?”
“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” Cecilia responded quietly, keeping her eyes on the floor, “I only meant to…to acknowledge your statement, I suppose.”
“Well, I hope that you can speak more plainly going forward. I would like to make sure that we understand one another,” the Duchess said. “Do you think you can do that, Miss Baxter?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Cecilia said, looking up from the floor and into the Duchess’ face. “I apologize for being unclear before.”
“Thank you, I believe this will spare us quite a bit of time and trouble,” the Duchess said, sounding somewhat less stern.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Cecilia repeated. Why do I suspect that this conversation will involve me saying nothing more than “Yes, Your Grace” several times?
“Good,” said the Duchess, “I appreciate your willingness to be frank with me. Now, I shall be frank with you. I saw the way that my son looked at you after your first meeting with him in the library at our home. At the time I thought little of it. After all, you must realize that you are very pretty. It would be strange, really, if he didn’t appreciate your beauty.”
“Your Grace, I…” Cecilia began.
“Stop.” The Duchess said firmly. “There is no need for modesty, false or otherwise. Whether or not you realize it, the fact of the matter is that you are beautiful, and my son appreciates your beauty.”
Cecilia stared blankly at the Duchess, unsure what she could possibly say to such a statement. She was spared the necessity of thinking of a response, because the Duchess continued to speak.
“When I learned that you had come back to our home to meet with my son and daughter, I realized that his feelings for you were more than simple appreciation of a pretty young face. Until today, I was unsure whether you felt the same way about him.”
“I don’t know what to say, Your Grace,” Cecilia said, attempting to mask the quaver in her voice.
“Now, really, Miss Baxter,” said the Duchess, raising an eyebrow, “I thought that we had agreed to be frank with one another.”
She paused, as though to allow Cecilia to respond to this. Cecilia could think of nothing to say, however, and merely looked at the floor.
“Well, that is quite disappointing. But, in truth you need not say anything. I can see it on your face that you are infatuated with my son. I suppose I cannot blame you—he will be the next Duke of Huxley, he is handsome, well mannered, and well educated. What young lady would not have feelings for him? Don’t you agree, Miss Baxter?”
“I…” Cecilia began, and then after hesitating for a moment, she decided that telling the truth could hardly make the situation any worse.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“There we go, honesty really is the best policy, don’t you think?” the Duchess asked.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Cecilia said, once again looking down at the floor.
“All right,” said the Duchess, looking satisfied, “we are now in agreement that you and my son share a certain degree of affection for one another. I do not know if this is something that you have discussed nor does it matter.”
Cecilia looked up at these words, surprised to hear the Duchess say that it did not matter whether she and Nicholas had spoken of their feelings.
As though she could read Cecilia’s thoughts, the Duchess continued, “It does not matter, because my son will marry Lady Annette, regardless of anything that he may or may not have said to the contrary. You must know that you are not fit to be the next Duchess of Huxley.”
Cecilia looked up at the Duchess and saw very clearly that she could never compare to this woman or fill her role. But perhaps Huxley could have a different sort of Duchess in the future.
“Your Grace?” Cecilia asked, “Have you discussed this with the Marquess of Clive?”
“That is really none of your business, Miss Baxter,” she sounded stern.
I suppose that means that she has not spoken to him. Cecilia felt a glimmer of hope at this realization. The Duchess was here of her own accord—Nicholas was not aware of this meeting, and I am quite certain that he would not approve.
“It may not be any of my business, Your Grace,” Cecilia said, as politely as she could manage, “but surely you must agree that it is the Marquess of Clive’s business.”
“The Marquess of Clive,” said the Duchess with a new edge to her voice now, “is my son, Miss Baxter. I know him far better than you ever will. He is well educated and intelligent, but unfortunately prone to romantic thinking. No doubt he finds the idea of marrying a carpenter’s daughter compelling, but I assure you he has not considered the consequences of such a decision.”
“You believe him to be naïve and impulsive, Your Grace?” Cecilia asked.
“Don’t be absurd, Miss Baxter,” the Duchess snapped. “He is a man. Of course, he is naïve and impulsive. But he has responsibilities to his family, and to his country. He will come into his peerage when my husband dies, and then he will have an opportunity to do some real good in the House of Lords.”
“And you believe that it is his responsibility to his family and his country to marry Lady Annette?” Cecilia asked, skeptically.
