Chapter 16
Sixteen
“… I
am telling you, Mr. Whittaker, she is not fine,” Cedric’s voice rumbled, firm and unyielding. “She is pale—unnaturally so—and I am certain she has a fever.”
“Your Grace,” the physician replied, his voice calm but laced with a note of growing impatience. “The Duchess has endured a significant ordeal. It is entirely expected for her to appear fatigued. Rest and warmth will see her right.”
Audrey’s eyes fluttered open, the soft murmur of voices pulling her out of the haze of sleep. Her body felt heavy, as though the bedclothes were made of iron rather than cotton and wool. The warmth of the room was a welcome balm against her exhaustion, but even as she stirred, her limbs protested weakly.
She blinked slowly, the morning light pressing against her eyes, sharp and unwelcome. The fire in the room cast long shadows, and her gaze swept unsteadily over the blurred figures near the door. As her vision adjusted, she recognized one of them—Cedric, his dark silhouette unmistakable.
“She is not usually this pale,” Cedric continued, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His voice was tense, the cords in his neck visible as he glared at the smaller man standing before him. “And I felt her forehead earlier. She was too warm, I am sure of it.”
The physician gave a slight bow of his head. “Your Grace, I assure you, I have seen no signs of fever?—”
“Cedric,” Audrey rasped.
Both men turned at once, their argument dissolving as they moved toward her. Cedric’s face, usually so composed, was etched with concern so palpable that it made her chest tighten.
“You’re awake,” he said, his voice softening as he sat on the edge of the bed.
Audrey’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Barely,” she murmured, her voice hoarse. “It seems I am more trouble than I intended to be.”
Cedric furrowed his brow and turned his head slightly to the physician. “Do you see? She can barely speak.”
“Her Grace’s voice is weak from exhaustion, nothing more,” the physician replied. “With nourishment and time, she will recover her strength.”
Audrey let out a soft sigh, glancing up at Cedric, who looked as though he might launch into another round of protests.
“I am alive, Cedric,” she said, her voice steadier now. “I am warm and tired, but otherwise, I am well.”
His jaw tensed, and for a moment, he said nothing, his dark eyes scanning her face as though searching for some hidden ailment the physician had overlooked. Finally, he exhaled, his broad shoulders relaxing by a fraction.
“Very well,” he muttered, though his tone suggested he was still unconvinced. Turning to the door, he called out to a maid passing in the hallway. “Have hot soup sent up immediately,” he ordered, before returning his focus to Audrey. “Are you warm enough? Shall I call for more blankets?”
Audrey’s lips quirked up slightly. “You fuss more than Mrs. Potts, and that is no small feat.”
“I have every reason to fuss,” he replied. “You nearly froze to death, Audrey.”
The bluntness of his words silenced her. His face was serious, his eyes holding a depth of emotion that made her pulse stutter. She wanted to argue, to make light of her condition, but something about his expression stopped her. Instead, she nodded slowly, offering him a small, reassuring smile.
“I will eat,” she said gently. “And I will rest. But only if you stop glaring at Mr. Whittaker.”
Cedric’s mouth twitched, though whether in amusement or exasperation, she couldn’t tell.
“The physician has been dismissed,” he said firmly, rising and stepping toward the door.
Mr. Whittaker took the opportunity to bow quickly and excuse himself, leaving the room in swift, almost relieved silence.
Cedric returned to the bed, lowering himself into the chair beside her. When the maid arrived moments later with the tray of soup, he took it from her hands and dismissed her with a nod. He carefully placed the tray on the bedside table and adjusted the pillows behind Audrey, helping her sit up slightly.
“Thank you,” she murmured, lifting the spoon to her lips.
The warmth of the soup spread through her, chasing away the chill in her bones. She glanced at him, his face still etched with concern.
“Tell me about your adventures,” she said suddenly, her tone light. “The real ones.”
His eyebrow rose slightly. “The real ones?”
