Chapter 19
Nineteen
T he words in Cecilia’s diary haunted Audrey, etching themselves into her mind like lines on a page.
The shame I carry is too heavy to bear. Would that I could vanish entirely, and perhaps the world would be better for it.
She sat at the breakfast table, her fingers tracing the delicate rim of her porcelain teacup. The room was quiet save for the soft clinking of silverware against china and the distant murmur of wind beyond the frosted windows. Yet, in the silence, her thoughts were deafening.
She swallowed hard before forcing herself to take a sip of her tea. She had spent half the night poring over the fragile, faded script, each entry revealing a young woman who had loved too deeply, trusted too wholly, and paid dearly for it. The rawness made Audrey’s chest tighten with both sorrow and indignation. And now, as she glanced across the table, her gaze fell on Cedric.
He sat rigidly, his broad shoulders hunched slightly over a newspaper spread before him, the morning sunlight catching the unruly waves of his black hair. His plate lay half-forgotten at his elbow, steam lazily curling up from his tea. He looked absorbed, his brow furrowed in concentration, though now and again his gaze darted toward her, as if he felt her attention on him.
Was this man—this brusque, enigmatic duke—truly the same boy Cecilia had written about? How much of the Cedric she knew had been shaped by the tragedies that had unfolded within his family? The man before her, so guarded and stoic, suddenly felt more like a riddle she yearned to solve.
“You seem distracted this morning.” Cedric’s voice broke through her reverie, smooth, deep, and faintly inquisitive.
Audrey blinked, her fingers pausing on the rim of her teacup. “Am I?” she replied, a polite smile gracing her lips. “I was merely contemplating the journey ahead.”
Cedric raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching faintly. “The journey? Surely not daunting for someone like you.”
“Perhaps not,” she replied, letting her fingers trace the edge of the saucer. “But I have never traveled with you.”
His hand stilled over the newspaper, and his gaze rose to meet hers. “No, you haven’t.”
He studied her for a moment, his dark eyes searching.
“You’re worried about your sister,” he said.
It was not a question, but a statement.
Audrey nodded, her smile fading. “I am,” she admitted softly. “The longer we delay, the more damage is done to her reputation.”
Cedric set down his newspaper, his expression softening slightly. “We will leave for London tomorrow,” he said. “The roads should be clear enough by then.”
Relief washed over Audrey. Part of her had grown accustomed to the quiet solitude of Haremore Castle, to the tentative understanding that had begun to form between her and Cedric. But Lilianna needed her, and that took precedence over any personal feelings.
“Thank you,” she said, meeting his gaze. “I appreciate your willingness to help.”
Cedric’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “It is the right thing to do,” he replied, his tone measured. “No one should suffer as…” he trailed off.
But Audrey knew what he was going to say. Cecilia.
An uncomfortable silence settled over the table. Audrey wanted to reach out, to offer some form of comfort, but she hesitated. How could she console him for a loss she had only just begun to understand?
Instead, she cleared her throat softly. “Shall we discuss our strategy for London?” she asked, her tone deliberately light. “We’ll need to present a united front if we’re to sway public opinion in Lilianna’s favor.”
Cedric nodded, seeming grateful for the change of topic. “Indeed,” he said. “Perhaps even host a small gathering ourselves.”
Audrey’s eyebrows rose slightly, but she knew the sarcasm in his voice all too well. “You would be willing to host?”
A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I am not entirely opposed to social gatherings, despite what you may think. However, I have reservations about hosting an event for the ton. I’m not as eager as you to open my house to them.”
Audrey raised an eyebrow. “Oh, come now, Cedric. Are you worried they might not appreciate your impeccable taste in decor?”
Cedric chuckled at her teasing. “Worried about my taste in decor? Hardly. I have a duchess with impeccable taste to handle such matters.”
Audrey felt a flush of warmth at his words, though she tried to keep her expression neutral. “Oh? And here I thought you found my taste too extravagant for your austere sensibilities.”
“Extravagant, perhaps,” Cedric replied, his voice dropping slightly as he leaned forward. “But undeniably exquisite.”