“Of course, it is his responsibility to marry her. Or someone like her. It is certainly not in line with his responsibilities to marry someone like you,” the Duchess said, icily. “And while he may have some romantic notions where you are concerned, he will ultimately fulfill his responsibilities.”
Cecilia looked up once again, studying the Duchess’ face. Perhaps she is right. Nicholas is a conscientious person; it would be unlike him to shirk his responsibilities. She looked away again, pressure mounting behind her eyes, and willed herself not to cry.
“I can see that I’ve upset you, Miss Baxter,” said the Duchess. “I assure you that was not my intention. I merely wish to protect my son and his future. And in truth, I am protecting you as well. Any association with my son will only ruin your reputation, surely you can see that?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” she said quietly, still look
ing down at the floor.
“I’m glad that we understand one another, Miss Baxter,” said the Duchess, “I will show myself out.”
And with that the Duchess swept out of the workshop, leaving Cecilia alone to compose herself before her father returned to his work.
Chapter 17
Nicholas was enjoying his walk through the garden at the Earl of Leicester’s estate. The Earl was currently in residence, so his visit had begun with a formal introduction between the Earl and the Marquess. They had spoken for several minutes about their mutual acquaintances. Nicholas’ father and the Earl of Leicester were colleagues in the House of Lords, so they knew several people in common.
The Earl had not said as much, at least not in blatant terms, but it was quite clear that he felt Nicholas would be an ideal match for his daughter. Nicholas felt a slight pang of guilt at this realization, for of course, he had no intention of marrying Lady Annette. Of course, she has no interest in marrying me either, so the Earl is bound to be disappointed.
Their interview had lasted about a quarter of an hour, at which time, the Earl had excused himself. Lady Annette’s maid had remained in the parlor with them as a chaperone, and sat in silence while Lady Annette played the piano. Now she walked several feet behind them, while Nicholas and Lady Annette strolled side by side.
Lady Annette shivered slightly as they walked through the brisk, autumn air.
“Are you chilly, My Lady?” Nicholas asked, “May I offer you my coat to keep you warm?”
“How chivalrous of you, my Lord!” Lady Annette replied, laughing. “In truth, I do feel a chill, and would be quite thankful for your coat, if you can spare it. My father will be delighted if he looks out of the window and sees that you have offered it to me.”
“I shall be sorry to disappoint your father,” Nicholas said. “But I do hope to formally propose to Cecilia in a few weeks, after Isobel’s debut, and then this illusion shall be broken.”
“Hmm…” said Lady Annette, smiling ruefully. “I suppose he will just have to survive. No doubt his disappointment will be nothing when compared to your mother’s!”
“I shudder to think of my mother’s reaction to the news,” Nicholas said with a grimace. “Though I suppose she shall have no choice but to accept it.”
“Oh,” said Lady Annette, feigning puzzlement. “I doubt that the Duchess of Huxley ever has ‘no choice but to accept’ anything!”
Nicholas laughed at this, but could not deny the truth of it. My mother is quite a formidable person in her way, though she is always proper in her approach.
“I suppose you will have to find a way to convince her to come around to your way of thinking,” Lady Annette said. “If Miss Baxter is as charming as you say, no doubt the Duchess will understand why you like her so much.”
“Perhaps,” Nicholas said, slowly. He was skeptical of this, but did not wish to say so out loud.
They continued to walk in companionable silence for several minutes, Lady Annette’s maid following behind them.
As they passed beneath a large oak tree, the butler walked out into the grounds to address the pair that were walking.
“Her Grace, the Duchess of Huxley has arrived,” he announced. “She is waiting for you in the parlor.”
“Thank you, Jones,” Lady Annette said. “Come My Lord, let us not keep your mother waiting too long!”
The pair walked back to the house, side by side, with Lady Annette still wearing Nicholas’ coat. When they entered the drawing room, the Duchess was sitting on the couch, sipping tea from a delicate china cup. She smiled at Nicholas and Lady Annette as they entered the room.
“Have you had a nice walk in the garden?” she tried to make conversation. “It is a lovely day for it.”
“We have, Your Grace,” Lady Annette said with a smile, “the air is quite lovely.”
“Yes, we’ve been having such lovely weather, recently. But it seems that you must have taken a chill, My Lady,” the Duchess remarked, looking pointedly at Nicholas’ coat, which Lady Annette was still wearing.