“Yes,” she said, a teasing lilt in her voice. “I refuse to believe that a man like you has not seen the world beyond our borders. Surely, there are stories that would scandalize even the boldest of the ton.”
Cedric let out a low chuckle, leaning back in his chair. “Very well,” he said, his voice carrying a note of reluctant humor. “There was one journey when I was younger. My father insisted I travel to broaden my horizons.”
“And did your horizons broaden?” she asked, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement.
“Perhaps more than he intended,” Cedric replied. “I spent several months in the Far East. Japan, specifically. It was there that I met a monk who offered to teach me discipline.”
Audrey’s eyebrows shot up, her curiosity piqued. “Discipline? Surely, that wasn’t necessary. You are the most disciplined man I know.”
Cedric’s lips curled into a wry smile. “That is because you did not know me back then. The monk insisted I fast for nine days. It was, as he put it, the first step toward true clarity.”
Audrey’s laughter was soft but genuine, her weariness momentarily forgotten. “Nine days? Cedric, you must have starved.”
“The first three days were…” He paused, his gaze distant for a moment. “Gruesome. But by the ninth day, I felt lighter. Renewed, even. As though something in me had shifted.”
Audrey studied him, her heart stirring at the rare glimpse into a part of him she hadn’t known. “Do you still practice what he taught you?”
“Not as often as I should,” he admitted, his tone faintly rueful. “But I remember his lessons well. He believed that true strength lay not in the body, but in the mind.”
“And what did you believe?” she asked softly.
Cedric met her gaze, his dark eyes steady. “I believed,” he said after a moment, “that the mind and the heart are far more intertwined than he cared to admit.”
Audrey’s chest tightened at his words, her pulse quickening as his gaze lingered on hers. For a moment, the room felt smaller, the space between them charged with tension.
“Tell me more,” she whispered.
Cedric regarded her for a moment, as though debating whether to continue, then leaned back in his chair, his broad shoulders relaxing slightly.
“From Japan, I traveled to Prussia,” he continued, his voice low but steady. “A land as starkly different from Japan as night from day. If Japan was a masterclass in discipline, then Prussia was an unending carnival of indulgence.”
Audrey tilted her head, intrigued. “Indulgence? Surely, not all the noblemen were as debauched as you make them sound.”
Cedric’s lips quirked up faintly, a ghost of a smile. “You’d be surprised, Duchess. Their court is a viper’s nest—every handshake, every smile hides a blade. It was not uncommon to hear whispered warnings to beware of the drink offered to you. One had to choose carefully whose hospitality to accept.”
Audrey’s eyes widened, her spoon pausing midair. “Poisoning?” she asked, her voice high-pitched with shock. “Surely not.”
“Oh, it is more common than you think,” Cedric replied with a dry laugh. “The coward’s way to eliminate an opponent, but it has been effective for centuries. The Romans perfected the art of it.”
Audrey shook her head, half in disbelief. “So, all the while you mingled with these people, you had to watch every sip you took?”
“Indeed,” Cedric said. “It was starkly different from Japan. There, I learned discipline, restraint, and even humility. In Prussia, it was a matter of survival to do the opposite—to feign camaraderie while trusting no one. The atmosphere nearly unraveled every lesson I had learned in the East.”
Audrey set her empty bowl aside, her blue eyes bright with interest. “I cannot imagine you indulging in such debauchery, Cedric.”
“Of course not,” he said, his tone lighter now. “I played my part—listened, observed—but I was no participant in their games. My father would have been horrified had I brought such habits back to England.”
She laughed and reached to lift the tray from her lap.
Cedric immediately got to his feet and removed the tray. “You’ve finished your soup.”
Audrey nodded, sitting back against the pillows. “It was wonderful. You are quite the caretaker, Cedric.”
He smiled faintly but didn’t reply. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze distant. She recognized the shift in him instantly, the way his body seemed to hold tension even though he appeared composed.
