A Duchess to Remember

by Christina Brooke

  “Well, if I don’t mind it, I don’t see why you should.”

  She did mind it, of course; she was not made of stone. Rand’s presence seemed to make her embarrassment more acute. But she would mind a husband who meddled in what didn’t concern him far more than a man who didn’t concern himself with her at all.

  He sipped his wine. “I should have thought the answer to that question perfectly obvious.”

  Refusing to be drawn into that conversation, Cecily sipped her burgundy. She comforted herself with the fact that she would be obliged to deal with this kind of thing for only a few more days. Less, if she found that letter.

  “Do you know,” Rand added in a low voice, “I cannot decide whether it is when you scowl like that or when you are animated, speaking of your passions, that I most want to kiss you.”

  She choked a little on her wine.

  “I think it must be when you scowl,” he mused softly. “Because I am seriously considering consigning my guests to the Devil and hauling you upstairs to make love to you at this very moment.”

  The wine burned her windpipe. She put her napkin to her lips and coughed. She managed, “I think Norland would have something to say about that.”

  “Do you really?” Rand contemplated this. “I wonder if he’d notice.”

  * * *

  Rand’s guests were delighted with the proposed expedition to Cambridge. A picnic by the Cam and perhaps a punt on the river would be just the thing to make the most of the spring weather. Lady Arden graciously agreed to chaperone them; unexpectedly, Rand’s aunt decided to come along as well.

  What do you want now? thought Rand. His aunt was at her most affable when she desired something from him. Hadn’t he learned that the hard way?

  The ladies hurried off to complete the necessary preparations. Oliver Garvey lounged on a comfortable chair by Rand’s desk and drawled, “Coming on to rain again this afternoon, I should think.”

  “If it does, we can take refreshment in a tea shop,” said Rand calmly.

  “Quite right.” Garvey paused. “Not one to pry, dear boy…”

  “Heaven forbid,” Rand muttered. He inclined his head. “Why is it that I hear an imminent ‘but’?”

  “However,” said Garvey, “just thought I’d drop a word in your shell-like.”

  “My shell-like is all agog,” said Rand. He knew what was coming but saw no way to avert it.

  Garvey rubbed his elegant nose. “Devilish tricky thing to tell you your business, but remiss of me not to. Fond of you, Ashburn, which is why—”

  “Oh, out with it, man! It’s not as if I don’t know what you’re going to say.”

  Relief relaxed Garvey’s features. “Well, I daresay you don’t like it, but I’ll tell you to your head, Ashburn. I would not venture into that territory if I were you.”

  “And what territory might that be?” Rand rose and walked around his desk. He leaned against it and folded his arms, waiting.

  “Not going to do any good to loom over me like that,” said Garvey. “I ain’t afraid of you.” He threw up his hands. “Montford’s territory, of course! Good God, man, the girl’s to be married in a week!”

  “Which is why,” said Rand deliberately, “I must act now.”

  Garvey’s jaw dropped. “My dear fellow. You want to marry her?”

  “I am going to marry her,” said Rand grimly.

  Recovering his usual nonchalance, Garvey inspected his fingernails. “Uh, dear boy, does the lady know that?”

  Rand did not answer, just stared blandly at Garvey.

  “Right. Of course. None of my business. But Lord Almighty, Ashburn, be careful what you are about. Montford is not a man to cross. And those cousins of Lady Cecily’s…” He shuddered. “Steyne in particular. Now, there’s an ugly customer. Did you hear about that business with Elliott?”

  Rand held up a hand. “Calm yourself, Oliver. I am not shaking in my boots over any Westruthers, ugly customers or otherwise. But to set your mind at ease—and this is for your ears only—it so happens that in this instance, I already have Montford’s support.”

  “Well, that’s a first,” said Garvey after a stunned silence.

  “Probably a last, too,” said Rand. “Shouldn’t you see to your cattle?”

  Garvey glanced at the clock and rose. “Yes, I suppose I should.” His blue eyes sparkled. “This little jaunt into Cambridge part of your plan?”

  Rand shrugged. “How should it be?”