“Yes, your Grace, there was a bit of a breeze, and Lord Clive was kind enough to offer me his coat when he saw that I was beginning to shiver,” she said with a smile, “he is quite chivalrous.”
“Indeed he is,” said the Duchess, with a genuine smile for her son.
“You are both too kind!” Nicholas said, with a smile for his mother and Lady Annette.
* * *
Nicholas sat opposite his mother in the carriage on the way home from the Duke of Leicester’s estate. He was still frustrated that the Duchess had insisted on this visit, as though he were still a child whom she could command. But the visit had not been unpleasant, and he felt that it would do no good to be short with her.
“How was your visit to the carpenter’s shop?” he asked, wondering to himself if Cecilia had been present.
“It was quite illuminating,” the Duchess replied.
“Illuminating?” he became intrigued by this description.
“Yes, illuminating,” she repeated, looking him directly in the eye. “I spoke with Miss Baxter about her recent visit to the estate.”
Nicholas was caught off guard by this statement and stared at his mother with his mouth slightly open momentarily before responding.
“All right,” Nicholas said, determined to keep his voice as calm and even as possible. “What did Miss Baxter tell you of our meeting.”
“Oh, nothing very exciting,” said the Duchess with a coy smile. “She told me that you met each other in town, by chance, and you invited her to the estate to meet Isobel and discuss the library bookcase with her. She had no good explanation for why Isobel should want to discuss such a thing, but I suppose Isobel does take up peculiar fancies from time to time.”
Nicholas breathed a sigh of relief at this. She does not know about the passageway nor about the conversation that Cecilia and I had about our feelings for one another.
“As I said,” the Duchess continued, “she did not say much of interest. No, it was what she did not say that I found particularly intriguing.”
“And what, exactly, does that mean, Mother?” Nicholas’ voice was a mixture of frustration and fear.
“Well, for example,” the Duchess began, “I asked her if you had spoken to her about your…shall we say, infatuation? And she said nothing. Surely if the answer was no, she would simply have said so.”
“But how…?” Nicholas began to ask.
“How did I know that you were smitten by her?” The Duchess asked. “Oh, Nicholas, I am your mother, I know you better than anyone. Perhaps even better than yourself.”
“I think that’s a bit of an overstatement, Mother.”
“Do you?” the Duchess asked, seemingly unconcerned by this assessment. “Miss Baxter is very pretty. Frankly I would be surprised if you had not shown at least some interest in her. But inviting her to the estate? That really was not proper.”
“Mother,” Nicholas attempted to sound baffled by her suggestion, “it is exactly as she said. We met by chance in town. I knew that Isobel was curious about the process of designing and constructing a bookcase, so I asked Cecilia to come and meet with her to explain it.”
“Cecilia?” The Duchess asked, sounding scandalized.
Nicholas cursed himself silently. How could I have been so stupid? What could I possibly say to convince her that there is no romantic feeling between us?
“Miss Baxter. Obviously, I meant to say Miss Baxter, not Cecilia.” Nicholas stammered as he spoke.
“Yes, dear, of course, you did,” the Duchess said, sounding sympathetic now. “But the fact remains that you said Cecilia. Which confirms to me that, not only do you have romantic feelings for her, but you must have reason to believe that those feelings are returned.”
“And if I do?” Nicholas asked, his voice rising with every word. “What then? What if I have romantic feelings for Miss Baxter, and reason to believe that those feelings are returned? What t
hen, Mother?”
“Then you are being ridiculous,” said the Duchess, her voice as calm as her son’s was loud, “not to mention extremely selfish. You will be the next Duke of Huxley. You have responsibilities to uphold!”
“Oh, believe me, Mother, I am well aware of my responsibility to produce an heir for the Dukedom. I see no reason why that responsibility cannot be met with Miss Baxter as my wife.”
“Your wife,” said the Duchess, her voice dangerously quiet, “will be the Duchess of Huxley. She will need more qualifications than the ability to bear children.”
It was clear to Nicholas that he could not win this argument. I shall have to speak to her again later, when we are both calmer. He turned away from his mother and looked out the window for the remainder of the journey home. His mind raced as the countryside sped by, filled with thoughts of Cecilia.
The Marquess In Her Bed (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 13
