A Duchess to Remember (15 page)

“So unfortunate!” said Rosamund as they walked together in Hyde Park. The sun shone from a blue sky, and a light breeze ruffled Rosamund’s golden curls. “I should dearly love to go, if only to see the sparks fly.”

“I can’t imagine what you mean,” said Cecily airily. “I shall behave with utmost propriety, as I always do.”

“Ha!” said Rosamund. “You could not even dance with him last night without fighting with him.
I
saw those dagger looks of yours, even if no one else noticed.”

“Nonsense! We engaged in lively debate about impersonal topics, that is all,” said Cecily. She could not possibly explain her association with Ashburn. Rosamund was a born romantic. She’d resume urging Cecily to reconsider her betrothal.

“I wonder what is behind the invitation?” said Rosamund.

“Behind it?” said Cecily innocently.

“Oh, come now, Cecily,” said Rosamund, laughing. “Ashburn was clearly smitten with you.”

“I’ll smite him,” Cecily muttered. She dearly wanted to smite
something
. “He sees me as a challenge because I am already spoken for. There is no true feeling there. Why, I hardly know the man!”

Rosamund frowned. “One would think he’d at least wait until the knot was tied between you and Norland before approaching you. I cannot like the way he is pursuing you so openly.” Rosamund gave her parasol a thoughtful twirl. “I confess I am surprised at him. I never thought he was the sort of man to prey on innocents.”

Rosamund thought Ashburn wished to strike up a liaison with Cecily? Startled, she put her hand on her cousin’s arm. “No, no, you mistake!”

She didn’t know why she felt the need to defend Ashburn’s honor. God knew he had little enough of it to pursue another man’s affianced bride, but …

“He—he wants to marry me,” she blurted out.

“What?”
Rosamund stopped short, staring at her.

Cecily darted a quick glance around. “Ashburn asked me to marry him in the summerhouse last night. Well,” she amended pedantically, “he didn’t ask, precisely. It was more of a command.”

“And what did you say?” asked Rosamund in a hushed, awed tone.

“I said no, of course! What do you think I said? I’m engaged to Norland.”

“Yes, but…” Tact probably held Rosamund silent, but it was clear from her expression that she compared the two men in her mind—and Norland came a very poor second, no doubt. That made Cecily scowl all the more.

She erupted into speech. “You know, I think it very hard that I’m the only one of us all who hasn’t made the least fuss or bother about accepting the man chosen for me. Everything was going smoothly until Ashburn came along. And now you all want me to throw Norland over for that—that
coxcomb
of a duke!”

Rosamund’s astonishment gave way to a considering look. “Cecily?”

“Yes?”

“When did you meet the Duke of Ashburn? I didn’t know the two of you were acquainted.”

“We’re not. Well, we are only slightly acquainted.” Cecily tried not to remember that kiss, because it would make her blush and then what would Rosamund think?

“And the duke proposed marriage, just like that?” Rosamund frowned. “He must be in love with you. Or at least, he must believe himself in love.”

Love? The mere mention of it terrified Cecily. “Good God, no! Ashburn needs a wife and for some odd reason, he has decided I will do. Like any man, once he gets a notion in his head, he won’t give it up for anything. Indeed,” she added, “I’ll wager he had no thought at all of marriage until the betrothal was announced.”

The perceptive way Rosamund eyed her made Cecily uncomfortable. “You make him sound quite stupid and pigheaded,” Rosamund said. “And yet I hear his intellect is extraordinary.”

“What has his intellect got to do with it?” said Cecily. “Lord knows when it comes to women, even the cleverest men do the stupidest things. Not that I accept he is clever.
I
have seen no evidence of superior intelligence in my dealings with him.”

“To be sure,” said Rosamund, blinking a little. “If that is your opinion of him, why are you going to this house party? Don’t you have engagements in Town?”

Cecily sighed. “The duke canceled them, giving out that I was fatigued by the season and needed country air.”

Cecily hesitated. “Rosamund? When Jonathon died, who told Montford the news?”

Her cousin took a while to answer her, and Cecily belatedly remembered that Rosamund had been very fond of Jonathon. He might have been Cecily’s brother, but he was Rosamund’s cousin, too.