  “I don’t know, but I know you, Ashburn.”

  “I can’t imagine what you mean by that.” Rand smiled as Garvey got to his feet.

  “I hope you know what you’re about,” said his friend, drawing on his gloves. “I don’t want to be a second at any duels.”

  Rand snorted. “Can you imagine Norland fighting a duel?”

  “Dear boy, that’s what I keep telling you. It’s not Norland I’m worried about.”

  * * *

  Cecily was like a cat on hot bricks, anticipating Rand’s next move. She dreaded being alone with him; if it weren’t for Tibby, she would have cried off from the proposed excursion.

  It rather astonished her to learn that the entire party was to go. She’d expected Rand would try to get her on her own.

  In fact, far from monopolizing her, Rand offered a place in his curricle to Miss Garvey. Cecily could either drive with Mr. Garvey or beg a seat in the barouche.

  Mr. Garvey it was. Rand’s friend was amusing company, but Cecily was obliged to stare at the backs of the Duke of Ashburn and Miss Garvey the entire way. It made her rather sour to see their heads bent together as they appeared to share an amusing conversation. Miss Garvey had a truly infectious, jolly laugh. Cecily wondered what Rand was saying to her to make her laugh so very often.

  So when they’d disembarked and refreshed themselves at a tea shop and Ashburn finally suggested that he and Cecily ought to call on Miss Tibbs, she all but snapped at him.

  “Yes, let us go now, shall we? I must hope the basket of food I brought is not spoiled.”

  His eyes glinted with mirth, as if he knew the true reason she was so cross. “Indeed. Let us make all haste to Miss Tibbs’s cottage.”

  As they bowled along in Rand’s curricle, Cecily avoided looking at her companion. Yet she felt his presence in every cell of her body.

  At any other time, she would have taken intense interest in her surroundings. The awe-inspiring architecture of the university colleges, the bustle of students in their billowing gowns. The lazy glide of punts on the Cam.

  As a girl she’d longed to be part of all this. She’d envied her brother being so at home here among the intellectual elite, while she would always remain an outsider due to her sex.

  The day she had finally accepted her dream would never be, that some things were impossible even for the sister of an earl, was one of the saddest—and the angriest—days of her life.

  “Tell me about this Miss Tibbs.” Rand’s deep voice broke her thoughts as he guided his horses around another bend. “She was your governess for many years, was she not? A woman of determined character and great moral courage, I presume?”

  She gave a gurgle of laughter. “How did you guess? Good Lord, how we tormented the rest of the governesses who were sent to us. Tibby was the only one who could stick beyond a week or so.”

  “You are fond of her,” he said.

  “Oh, yes. She is one of the family.” She wrinkled her brow. “That is, she does not always see eye to eye with my guardian, but that is only to be expected. She’s a dyed-in-the-wool bluestocking, you know, and has very progressive ideas about women’s rights.”

  “I see. Does she dislike men in general, then?”

  “Oh, no! But she greatly dislikes the institution of marriage. She approves of Norland, though.” She considered that. “I believe he’s the only man of whom she does wholeheartedly approve. I can’t think why, for he is in general completely dismissive of the female intellect. He thinks it’s an oxymoron
.”

  “He seems to judge Miss Tibbs a woman of superior sense,” said Rand.

  “Did he say that to you?” When he nodded, she said thoughtfully, “I expect that is because she listens to his lectures with interest.”

  He glanced at her. “You think her interest feigned?”

  “No, I am quite certain it is not. Which makes it all the more curious,” said Cecily. “However, one can never predict human nature, can one?”

  She looked about her, suddenly conscious that they had been driving for nearly a quarter of an hour now. “Do you know the area well? I have never been to this cottage before.”

  “Norland told me the way,” said Rand.

  They drove on for a few miles, taking numerous twists and turns. How on earth did Rand keep all that in his head? Cecily was sure she couldn’t have done so. But then, her sense of direction had never been her strong suit.

  When they finally came to Wisteria Lane, Cecily was puzzled. Norland had said he was just passing and called on Tibby, hadn’t he? How odd. This cottage did not seem to be on the way to anywhere.