Their gazes locked, and Audrey felt her breath catch in her throat. There was an intensity in Cedric’s eyes that sent a shiver down her spine. She found herself leaning in as well, drawn by some invisible force.
“I’m glad you approve,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Though I wonder what other aspects of me you find… exquisite.”
Cedric’s lips parted slightly, his eyes darkening. “Audrey, I?—”
A soft cough interrupted them, and both turned to see Potts standing in the doorway, his expression as impassive as ever.
“Pardon the interruption, Your Grace,” he said to Cedric. “But Mr. Farley, the steward, has arrived and is waiting in your study.”
Cedric straightened, clearing his throat. “Thank you, Potts. I’ll be there shortly.”
Potts bowed slightly and retreated, leaving Cedric and Audrey alone once more. The moment that had passed between them lingered in the air, charged and unresolved.
Cedric rose from his chair, picking up his teacup and draining its contents. “I should go,” he said, his voice regaining its usual composure. “I have some estate matters to attend to.”
Audrey nodded, trying to ignore the disappointment that settled in her chest. “Of course,” she replied, forcing a smile.
Cedric hesitated for a moment, his hand resting on the back of his chair. Then, with a gentleness that surprised her, he reached out and brushed his fingers lightly against her cheek.
“Have a good day, Audrey,” he said softly.
Before she could respond, he was gone, leaving her alone with the lingering warmth of his touch and the faint scent of his cologne.
Audrey closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Tomorrow, they would leave for London, and everything would change. But for now, she allowed herself to savor this moment, this fleeting connection that had sparked between them.
Just before noon, Audrey stood outside Cedric’s study, her hand hovering over the door. The faint sound of movement inside made her hesitate, but she reminded herself that she was a duchess.
Nothing perturbs you… except him, perhaps.
With a determined breath, she rapped her knuckles lightly against the wood.
“Enter,” came Cedric’s deep voice.
She pushed the door open, stepping inside with quiet grace.
Cedric stood by the tall window, a letter in hand, his back to her. The light streaming through the glass outlined his broad shoulders, his head inclined slightly as he read. He did not turn around, the silence stretching until Audrey felt compelled to break it.
“Do you always read correspondence while standing?” she asked, her voice deliberately light.
Cedric’s head turned, his expression impassive as he folded the letter with military precision. “I find it more efficient,” he said, his voice carrying just a hint of amusement. “To what do I owe this visit, Audrey?”
Audrey crossed the room with poise, her hands clasped before her. She allowed her gaze to sweep across the space, taking in the dark-paneled walls and austere furnishings.
“If I were to renovate Haremore Castle,” she remarked, the faintest smile curving her lips, “I believe I would start with this study.”
“Would you?” Cedric replied, a hint of humor flickering in his warm brown eyes. “Let me save you the trouble. Do not touch anything in my castle.”
“Not even these dreary draperies?” She arched an eyebrow, feigning disappointment. “Surely they have seen better days.”
“They are perfectly serviceable, and I will not have them subjected to your London whims.”
“Whims?” Audrey placed a hand on her chest, affecting an expression of mock indignation. “You make me sound frightfully capricious.”
“Only because you are,” Cedric replied smoothly, his tone teasing. “Now, why are you here? Surely not because you enjoy my company.”
Her lips twitched, but she refused to let him see her amusement. “Enjoy your company? Hardly. I find you insufferable.”
“And yet here you are,” he countered, leaning casually against the edge of his desk. “Perhaps you’ve come to inform me how much longer I must endure your presence.”
Audrey’s smile faltered for the briefest moment, but she recovered quickly, masking the pang in her chest with a raised chin.
No, I will not enjoy leaving at all.
“Well,” she said, her voice cool but steady, “I thought it prudent to discuss a matter of some importance.”
Her fingers tightened around each other as she readied herself to mention Cecilia’s diary. Yet, as she met his gaze, dark and impenetrable, her resolve wavered. She hesitated, her words dying on her tongue.