“I don’t recall,” Rosamund said at last. “At least, I doubt I ever knew. The duke seems to hear these things on the wind. Why?”

Cecily shook her head. “Never mind.”

Rosamund gave her arm a comforting squeeze. And with a swiftness that took her unawares, Cecily’s throat ached. The pain of losing Jonathon was like an old wound that would never quite heal.

She couldn’t talk about it, so she smiled brightly and changed the subject. “But do tell me, dearest, since I shall not be there next week: What will you wear to Lady Bamfrey’s picnic?”

*   *   *

As soon as he returned from Lady Cecily’s ball, Rand wrote to the steward at his country estate, giving orders for his house to be prepared for a small party of guests.

He had no qualms about the ridiculously short amount of time he’d granted his staff to make the necessary arrangements. That’s what they were trained for, after all. That’s why he paid them such handsome wages.

His servants saw to the mundanities of life while he kept his mind on higher subjects.

Matters of state, for example. The welfare of his tenants. The management of no fewer than five estates and various properties in London. The progress of his protégés in their scientific and exploratory endeavors. The manifold demands of his extensive family.

He had a mountain of important, high-minded work he must see to at once if he wanted to devote himself to Lady Cecily at the forthcoming party.

And yet … He scrutinized his surroundings with dissatisfaction.

Was that really the best they could do with flowers in the great hall? He didn’t know the first thing about floral arrangements, but it seemed to him that he’d seen far more impressive displays at other gentlemen’s houses.

Those gentlemen had wives, he reminded himself, or sisters or daughters. Ladies who listed flower arrangement among their accomplishments. Not busy, efficient housekeepers who strove more for propriety than artistic flair.

It would be tactless and possibly futile to request Mrs. Juteney to improve upon her work.

But what about the furniture, now? All at once, the dark mahogany upholstered in deep green and burgundy seemed heavy and somber, though he’d lived comfortably with these pieces all his life.

There was no time—not even for him—to refurnish the house before his guests arrived. But as he strode about the place, he saw it through new eyes. Eyes that grew increasingly critical the longer he looked.

Anglesby Park was splendid in its proportions and grand in its appointments, but it lacked a certain almost indefinable something: The feminine touch.

His stringent appraisal took on an edge of rueful self-mockery. He’d wanted to impress Lady Cecily by inviting her here, hadn’t he? Perhaps she’d be appalled instead.

He was not one to wring his hands over what he couldn’t help, however. If and when she married him, he’d give Cecily carte blanche to redecorate the house to her taste. And it was a magnificent house, even if its grandeur might be considered a little old-fashioned.

His butler and his housekeeper had matters well in hand, so Rand went to his library and threw himself into work. He needed to clear his schedule completely to make room for a far more pleasant task: wooing Lady Cecily Westruther.

*   *   *

Despite all his preparations, Lady Cecily’s arrival took Rand by surprise.

He had issued the invitation to this house party in the vague manner in which these things were usually done. Nothing so precise as a date was ever set, for that would be vulgar in the extreme. One opened one’s house, and guests came and went as they pleased.

Why it had been fixed in his head that no one would arrive until tomorrow at the earliest, he had no idea. Perhaps because today was a Sunday?

He’d underestimated Lady Cecily’s enthusiasm, it seemed. He only wished that enthusiasm was for him and not the contents of his attics.

Her early arrival was not the only surprise in store for him. An older lady, fearsomely elegant in a bronze carriage dress, accompanied her.

“Lady Arden.” He bowed. “What a delightful surprise.”

Her fine eyebrows flexed at that. The last time their paths had crossed, his primary concern was to deflect her attempts to marry him off. Now, those attempts would be more than welcome, if channeled in the correct direction. He must contrive to have a private conversation with her.

Lady Cecily curtsied, but there was a frown in her eyes. She looked from him to Lady Arden “You are acquainted, then?”

“My sweet child,” said Lady Arden, smiling benignly upon them both. “I am the dear boy’s aunt.”

“First cousin once removed,” corrected Rand, smoothly ignoring Lady Cecily’s hot, accusatory look. “On my mother’s side.”

Resentment settled over Lady Cecily’s face and he’d no doubt it was directed solely at him.