“Your father,” she said softly. “What was he like?”
Cedric’s expression shifted, the humor fading from his features. He lowered his gaze briefly before meeting hers again. “My father was a complicated man,” he said at last. “He loved deeply—too deeply, perhaps. When my mother and sister…” He paused, swallowing hard. “When they died, it broke him.”
Audrey frowned, her eyebrows knitting together in concern. “What happened to her?”
Cedric’s jaw tightened, and for a long moment, he was silent. Then, with a slow exhale, he said, “I owe you an apology, Audrey, for taking you to the lake. For what happened.”
“It was not your fault,” she interjected quickly. “You couldn’t have known?—”
“But I should have,” Cedric said, his voice firm, his eyes dark with guilt. “That lake… it has taken too much from my family already. I should have known better than to take you there.”
Audrey tilted her head, curious and apprehensive. “Taken?” she echoed softly. “Cedric, what do you mean?”
His throat worked as he swallowed again, his gaze distant. “My mother,” he said finally. “She drowned in that lake—” He stopped, the words stuck in his throat.
Audrey’s heart twisted. “She… went swimming?” she asked tentatively.
Cedric shook his head, his expression haunted. “No. She walked into the water, fully clothed, and let it take her. She had been melancholy for months after Cecilia…” he trailed off, his voice cracking slightly. “After my sister died.”
Audrey’s breath caught, her hand flying to her mouth. “Cedric,” she gasped, horrified. “I had no idea.”
His lips pressed into a thin line, his composure slipping further. “I was the one who found her,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “Her body was floating near the edge, her skirts caught in the reeds. I can still see her face, even now.”
Audrey reached out instinctively, her fingers curling around his hand. The pain etched on his features was almost unbearable to witness.
“She was never the same after Cecilia,” Cedric continued, his voice steadier now, though still heavy with grief. “And Cecilia… her death was no accident either.”
Audrey furrowed her brow. “I thought she…” She hesitated, unwilling to repeat the rumors she had heard in hushed whispers.
Cedric nodded grimly. “She was humiliated by the ton. Seduced, shamed, ostracized. When she saw no way forward, she…” His voice cracked again, and he turned his head, unable to meet her gaze. “She ended her life, Audrey. And I had to keep it quiet, for her sake. If the ton had known, they would have torn her memory apart—ridiculed her even in death.”
Audrey’s heart ached for him, for the burden he had carried alone for so long. She tightened her grip on his hand, her voice firm but gentle. “It was not your fault, Cedric.”
He let out a bitter laugh, his gaze still averted. “Wasn’t it? I was her brother. I should have protected her, defended her. Instead, I let her face that world alone.”
“You were a boy,” Audrey said softly. “You could not have stopped the cruelty of the ton.”
Cedric finally looked at her, his eyes shadowed with guilt and grief. “And yet I tried to, after the fact. I buried the truth, ensured that her name was left out of the scandal sheets. But it wasn’t enough. I failed her, and my mother, and my father.”
Audrey frowned. “Your father?”
Cedric nodded slowly. “He drank himself into an early grave, unable to bear the loss. I begged him to stop, tried to reason with him, but he had given up long before the liquor killed him.”
Audrey’s chest felt tight, her heart breaking for the man before her. His grief, his guilt—it was a burden no one should bear alone.
“Cedric,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You have carried so much.”
He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “I thought I could bury it. Avoid it. But when I saw you fall into that lake…” he trailed off. “For one terrifying moment, I thought I had lost you too.”
Audrey’s breath hitched, her heart pounding as his words settled over her.
“I am telling you this,” Cedric said, his voice steadier now, though his eyes still shone with vulnerability, “because I want you to understand. I will help you restore your sister’s reputation, Audrey. I will do everything in my power to clear her name. But after that…” He paused, his expression hardening. “After that, we will return to living separate lives.”
What?