Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
“You’re being ridiculous.”
Cressida looked up from the book she wasn’t reading to find Harriet in the doorway, bonnet askew and slightly breathless as though she’d run up the stairs.
Before Cressida could respond, Harriet crossed the room and pulled her into a fierce embrace that spoke more eloquently than words ever could.
For a moment, Cressida simply stood there, rigid with the effort of maintaining her composure. Then something in her chest cracked, and she sagged against her friend’s shoulder.
“There now,” Harriet murmured, stroking her back in soothing circles. “I’ve got you.”
They stood like that for several heartbeats, Harriet’s steady warmth anchoring her to something beyond the misery that had consumed her these past days.
Eventually, Harriet pulled back, keeping her hands on Cressida’s shoulders while she studied her face with the frank assessment of someone who had known her since they were girls trading books and scandalous opinions.
“When did you last eat properly?”
“This morning. Breakfast.”
“That’s not what I asked.” Harriet guided her to the bed and settled beside her with the air of someone who had no intention of leaving. “And when did you last sleep?”
“I sleep.”
“Cressida.”
“I close my eyes and lie very still for several hours. Surely that counts.”
Harriet’s expression softened with concern. “Oh, my dear friend. You look absolutely wretched.”
“How kind of you to notice.” Cressida’s attempt at lightness fell flat, her voice catching on the words.
“I would have come sooner, but your mother sent word that you were indisposed and not receiving visitors.” Harriet squeezed her hand. “John told me he saw Theodore at the club yesterday. That’s when I knew something had happened.”
The mention of his name made Cressida’s chest constrict. She looked away, focusing on the worn spine of the philosophy book she’d abandoned.
“I’m fine,” she managed.
“You’re not.” Harriet’s thumb traced gentle circles on her knuckles. “And you don’t have to pretend otherwise with me. Whatever’s happened, you’re not facing it alone.”
The kindness in her voice, the absolute certainty of her friendship, threatened to undo what little composure Cressida had managed to salvage.
She drew a shaky breath. “I’ve made such a mess of things.”
“Then tell me about it.” Harriet shifted closer, her shoulder warm against Cressida’s. “Start from the beginning.”
For a moment, Cressida considered deflecting. She’d perfected that skill over the years, the art of appearing forthcoming while revealing nothing substantial. But Harriet’s patient gaze held no judgment, only the steadfast concern of someone who would wait however long necessary.
“I found a portrait,” Cressida heard herself say. “In a gallery at Ashmere. It was of his uncle, Charles. I didn’t know who it was at first, only that something about it felt significant.”
“And the Duke discovered you?”
“He was furious.” The memory made her chest ache. “Not just angry, Harriet. Devastated. I’d never seen him like that before, so entirely stripped of his usual control.”
Harriet’s hand tightened around hers, encouraging her to continue.
“I told him it was natural to be curious about my husband’s family. That they were my family now, too.” Cressida’s voice wavered. “And he said that was his family. Only his. That I wasn’t family, just a contract he’d signed.”
“Oh, Cressida.”
“The worst part is how he said it. Not in anger, but with this terrible certainty, as though he’d been waiting for me to understand that all along.
” She pressed her palm flat against the counterpane.
“I thought we were building something. These past weeks at Ashmere, the way he’d begun to soften, to let me in… ”
“You were building something,” Harriet said firmly. “John’s seen Theodore regularly for years. He’s never mentioned anything the way Theodore apparently can’t stop mentioning you.”
Cressida’s head snapped up. “What?”
A small smile touched Harriet’s mouth. “According to John, Theodore has brought you up in every conversation they’ve had since your marriage.
What you said about estate management. How you charmed the tenants.
Your opinions on agricultural reform—can you imagine Theodore discussing crop rotation because his wife had thoughts on it? ”
“He never…”
“Of course, he never. He’s Theodore.” Harriet turned to face her fully. “The man’s been alone for so long that he’s forgotten how to admit he needs anyone. But needing and wanting are right there, Cressida, even if he’s too stubborn to acknowledge them.”
Cressida wanted desperately to believe her. But memory intervened: his cold expression as he’d called her a contract, the careful way he’d stepped back when she’d reached for him, the practiced distance in his voice.
“You didn’t see his face,” she whispered. “The way he looked at me when he said I meant nothing.”
