Chapter 5
Five
L ady Audrey,
Our wedding date has been set for one month after your debut. There is no need for us to be seen together by the ton before the ceremony, as the engagement is known to all and no further acquaintance is necessary. Such interactions would serve no purpose, and I trust that you agree.
Sincerely,
The Duke of Haremore.
Audrey sighed, folding the old letter carefully before placing it back in the small box on her escritoire. Even after all these years, the memory of her seventeen-year-old self receiving the note still left her feeling hollow. Her parents had insisted that she and the Duke get to know each other before the wedding, but the formal tone of his letter had made it clear that he viewed their impending union as nothing more than a contractual obligation.
She rested her chin in her hand, her thoughts drifting back further to the first time they met. She had been eager to impress but barely able to contain her exuberance.
Her heart thudded against her ribs as her nursemaid tied the pale green cummerbund around her white frock. She fidgeted, her hands gripping the sides of the vanity chair. “Is he here yet?” she asked breathlessly.
Before her nursemaid could answer, Lilianna burst into the nursery, her face alight with excitement. “He’s here! The Duke is here!”
Audrey jumped up, nearly toppling the chair, earning a sharp look from her nursemaid.
“You will sit still, My Lady, or this will never be finished,” the woman scolded, tugging the cummerbund tight.
Audrey gritted her teeth but remained still, her legs twitching with the need to move. As soon as the nursemaid released her, she dashed to the door, nearly colliding with Lilianna in the doorway.
“Lady Audrey!” her stepmother’s voice rang out, firm yet calm.
Audrey skidded to a halt, straightening her posture as Grace approached her in the hallway.
“Sorry, Mama,” she murmured, clasping her hands in front of her.
Grace tilted her head, her eyes softening. “You must remember, my dear, you are going to meet the Duke of Haremore. He is your betrothed, a guest in this house, and you must conduct yourself with the utmost decorum.”
“Yes, Mama.” Audrey nodded solemnly, though her heart continued to flutter excitedly.
“Come along,” Grace said, offering her hand. “The Duke is waiting for you in the drawing room. Present yourself as a lady, not a rambunctious child.”
Audrey’s cheeks flushed, but she followed her stepmother down the grand staircase. As they approached the drawing room, she could hear the low murmur of her father’s voice and the crackling of the fire. When they entered, her gaze was immediately drawn to the tall man standing with his back to them, his hands clasped behind him as he faced the flames.
“Your Grace,” her stepmother said with a slow curtsy. “May I present my stepdaughter, Lady Audrey Winslow.”
The Duke turned, and Audrey’s breath caught. He was tall and striking, his dark hair and sharp features giving him a commanding presence. She had never seen anyone quite like him.
Gathering her wits, she dropped into a curtsy, lowering her gaze as her nursemaid had taught her.
“Your Grace,” she said, her voice a little too loud in the quiet room.
“Lady Audrey,” he replied coolly, inclining his head. He made no move to take her hand, let alone kiss it, and she straightened with a slight frown.
“Are you not going to take my hand?” she asked, tilting her head in curiosity.
Grace’s grip on her shoulder tightened.
The Duke’s lips twitched faintly, though not in amusement. “It is not necessary.”
Audrey furrowed her brow, but then she pressed on. “Is it because I have yet to come out and you don’t consider me a proper lady?”
The faintest flicker of something passed over his face—perhaps surprise or annoyance.
“It is because I was invited to meet you,” he said evenly. “And I am honoring that invitation.”
Audrey crossed her arms over her chest, wrinkling her nose in displeasure.
You’re here to inspect me, and to condescend.
“Lady Audrey!” Grace’s voice held a warning note, but Audrey gave her a contrite smile.
“I am sorry, Mama,” she said sweetly before turning back to the Duke. “Would you care to sit?”
She smoothed her skirts and sat down on the sofa with impeccable grace. The Duke hesitated briefly before lowering himself into a nearby chair. His movements were deliberate, his expression unreadable as he studied her. Audrey held her head high, determined to prove herself equal to this strange man.
“What is Oxford like?” she asked suddenly, her curiosity outweighing her decorum.
His eyebrow rose slightly. “Perhaps you should visit and find out.”
“I suppose I might,” she said airily. “But I have heard it’s terribly cold.”
“And terribly demanding,” he added, his tone faintly sardonic.
Audrey gave him a cheeky smile. “Then it suits you perfectly.”
To her astonishment, a quiet laugh escaped his lips, soft and unexpected. Her smile widened, though she noted with some satisfaction how quickly he regained his composure.
The arrival of tea interrupted the moment.
Audrey leaped to her feet, eager to show off her skills. She poured the tea carefully, her hands steady on the teapot. “How do you take your tea, Your Grace?” she asked primly.
“Plain,” he replied, watching her with an inscrutable expression.
She handed him a cup, her movements slow and deliberate. As he accepted it, he raised an eyebrow. “I am surprised you did not spill it.”
Audrey bristled, her spine straightening. “I can pour tea, play the pianoforte, embroider, and paint.”
