Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
T he knock on Cedric’s study door was brisk and confident, and before he could utter a word of dismissal, the door swung open. Audrey entered, cradling an armful of invitations triumphantly as if they were spoils of war.
“You need to get ready,” she announced, her tone bright and decisive as she sailed across the room. “We are going shopping.”
Cedric looked up from the ledger in front of him, his quill stilling mid-scratch. He furrowed his brow as he took in the excitement on her face and the irrepressible gleam in her eyes.
“Shopping?” he repeated, deadpan. “I fail to see why that requires my participation.”
Audrey stopped at the edge of his desk, undeterred. “You’re not going to let me traipse through London alone, are you? Besides…” She paused dramatically, holding up an invitation between two gloved fingers. “You need new clothes, Your Grace. I cannot have you attending these events looking like a man who has spent two years hiding in a castle.”
“I have spent two years hiding in a castle,” he pointed out, leaning back in his chair and pinning her with an unamused look. “I see no reason to change that now.”
Audrey raised an eyebrow, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You know as well as I do that we need to present a united front. We have appearances to make, and appearances require proper attire. This is work, Cedric.”
His frown deepened. “I do not care what the ton thinks.”
Her grin widened triumphantly, as if she had been waiting for that very protest. “You won’t be placating them—you’ll be fooling them.”
He opened his mouth to argue but found himself—curse her—at a loss for words. Her energy was maddeningly infectious, her resolve impenetrable.
He exhaled heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You have far too many counterarguments for your own good, woman.”
“And you have far too many excuses for your own good, Duke,” she quipped, offering him her arm in the most exaggerated fashion. “Now, come along.”
Cedric stared at her outstretched arm as though it might bite him. Then, with the resignation of a man who knew he’d already lost, he rose to his feet, grabbed his coat, and allowed her to lead him out of the study.
At least I’ll have an excuse for this nonsense later .
Though the voice in his head laughed at him.
He had thought—quite logically—that it would be a chore. And it began as such. The first store Audrey dragged him to was filled with more bolts of fabric and assistants than he had seen in his life. He had barely stepped inside before Audrey had taken charge, ordering styles, inspecting materials, and demanding precision.
“The navy one,” she said, holding up a length of deep blue wool to his shoulder, her gaze assessing as she tilted her head. “It will complement your eyes.”
“Does it matter?” Cedric muttered, standing stiffly as the tailor fussed with his sleeve.
“Of course, it matters,” Audrey replied, her tone scandalized. “You cannot simply appear as a shadow at these events. You are the Duke of Haremore.”
“And yet I would rather be a shadow,” he replied wryly. “The attention you so desire is hardly to my benefit.”
“Not your benefit,” she corrected, narrowing her eyes at him. “ Our benefit. Remember, you are working with me, not against me.”
He opened his mouth to retort but paused as she stepped closer, holding up three different bolts of blue fabric in quick succession. She studied him intently, as though solving a riddle, and Cedric found himself going utterly still.
“This one,” she finally declared, holding up the middle swatch. “It accentuates your complexion.”
Cedric looked down, then up at her. “They all look the same to me.”
Audrey shot him an exasperated glare. “That is because you are a man.”
The tailor behind her stifled a laugh, though Cedric only sighed. “You are frighteningly confident about this.”
“I must be,” she said, gesturing for the tailor to proceed with the measurements. “We are fashioning an image here, and I refuse to allow you to look less than spectacular.”
Cedric regarded her as she corrected the tailor’s measurements—yes, corrected him—and stepped back with a satisfied nod. Her confidence was unshakable, and he found himself quietly fascinated by her.
Was she like this at their wedding breakfast? Commanding, certain, and entirely at ease? He had missed it, like a fool. And now here she was, ordering tailors, picking fabrics, and demanding perfection as though it were her birthright.
At the third hat store of the day, Cedric finally caved.
“We’ve already visited two hatters,” he grumbled as he stood stiffly beside her, watching as she fingered the brim of a finely shaped top hat. “Why are we here again?”
Audrey did not even look at him as she replied, “Because we are making appearances, not simply shopping. It is better to purchase a few things from several shops rather than one. That way, they can all talk about how the Duke of Haremore returned to London and patronized their establishments.”
Cedric turned to her, arching an eyebrow. “You planned this.”
She finally turned to face him, her eyes dancing with amusement. “I always plan.”