“Then why did he marry you?”
“To satisfy his aunt’s meddling and my father’s greed. He told me as much.”
Harriet made a thoroughly unladylike sound.
“If Theodore had wanted to satisfy his aunt, he could have married any eligible woman she threw at him over the past decade. Yet, somehow, he married you. After finding you unchaperoned, having traveled across England to stop a wedding, covered in mud and magnificently furious.”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is that the Duke of Ashmere doesn’t do anything he doesn’t choose to do.
If he’d truly wanted to avoid marriage, he’d have sent you home that night and dealt with the consequences.
” Harriet took both her hands. “He married you because he wanted to, Cressida. Everything else is just the excuse he gave himself.”
Cressida pulled free, standing to pace toward the window. Below, London sprawled in its familiar disorder—carriages navigating crowded streets, vendors calling their wares, society moving through its elaborate dance of appearances and careful calculation.
She’d escaped all this by marrying Theodore. Had found something unexpected in the cold Duke everyone had warned her about. Something tender and genuine beneath his careful control.
And she’d lost it because he couldn’t trust her with his past.
“He won’t forgive me for trespassing,” she said quietly. “That gallery was clearly forbidden for a reason.”
“Then you’ll make him forgive you.”
“You don’t understand what I saw on his face. The betrayal—”
“I understand perfectly.” Harriet joined her at the window. “John told me once about Theodore’s mother. About the affair that destroyed their family. About the duel that left Theodore’s father broken and bitter.” She paused. “Did Theodore tell you any of this?”
“No. He’s never spoken of it.”
“Exactly. So whatever’s in that portrait, whatever history it represents, clearly cuts deep enough that Theodore’s spent years avoiding it.” Harriet’s reflection met hers in the glass. “You stumbled onto something he’s not ready to share. That’s not betrayal, Cressida. That’s just terrible timing.”
“He called me a contract.”
“Because he was hurt and terrified and defaulting to the one defense he knows.” Harriet turned her around. “You fell in love with him.”
It wasn’t a question.
Cressida’s eyes burned.
“I did,” she admitted. “I do. Which makes this infinitely worse, because loving someone who can’t love you back is its own torture.”
“Who says he can’t?”
“He did. Rather explicitly.”
“No, he said you were a contract. Which is an excuse, not a feeling.” Harriet gripped her shoulders.
“The man who remembered your favorite color, who chose that emerald-green gown because he’d memorized every word you’d said, who looked at you during Lady Seymore’s ball like you’d hung the stars—that man is capable of love. He’s simply terrified of admitting it.”
A knock interrupted them.
Mary’s voice came muffled through the door. “Cressida? Mama says Lady Whitebrook needs to leave soon if she wants to avoid evening traffic.”
Harriet rolled her eyes. “Apparently, I have ten more minutes before I’m no longer welcome here.”
“Generous of her.”
“Mm.” Harriet moved toward the door, then paused. “You know what you need to do.”
“Sit here quietly and wait for my parents to arrange my life?”
“Go back to Ashmere.” Harriet’s expression turned serious. “Stop letting him hide behind his walls. Make him talk to you properly, even if he fights you the entire way.”
“And if he refuses?”
“Then you’ll know you tried. But I don’t think he will.
” She pulled Cressida into a brief, fierce embrace.
“You’re the bravest person I know. You traveled across England in a storm to save me from a marriage I didn’t need saving from.
Surely you can manage one difficult conversation with your husband. ”
“You’re destroying yourself.”
Theodore looked up from Charles’s portrait to find Lady Seymore standing in the doorway, her expression carrying that particular blend of concern and exasperation she reserved for moments when he’d disappointed her most profoundly.
“Auntie.” He set down his glass with deliberate care. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Clearly.” She swept into the study, casting a pointed glance at the empty decanter on his desk and the general disarray that had accumulated over the past three days. “Your butler looked positively relieved when I arrived. I suspect he was contemplating staging some sort of intervention.”
“Jenkins is prone to dramatics.”
“Jenkins is sensible enough to recognize when his employer is wallowing.” Lady Seymore settled into the chair opposite his desk without waiting for an invitation. “Where is your wife, Theodore?”
He should have anticipated that. His aunt had perfected the art of arriving precisely when her presence would prove most inconvenient.
“With her parents.”