“Impressive,” he said, though his tone was laced with dry amusement. “Shall I commission a portrait from you?”
“I could paint you with my eyes closed,” she declared, lifting her chin.
“How romantic,” he murmured, his sarcasm evident.
Audrey pressed her lips together, her cheeks burning with indignation.
Charming? Not in the slightest. He is insufferable.
She decided right then and there that there was no chance she would ever find him agreeable.
Audrey blinked now, the memory dissolving as she returned to the present. The letter still lay on her desk, a reminder of the man who had remained as detached at thirty as he had been at twenty.
Rising from her escritoire, she crossed to the door, her hand pausing on the handle.
Should I find him? she wondered as the cold from the castle walls seeped further into her skin.
Cedric pinched the bridge of his nose, glaring at the stack of papers on his desk. The figures blurred together, meaningless against the incessant irritation gnawing at him. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling through clenched teeth. The study, his sanctuary for years, no longer offered the solace it once did.
She was everywhere.
He could hear her voice floating down the hall, light and melodic as she conversed with the staff. Laughter occasionally punctured the quiet, a sound so foreign to Haremore Castle that it set his teeth on edge. And her scent—delicate, floral, maddening—seemed to cling to the very walls. Even now, he caught the faintest trace of it, as if mocking his attempts to focus.
He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping across the floor. His study suddenly felt too small, too close. A walk around the garden might have cleared his head, but the snow continued to fall relentlessly, trapping him within the very walls he had once chosen for solitude.
With a low growl, he stalked to the door, intent on escaping to… anywhere but here.
Then he heard it—the strains of music drifting through the hallways. The pianoforte.
Cedric stilled, his hand hovering over the doorknob. He hadn’t heard the instrument being played since his sister’s passing. His jaw tightened at the unexpected flood of memories, but the melody beckoned him, light and deft. Against his better judgment, he followed the sound.
The drawing room door was slightly ajar, and he paused outside, his hand resting on the frame. There she was, the Duchess, sitting on the piano bench. Her back was to him, her posture straight but relaxed as her fingers danced effortlessly over the keys. The firelight cast a warm glow on her figure, and the soft swish of her skirts as she moved with the music filled the room.
Cedric crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. The Duchess played with a skill that was both practiced and instinctive, her focus entirely on the music. The melody shifted, bright and lively, as though the very castle itself had come alive under her touch. He had to admit—though begrudgingly—that it was beautiful.
Her hands stilled on the keys, and the last note hung in the air before fading into silence.
Before he could stop himself, he spoke, “You play beautifully.”
The Duchess started, turning her head sharply to look at him. Her expression shifted from surprise to neutrality, though a flicker of something softer lingered in her eyes.
“Duke,” she said, “I didn’t hear you.”
“Clearly,” he replied, stepping into the room. “You were rather absorbed.”
Her lips quirked up, the faintest hint of amusement in her expression. “I thought I was alone.”
“So did I,” he said, his voice clipped, though his gaze remained on her.
She arched an eyebrow, her hands resting lightly on the keys. “Have I disturbed you?”
“You might say that,” he muttered, his eyes flicking to the pianoforte. “I didn’t know that you played.”
“There are many things you don’t know about me, Duke,” she said lightly, turning her attention back to the instrument.
“That much is obvious.” Cedric stepped closer, his hands clasped behind his back. “Do you play often?”
“When I have the opportunity,” she replied. “It’s a rare moment of peace.”
“Peace,” he echoed dryly. “And yet here you are, disrupting mine.”
She tilted her head slightly, the corners of her mouth quirking up. “I find that hard to believe. Surely, Duke, you do not allow a bit of music to unsettle you.”
He furrowed his brow. “This castle has lived in silence for years. Your arrival has changed that.”
“Is that such a terrible thing?” she asked, her voice softening.
Cedric looked at her, his eyes narrowing. “The servants seem to think not. They are utterly bewitched by you.”
The Duchess let out a small laugh, leaning slightly against the pianoforte. “They’re kind. That’s all.”
“They are insufferably cheerful,” he countered. “This castle was not built for such… levity.”
She straightened, meeting his gaze with quiet defiance. “Perhaps it’s time it was.”
The remark struck a nerve, and his jaw tightened. “You presume much, Duchess.”
“And you say very little, Duke,” she retorted, her voice calm.
Silence fell between them, tense and electric. The fire crackled in the hearth, the sound filling the space as they stared at each other. Cedric’s thoughts churned, caught between admiration for her poise and the nagging desire to send her away.
“Good night, Duke,” the Duchess said at last, her tone polite as she rose gracefully from the bench. She dipped into a shallow curtsy, her gaze lingering on his for a moment longer than necessary.
He inclined his head stiffly. “Good night, Duchess.”
She turned and walked toward the door, her skirts brushing softly against the floor. The scent of her perfume lingered in her wake, faint but persistent.
Cedric remained where he stood, watching the door click shut behind her. He exhaled slowly, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.
She was captivating, infuriating, and entirely too present in his thoughts.
I need her gone.