Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
A udrey turned sharply to find herself face-to-face with Lady Harriet Munsford, one of the ton’s most notorious gossips. Her eyes were narrowed, and her mouth twisted into a snarl as she focused on Lilianna.
“You have no right to walk among polite society after everything you have done,” Lady Harriet said, her voice dripping with disdain.
Lilianna froze, her face draining of all color. “I…”
Audrey stepped forward, her spine straight and her chin jutted. “Lady Harriet,” she said coolly. “I must ask you to retract your statement immediately.”
Lady Harriet ignored her, pointing a gloved finger at Lilianna. “The ton knows what kind of girl she is.”
“Enough,” Clarise said, her voice trembling but fierce. “You will not speak to my sister that way.”
Lady Harriet’s gaze flicked to Clarise, then to Audrey. “And you—you defend her? How far you have all fallen.”
Before Audrey could reply, a shadow fell over them. Cedric.
His presence was as commanding as ever, his dark gaze fixed coldly on Lady Harriet. She faltered instantly, her bravado wilting under his scrutiny.
“You will apologize,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Now.”
Lady Harriet swallowed visibly. “I-I beg your pardon, Your Grace. I meant no?—”
“Apologize,” he repeated, his voice colder still.
Lady Harriet turned red as a beet. “My apologies,” she stammered. “To you, Your Grace. And to… to your sisters.”
“Thank you,” Audrey said smoothly, watching as Lady Harriet turned and fled, her skirts billowing behind her.
Cedric turned to Lilianna and Clarise. “Are you all right?”
Lilianna nodded once. “Yes. Thank you.”
Audrey smiled softly as Cedric took her hand and resumed walking, the warmth of his palm steady against her glove. She leaned toward him and whispered, “Thank you.”
Their eyes met, and he gave her a rare, small smile. Audrey’s breath caught, her heart fluttering.
“Is that—” Clarise’s voice broke through, her tone full of excitement. “Is that Lord Belleville?”
Audrey turned sharply to see the Marquess of Belleville walking toward them with his usual charming smile.
Clarise nudged Lilianna, her voice barely above a whisper. “It looks like you have a suitor.”
Audrey glanced at her sister, who was blushing furiously.
Well, things are certainly changing!
The clock on the mantel struck midnight, its chime echoing faintly through the dimly lit bedchamber. Cedric lay on his bed, one arm thrown over his eyes as though shielding himself from thoughts he could not banish. Sleep, it seemed, had deserted him entirely.
For hours, he had tried to find rest, staring up at the canopy, his mind turning relentlessly like the gears of a broken clock. No matter how much he willed it, the unease in his chest refused to abate. And for once, it wasn’t the house—or the memories within—that unsettled him. It was Audrey.
She is meddling. Again.
His lips quirked up faintly at the thought, though his amusement was short-lived. He had seen the way she smiled earlier today, as if every whispered word and lingering glance had been part of a grand design.
He exhaled sharply, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He stood up, raking a hand through his disheveled hair, and strode to the desk tucked against the far wall. He paused, his hand hovering over the brass handle before he opened the top drawer.
Inside, beneath a stack of neatly folded papers and ledgers, lay the letter.
Audrey’s letter.
For years, it had remained untouched, ignored as stubbornly as the woman who had written it. And he had brought it with him.
Cedric stared at it for a long moment, the elegant script mocking him with its perfect loops and flourishes.
With a resigned sigh, he plucked the letter off its resting place and crossed to the chair by the fireplace. For a moment, he only held the letter, turning it over in his hands before finally breaking the seal.
The paper unfolded with a faint whisper, and he leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees as he began to read.
Duke,
I trust this letter finds you in excellent health, though I suspect you will frown when you see it—perhaps even scowl. The very notion of hearing from me must be a trial you are unprepared for, but I write to inform you of my recent endeavors here in London.