  While Rand saw to his horses, Cecily let herself in at the cottage gate and walked up the path.

  The garden was neatly kept, the path clear of leaves and weeds, the flower beds a riot of spring color.

  The cottage also seemed strangely silent.

  Rather surprised that no one had come out to greet her, Cecily knocked on the door.

  She had not written to Tibby to apprise her of the visit, concerned that if she knew Cecily was to call, Tibby would fret about how to entertain her.

  All Cecily wished to do was to ascertain if Tibby needed anything and leave her a basket Rand had been kind enough to order prepared.

  She hadn’t thought that out very well, had she?

  Still, no one came to the door.

  Could they possibly be from home? But Norland had said Tibby’s sister was too ill to be left. Perhaps both sisters were resting. Nighttime was often the worst for invalids, so their nurses tended to snatch sleep when they could.

  “Everything all right?” Rand spoke from behind her.

  She started. “Oh! Well, actually, I’m not sure. There was no answer at the door, so perhaps we have come at a bad time.” She bit her lip. “I ought to have sent a note.”

  “Shall I knock again?” asked Rand.

  “No, don’t do that,” said Cecily “I have a feeling they might be resting. Best not to disturb them.”

  Rand glanced up at the windows on the upper floor.

  He nodded. “We’ll leave the basket.” He set it down on the front step, where it would be shaded by the overhanging roofline.

  As they turned to go, a light patter of footsteps approached the door. It opened, and Tibby’s face peered out.

  “Cecily!” she exclaimed.

  Cecily embraced her companion fondly and then held her at arm’s length, surveying her slight form keenly.

  Miss Tibbs was precise as a pin as always, but there was a weariness about her eyes, as if she had not slept properly since she’d left Montford House.

  “My dear Tibby!” said Cecily. “Norland told me you looked sadly pulled and he was right.”

  “His Grace said that?” Tibby looked aghast. “Pray, Cecily, believe me it is no such thing. But do come in. I don’t know what I’m about to keep you standing on the doorstep.”

  Tibby caught sight of the duke then, and faltered.

  “Oh. This is the Duke of Ashburn, but don’t mind him.” Cecily felt all at once that she ought not to have brought Rand. His presence would scarcely set Tibby at ease.

  Tactfully, she refused her old governess’s invitation to enter. “We came only to bring you this basket, and to ask if you need anything else.”

  Tibby glanced down at the basket. “Oh! Oh, how kind.”

  But again, it seemed Cecily had not judged the situation well, because her companion looked most discomfited.

  “Has there been any improvement in your sister’s health, Tibby?”

  Tibby’s mouth trembled. “She is very poorly, I’m afraid.”

  “You cannot leave her. I understand,” Cecily said. She glanced at Rand. “We must be going.”

  Rand started forward with the basket, but Tibby said, “Your Grace, really, no, I insist! I can manage it.” She took the basket from him.

  Rand looked an inquiry at Cecily. She gave a slight shake of her head. The basket wasn’t terribly heavy, and perhaps Tibby did not wish them to venture farther into the cottage.

  “Thank you so much for your kindness, my dear,” said Tibby. “Your Grace, thank you for bringing Lady Cecily to see me. I regret the circumstances which…”

  She faltered and Cecily cut off the embarrassed speech, leaning forward to give her companion a quick kiss on the cheek. “Write to me care of His Grace if you need anything else, won’t you? I shall be at Anglesby another day or two.”

  Tibby gave a rather strained smile. “Yes, my dear. Of course I will.”

  * * *

  “I am nearing the end of my search among Jonathon’s things,” said Cecily as they set off again. “I’ve told Lady Arden I wish to leave tomorrow.”

  That came as no surprise to Rand. Ever since he’d kissed her in the attic, he’d sensed her urgency to complete the task she’d come for and be gone.

  He made no protest against her departure. Tempting as it was to prolong their time together at Anglesby, he needed to return to Town to put his plans into action also.

  The time had come to lay some of his cards on the table.

  “If you do not mind, we won’t rejoin the others just yet.” Rand drove them to a quiet stretch of the Cam, where weeping willows trailed their long green fronds in the water.