The west wing—he had not given her permission to go there. What would he say if he knew that she had found Cecilia’s diary?
He might never forgive me.
Instead, she forced a bright smile. “I’ve come to summon you to dance practice.”
Cedric’s eyebrows rose, his surprise evident. “Dance practice?”
“Yes,” Audrey said with an air of nonchalance, as if this were a perfectly reasonable request. “We are to attend several events together in London, and as we have never danced as husband and wife, I think it wise to rehearse.”
“Rehearse?” he repeated, his tone skeptical. “I assure you, I know how to dance, Audrey.”
“That may be so, but you do not know how to dance with me ,” she pointed out, her voice lilting. “And appearances, as you know, are everything.”
He regarded her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a sigh of mock defeat, he gestured toward the door. “Very well, lead the way.”
Once in the music room, Audrey looked around with a critical eye, her fingers brushing the lacquered top of the pianoforte. “We shall need someone to play for us.”
Cedric leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. “Stevenson plays quite well.”
“Stevenson?” Audrey blinked. “Your valet?”
“He is a man of many talents,” Cedric replied dryly. Turning to Potts, who was hovering discreetly nearby, he added, “Summon him.”
Minutes later, Stevenson entered the room, his expression placid as he approached the pianoforte. He bowed to Audrey before sitting down. “What shall I play, Your Grace?”
“A waltz, if you please,” she replied, glancing at Cedric. “Shall we?”
Cedric extended his hand, and Audrey placed hers atop it, the heat of his palm against her glove causing a curious flutter in her chest. He led her to the center of the room, his movements confident, his grip steady. As the music began, he placed a hand on her waist, pulling her into position.
The first steps were tentative, their movements slightly stiff, but as the melody swelled, they found a rhythm. Cedric’s hand tightened subtly around her waist, guiding her with quiet assurance.
Audrey’s heart rate quickened, her breath hitching as they moved in perfect harmony.
“You’re lighter on your feet than I expected,” she remarked, her tone teasing despite the warmth rising to her cheeks.
“And you’re not as dreadful a partner as I feared,” Cedric replied, his lips quirking up slightly.
Audrey laughed softly, her guard slipping just enough to let her delight show. “Dreadful? You wound me. I’ll have you know that I’m a celebrated dancer.”
“Are you now?” He cocked an eyebrow as he spun her through a turn. “Have you a trophy hidden somewhere in our London townhouse?”
“Not a trophy,” she replied with mock seriousness. “But my name is frequently whispered at balls, always in admiration.”
“Then I shall look forward to hearing that for myself.”
Audrey laughed softly, her gaze rising to meet his. For a moment, the room seemed to fade away, leaving only the music and the steady rhythm of their steps. His eyes, warm and unguarded, held hers, and she felt an ache she could not name, a longing she could not deny.
If only this were real.
“Perhaps,” he said quietly, “there’s more to both of us than we thought.”
Heat rose to her cheeks, and a shiver ran through her. “I believe there is.”
As the waltz drew to a close, their movements slowed, but Cedric’s hand lingered on her waist. Her fingers curled slightly against his shoulder, reluctant to let go. When they finally stepped apart, the spell broke, and Audrey became acutely aware of the hushed murmurs beyond the doorway.
She turned, her cheeks flushing again as she saw the gathered staff watching them with wide eyes.
Mrs. Potts clutched her hands to her chest, beaming. “Oh, Your Grace, what a beautiful sight! I daresay I’ve never seen such a dance.”
Cedric cleared his throat. “Back to work, all of you.”
The staff dispersed quickly, though not without lingering smiles and furtive glances.
Mrs. Potts hesitated, her excitement bubbling over. “I cannot wait for the day you and His Grace host a grand ball here at Haremore.”
Audrey’s smile faltered, guilt pricking her heart. She managed a polite nod, but inside, her deception squeezed her heart.
I won’t be coming back to this castle. How can I tell her?
As Cedric crossed to the door in long, purposeful strides, Audrey remained rooted to the spot, her fingers brushing against the edge of the pianoforte.
This cannot last. And yet… how I wish it could.