To begin, I have taken it upon myself to redecorate Haremore House. You will, I am sure, agree that its current state is entirely unbefitting of a duchess—or anyone who does not enjoy living among furnishings older than Westminster Abbey. I have already commissioned several changes to the drawing room and dining room, and though I have been assured that the work is tasteful, I would not be surprised if you find cause to grumble about it when you return.
Yesterday, I came upon a strongbox tucked away in your study. Naturally, curiosity overcame me, and inside I discovered jewels. Pearls, emeralds, and—most importantly—a ruby necklace that must have a rich history. It was stunning. Truly, words do not do it justice. I believe I shall claim it as my own.
Now, do not worry. I have not sold the family heirlooms for wallpaper.
I will leave your bedchamber and study untouched, as I do not know whether you want them to be renovated. If you would prefer that they be redecorated, kindly send word. If I hear nothing from you, I shall assume that your silence means no.
Sincerely,
The Duchess of Haremore.
He let the paper fall gently into his lap, staring at the fire’s dying embers as he absorbed her words.
Her voice rang in every line. Practical but cheeky, respectful but confident. He could picture her writing the letter, her brow slightly furrowed, the corners of her mouth twitching with mischief as she wrote that she’d claim the ruby necklace as her own.
His fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the letter, and for the first time in weeks, a small smile curved his lips. It was not a happy smile, but something more rueful. If he had read this letter when it arrived, if he had ridden to London immediately, he knew precisely what would have happened.
He would have stormed into the house like a tempest, snatched the necklace from her hands, and reminded her—quite harshly—that it had belonged to Cecilia. God only knew what kind of disagreement they would have had. Perhaps she would have fled. Perhaps he would have sent her away.
And then where would they be? Certainly not here.
Cedric rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling deeply. “You fool,” he muttered to himself.
Perhaps it was better this way. Perhaps her audacity, her refusal to ask for his permission, had brought them here—to London, and to a family that desperately needed her strength. If he had stopped her before, he doubted she would have come seeking his help when she needed it most.
And now… now he could not imagine turning her away.
Sleep had eluded her.
Audrey had closed her eyes a dozen times and willed herself to rest, but her thoughts refused to be silenced. They chased each other endlessly, darting between the events of the day, her sisters, Cedric, and the confrontation at Hyde Park.
Her fingers curled into the sheets, restless, as her mind drifted to Cedric, the man who could command silence with nothing but a look, who could send gossipmongers fleeing with a single word. And yet, when he had appeared in the park today, it hadn’t been his authority that had lingered in her thoughts. It had been his protectiveness. Of her. Of her sisters.
That unsettled her more than the rest combined.
With a frustrated sigh, Audrey threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. Her bare feet hit the cool floor, and she reached for her robe, slipping it over her nightdress and tying the sash tightly. A walk, she decided. Perhaps a turn about the halls would settle her mind.
The house was still and dark as she descended the stairs, her steps light against the carpet. The faint glow of candlelight spilled into the hallway, its source unmistakable—the library. She paused, furrowing her brow.
Surely everyone else is asleep?
She moved toward the doorway and peeked inside.
Cedric sat alone in the chair by the hearth, his long legs stretched out in front of him and his shoulders slouched in a way she had never seen before. The flames cast a golden light on his sharp features, highlighting the tension in his brow and the slight downward curve of his mouth. He held a glass in his hand, though its contents were clear—water, she realized, not brandy or port.
“Why are you awake?” she asked softly, stepping into the room.
Cedric glanced up, clearly not startled. It was as though he had known she would appear. He shook his head faintly and turned his gaze back to the fire. “Sleep and I are not acquainted tonight.”
Audrey hesitated, watching him for a moment before crossing to the chair opposite his. She perched on the edge of the seat, her hands clasped in her lap. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint crackling of the fire. Then, she spotted it—an envelope lying open on the small table beside him.
Her eyebrow rose. “Is that my letter?”
Cedric turned his head slightly, his gaze flicking to the paper and back to her. “It is.”
She smiled despite herself. “Are you just reading it now?”
His lips quirked up, though the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I read it for the first time an hour ago,” he admitted. “And then I read it twice more.”