For once, he couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at his lips. “Remind me to never play cards with you, Duchess.”
“You would lose,” she replied sweetly.
As they moved toward the next display, Cedric took her hand almost absently, the motion startling even himself. Her fingers stilled in his grasp, but she did not pull away.
He leaned closer to her ear, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You owe me for this, you know.”
She turned to him, her cheeks faintly pink, though her expression remained playful. “And what will you demand as payment, Your Grace?”
He tilted his head slightly, his lips twitching faintly. “You will see.”
The blush in her cheeks deepened, and Cedric was struck by how charming she looked at that moment. The ribbons of her bonnet framed her face perfectly, and for the first time that day, he realized he did not find this excursion a chore at all.
In fact, it was dangerously enjoyable.
A group of ladies passed them just then, their whispers audible even as they turned away.
“That’s him,” one murmured behind her gloved hand. “The Duke and his Duchess.”
“And he’s holding her hand!” another gasped, as though it were the greatest scandal imaginable.
Cedric suppressed a groan, though Audrey looked as though she had won a war.
“Let them look,” she muttered under her breath, her lips curling into a victorious smile. “This is precisely what we want.”
He looked down at her, his chest tightening in a way that was becoming disturbingly familiar. “You enjoy this far too much.”
“Perhaps,” she admitted. “But so should you.”
By the time the sun began to sink below the horizon, Cedric had lost count of the stores they had visited and the items they had purchased. Audrey walked beside him, her energy seemingly boundless as she prattled on about the various fabrics, styles, and shopkeepers they had encountered.
“Mrs. Hollingsworth nearly fainted when you complimented her work,” she said with a laugh. “I do not think anyone has ever seen you smile before.”
“I hardly think my smile warrants fainting,” Cedric replied dryly.
“You underestimate its effect.”
Cedric looked at her as they walked, at the way her face glowed faintly in the fading light, and for the briefest moment, he allowed himself to forget.
Forget that this was all a performance. Forget that the walls between them were meant to remain there forever.
But the voice in his head—low, steady, and unwelcome—reminded him otherwise.
You are endangering both of you.
The thought sobered him up, his steps slowing as they neared the carriage. Audrey glanced up at him, furrowing her brow. “Cedric?”
He forced a smile—one of those smiles he reserved for moments such as this. “It’s nothing, Audrey.”
And for now, it would be nothing.
“Perhaps next time, we might visit the British Museum,” Audrey suggested brightly, clutching Cedric’s arm as they strolled down the street. “You might enjoy the exhibits—there are artifacts from Rome, Greece, and Egypt. Truly fascinating.”
Cedric turned his head to look at her, one eyebrow arching in an expression of profound skepticism. “The British Museum?” he repeated, as though she had suggested they tour the sewers beneath London. “Are you attempting to bore me to death?”
Audrey gasped with mock offense, though her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Bore you? Are you incapable of appreciating history, Your Grace?”
“I have had enough history for a lifetime,” he replied dryly. “I do not need to see a collection of dusty artifacts to remind me of that.”
“They are not dusty,” she argued. “And you might learn something.”
Cedric gave her a sidelong look, his mouth twitching faintly. “I know precisely what I need to know. Namely, that it would be an excruciating experience.”
Audrey sighed dramatically. “And yet you will endure shopping for hours at my command. How very selective of you.”
“Shopping involves far less lecturing,” he shot back.
She laughed, unable to help herself. “You do not fool me, Cedric. You pretend to be miserable, but you are enjoying yourself.”
“I assure you, I am not,” he deadpanned, though the faint smile on his lips betrayed him.
Audrey gave his arm a playful tug. “You cannot lie to me, husband. I know when you are enjoying yourself.”
“And I know when you are being insufferable,” he muttered, but there was no real heat in his tone.
They walked in companionable silence for a few steps, the tension of their earlier days together gradually replaced by something far more… natural. Audrey had never imagined that bickering with her husband could be so enjoyable. It was almost a game now, and Cedric, despite his stoic exterior, was an excellent opponent.
Just as Audrey was beginning to enjoy herself fully, fate intervened in the most unwelcome of ways.
“Why, Audrey!”
The voice, too sweet to be sincere, cut through the air like a blade, and her spine stiffened instinctively. She stopped, her gaze snapping to the source of the interruption. Lady Weatherby. And beside her was Lady Allenham.
The very women who claimed to be her friends, only to desert her in her hour of need.