He regarded her in amusement. He didn’t know what the girl thought
he’d
done; he’d not the least idea she intended to bring Lady Arden as chaperone. If anyone had deceived her, it was Lady Arden herself. Or Montford, perhaps.

Now, there was a thought.

“I don’t know why you ought to be so surprised, Cecily,” said Lady Arden. “I am related to half the peers in the country, after all.”

“That is true,” Rand said apologetically.

And he would take the utmost advantage of his relationship with Cecily’s chaperone, assuming he’d find an ally in that lady.

One never knew, though. Lady Arden would do almost anything to further her family’s interests, particularly when it came to marriage. There was a ruthlessness beneath her charm that so many men underestimated—to their peril. But she also believed strongly in honor and duty. She might refuse to upset a betrothal that was already in place.

Well, time would tell which way she might bend. If she came out against him, he didn’t doubt his ability to match wits with Her Ladyship and win.

Belatedly, he recalled his invitation to Norland. “And where is your betrothed, Lady Cecily? Seeing to the horses? My grooms will do all that.” He glanced beyond her through the front door but saw no sign of the duke.

“Oh, His Grace is not here yet,” said Cecily. “He had business in Cambridge that will delay his arrival a day or two.”

“Neglecting you for dull research, Lady Cecily?” said Rand.

“Not at all,” she returned with a bland look. “He has a commission to execute for me, that is all.”

There wasn’t a trace of defensiveness in her tone and he accepted that his shot had hit wide of the mark. Her alliance with Norland wasn’t a love match, after all. The lady had no reason to be possessive or particular. She was unlikely to be needled by any lack of feeling her fiancé might display toward her.

For the first time, he wondered what it said about Lady Cecily that she should so readily accept a marriage that had no basis in love. Not only accept it, but steadfastly hold on to it in defiance of the undeniable passion she felt for Rand.

Lost in remembrance of that passion, he wasn’t aware of his housekeeper’s presence until Mrs. Juteney gave a discreet cough.

“Ah! Yes. And here is Mrs. Juteney to show you to your chambers.”

“Thank you.” Lady Arden smiled at the housekeeper and stripped off her gloves. “Then tea, I think?”

Rand bowed. “Yes, of course. Tea on the terrace, please, Mrs. Juteney. Shall we say, in half an hour?”

*   *   *

Cecily longed to steal up to the attics and search for Jonathon’s papers as soon as she’d arrived at Anglesby Park. But that would be neither polite nor practicable. As Ashburn had remarked, there must be acres of attic in this house.

So she washed and changed her traveling costume for a cherry-striped gown and donned a chip straw hat with a wide ribbon that tied beneath her chin. Then she went down to join her host and her chaperone on the terrace.

She resisted the urge to avoid Ashburn’s brilliant gaze. He surveyed her with appreciation, even amusement. Did he guess how she champed at the bit to get down to the business of her visit. Did he know how utterly suffocating she found the conventions that bound her?

As she sipped tea out of a translucently delicate china cup and made genteel conversation, Cecily realized she’d rarely felt more discomfited in her life. Every phrase Ashburn uttered, no matter how innocent, seemed charged with innuendo.

Lady Arden might rattle on about town gossip, but Cecily wasn’t fooled. Despite her air of nonchalance, Lady Arden watched them both closely, as if awaiting confirmation of an opinion. Had Ashburn informed her of his intentions? Perhaps Montford had set her to watch them, perhaps even promote Ashburn’s cause. That would be just like the wily duke.

Whatever the case, Cecily felt harried, challenged, measured, and scrutinized, none of which soothed her temper.

Ashburn, on the other hand, appeared at ease, which she hotly resented. She realized with surprise that this was the first time she’d seen him in daylight.

He had gallantly taken the seat facing the sun, so that when he turned his head to look at her, the sunlight danced in his eyes, burnishing them to gold.

Those eyes,
Cecily thought with a faint, delicious shiver. They looked almost wild in their glittering intensity. By contrast, the natural light gentled the sharp contours of his face, making him appear younger and more relaxed. A young, virile lion lazing in the sun.

So at ease was their host, he even went so far as to laugh at one of Lady Arden’s witticisms. A burning streak of jealousy shot through Cecily. She wished
she’d
made him laugh like that.