  They found an appropriate spot for him to throw down the blanket he’d brought. Cecily put out her hand to allow him to help her sit down. Then she angled her parasol to shade her face from the sun.

  The parasol was a lacy affair, and when she held it a certain way, tiny pinpricks of sunlight danced over the creaminess of her skin. She looked fresh as a daisy and completely untouchable, all in white, with her legs tucked demurely to the side.

  She was such an elegant little creature. So lively and full of wit. She would be a duchess for the ages, remembered through generations for her vivacity and charm, for her intelligence and her amazing capacity to give.

  But he was air-dreaming of a future that might never be if he didn’t put a stop to her marriage to Norland. He’d hoped this letter she searched for would provide some inkling as to why she was so reluctant to admit her feelings for Rand, but had to concede he was stymied.

  He drew the small bundle of letters from the inner pocket of his coat.

  “I believe these are what you were looking for.”

  Her eyes widened. She almost snatched them from him. “How did you—? Oh! I could embrace you! Thank you!”

  With an effort, he resisted the temptation to take her up on that offer, immediately.

  Clearly unconscious of teasing him with the notion of her soft body pressed to his, Cecily untied the black riband that bound the letters together. Feverishly, she sorted through them, her breathing growing more rapid, more distressed as she went through the pile.

  She looked at him sharply. “Is this all? Was there nothing else?”

  So he was right. The letter she wanted was not among the ones he’d found. “That is all. I discovered the bundle in one of the trunks. I have been searching in spare moments, too.”

  The sudden suspicious light in those lively dark eyes was all too justified; he knew that. Completely unreasonable of him to wish it weren’t there. To need her to trust him, even though he knew himself to be unworthy of that trust …

  “You have it, don’t you?” She said the words quietly. “Will you use it? Can you truly be so desperate to end my betrothal that you’d humiliate a good man—?”

  “Good God! What is this?” he said, straightening. “I give you my word I do n
ot have any other correspondence of yours. This was all that I found.” He held up a hand as if to take an oath. “Upon my honor, Cecily.”

  She stared into his eyes, and the ire slowly died from her expression. Puzzlement took its place. “But the letter I want, it should be here. There is nowhere else it would be.”

  Rand shrugged. “Perhaps he did not keep it.”

  “No, no, I know he kept it.” She held up the small stack of letters. “I even saw him put it in here.”

  “Maybe he took it out. Perhaps he destroyed it before he died,” said Rand. “There are any number of possible explanations.”

  Slowly, Cecily said, “Or Lavinia could have found it.”

  “Lavinia?” Rand straightened. “You mean Lady Davenport?”

  “She was the one who sold you those papers, was she not?”

  He frowned. “Yes. I suppose she could have taken it. But why should she? And how would she have had time?”

  And what else might the countess have taken?

  Christ! The implications didn’t bear thinking about. Of course, it was unlikely the countess would know what she’d stumbled across, but still …

  “First we must finish going through those trunks,” said Cecily. “If that fails, I will find a way to search Lavinia’s things. I know her secret hiding place. If she has anything to conceal, it will be there.”

  He would need to be there, too. “Her London residence?”

  Cecily’s eyes narrowed. “I believe so. I believe that if she has my letter and wants to use it against me, she will use it any day now. I wonder what price she might demand in exchange.”

  “I suppose I need hardly tell you my services are at your command.”

  She glanced at him. “Thank you, but it would be easier for me to conduct a search on one of my visits there.”

  He smoothed a hand over the blanket beside him. “And are you going to tell me what is in that letter? What can you have written as a child that would be so damaging to you now?”

  She looked away from him, staring out over the peace of the water. Then she looked back. “I was young and stupid and something of a rebel. My parents had chosen this man to marry me, a man years and years older than I. Well, I was spoiled and silly and I wrote a little book. A satire lampooning the Duke of Norland. I called him Sir Ninian Finian the hapless knight and invented a series of madcap adventures for him. He got into all sorts of hot water, from which the precocious Henrietta Peddlethorpe rescued him.”