Audrey blinked, surprised. “Three times? I didn’t realize my writing was so riveting.”
“You write as you speak—rather insistently,” Cedric replied, a hint of dry humor in his tone.
Audrey laughed softly, though her gaze lingered on him. “It was a very long letter,” she admitted. “And I suspect you had several complaints about my mention of the necklace.”
His jaw tightened faintly. “You were bold.”
“Am I not always?” she teased lightly, though her curiosity grew. “Where is it? The necklace, I mean.”
“In my study,” Cedric said, his voice low.
Audrey blinked. “In London? You brought it with you?”
He looked at her then, something unreadable in his dark eyes. “I am still seeking answers,” he said quietly. “And perhaps London holds them.”
Audrey’s heart twisted at his words. For all his gruffness, all his walls, Cedric was a man searching for peace—a man still haunted by the loss of his sister.
Audrey’s fingers tightened on the arm of her chair as she gathered her courage, the moment too fragile for hesitation.
“Cedric,” she began gently. “I have been meaning to ask you something.”
He glanced at her, his brow furrowed faintly, as though he could sense where this was heading. “Go on.”
She swallowed, her voice steady but soft. “About Cecilia’s diary.”
The room went still. The fire crackled and popped, the sound unnaturally loud in the silence. Cedric’s expression remained impassive, but his shoulders tensed, his grip on his glass tightening ever so slightly.
“What about it?” he asked, his voice quieter now.
Audrey hesitated, searching his face. “You said before that she… she hardly left her room.”
Cedric’s gaze turned toward the fire again, his jaw hardening as though bracing himself. “She did not,” he confirmed. “Not in the end.”
Audrey’s chest tightened at the heaviness in his voice. She leaned forward slightly, her hands clasped together. “And she… she was with child?”
He was silent for a long moment. Then, finally, he spoke, his voice low and hoarse. “Yes, she was.”
Audrey’s heart sank. She thought of Lilianna, of the shame and isolation she had felt. How much worse it must have been for Cecilia.
“She would not leave her bedchamber,” Cedric continued, his gaze fixed on the flames as though they might consume the words he spoke. “She refused to see anyone, to speak to anyone. And when… when she began to show…” He stopped, shaking his head slightly. Then, he rose abruptly, the suddenness of his movement startling Audrey. He crossed the room to the window, his back to her as he stared out into the dark. “She ended it herself,” he said finally, his voice a rough whisper. “The suffering. All of it.”
Audrey rose as well, her throat tight, her heart aching for him—for the grief he so rarely allowed anyone to see. She stepped toward him slowly, her bare feet silent against the rug. When she reached him, she hesitated only a moment before lifting her hand, her fingers trailing up the broad expanse of his back.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Cedric didn’t respond immediately, but she felt his shoulders rise and fall beneath her touch.
Slowly, he turned to face her, his dark eyes shadowed with grief she knew had lingered far too long. For a moment, they simply looked at each other—him, so guarded and yet so close to breaking, and her, uncertain of what to say or do to ease his burden.
Before she knew what was happening, his arms came around her. Audrey gasped softly as he pulled her close, her hands splaying against his chest instinctively. His warmth enveloped her, steady and strong, and for a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to melt against him, to breathe him in.
When he pulled back just enough to look down at her, his gaze dipped to her lips, and her breath caught.
Time seemed to stop.
The fire crackled, its light dancing across his face, and Audrey’s pulse thrummed loudly in her ears. Cedric leaned closer, his hand rising to brush against her cheek, his touch achingly gentle. Her lips parted, her heart hammering as she tilted her head slightly, her body betraying her with its eagerness—its need.
But then Cedric stilled.
Audrey’s eyes fluttered open as she felt his hand fall away, his shoulders tense as he stepped back. He composed himself quickly, the familiar mask of control sliding back into place.
“Good night, Audrey,” he said quietly.
And just like that, he was gone.
Audrey stood there, her arms falling limply to her sides as the door closed behind him. “Good night, Cedric,” she whispered into the empty room.