Chapter 12 #2
The way he looked at her out of the corner of his eye made Cecelia stiffen.
“Yes, well, I’ve had a lot of practise these last few years,” she responded coldly.
“I was glad to see it,” his grace said, and he looked at her directly then as he added, “I am grateful for your not standing on anyone’s toes as you did so often when we were children.”
Cecilia almost smiled. If not for her anger, she might have done.
“Yes, well, it was near impossible not to stand on your toes when all you seemed able to do was put them beneath my feet,” she countered, glaring back at the duke openly.
His grace scoffed at that, and her mother appeared quick to get between the two of them. “Is the food to your liking, Your Grace?”
“Yes, of course, Lady Westmere,” his grace said, smiling at the dowager, “your cook has outdone themselves as per usual.”
“Good, I am glad.”
Cecelia returned her gaze to her own food, hoping that would be the end of all conversation between them.
From the moment she had entered the dining room, she had decided it best to remain as quiet as possible, not to be drawn into anything that might upset her mother.
“Perhaps once we have seen your sister settled, we might look to your debut next Season, Mary,” her mother said, and Cecelia’s insides twisted.
How was she to be seen settled when the duke seemed bent on making it impossible?
“I have every confidence that you would shine, Lady Mary,” his grace said, making Cecelia’s jaw clench so hard she thought she might actually crack a tooth.
“If only you would allow me to do so now,” she muttered under her breath, picking up a piece of pear with her fork.
“I beg your pardon?” his grace asked, leaning back in his own chair to look at her plainly.
It was clear from the look upon his face that he had undoubtedly heard her, and so she lifted her gaze, meeting his silently.
“Do I detect some anger towards me, Lady Cecelia?” his grace asked, his dark brow furrowed in a way that made him utterly handsome and utterly annoying in equal measure.
Cecelia’s toes curled at the sight, her grip on her fork intensifying.
She opened her mouth to tell him that, of course, she was angry with him, but before she could do so, her mother said, “Of course not, Your Grace.”
His grace relaxed a little and shook his head. “Good, for I would not wish to cause any upset.”
Cecelia’s anger grew then. Of course, he had caused upset, and he knew it. She could not forget how he had forced her to storm from the drawing room, and she was certain he hadn’t forgotten it either.
“Why ever would I be upset that you frightened off every suitor at my door?” she said, her tone accusing.
The duke’s lips parted, and for a second, he seemed to smile. Then, he pursed them and dipped his head. His contrite expression only angered Cecelia further.
“I did not anticipate there being so many amongst your suitors that could be so easily frightened away,” he countered, leaning forward to cut up some of his food.
Cecelia watched him place the mouthful upon his tongue, watched how he savoured it before he continued, “Though I do believe you are deserving of someone who is far less easily frightened.”
“And where might I find a man such as that, Your Grace?” Cecelia demanded, putting down her fork as she felt an urge to hurl it at him.
He raised his gaze to hers and responded, “We shall find him. It is only a matter of time.”
“Time that I do not have, Your Grace!” she hissed back at him, feeling the turmoil in her gut grow to unbelievable heights. “My father wished me married by the end of the Season, and in only one day, you have scared off every man.”
“A handful, perhaps,” his grace protested, ringing his gloved hands together. Cecelia couldn’t help noticing the thickness of those hands, muscular and well-defined..
He had been a soldier, and beyond that, he had always been working with his hands, refusing to listen to his father when he insisted that there were servants for just about any task he might have in mind.
Cecelia had watched him many a time working with those hands, learning to carve wood, teaching himself how to tie knots, skinning animals after hunting.
And now, she was placed in those hands, forced to bend at the will of a man who clearly did not wish to see her married at all if this was his reaction to her accusations.
“Eight, Your Grace, there were eight gentlemen in my drawing room, and not one remained for more than five minutes with you in the room,” Cecelia said, remembering how they had scattered like frightened rabbits when he revealed their various misdemeanours.
“Cecelia, his grace is doing his duty by your father,” her mother insisted, putting down her own cutlery as if she had lost her appetite. “If he had been here himself, I am certain he would have done the very same.”
“Father would have at least allowed me an entire conversation with a man,” Cecelia protested, turning her angry gaze on her mother.
“He would have sat quietly and listened to all they had to say, and then he might have told me afterwards what his thoughts were on the matter, but he never would have openly snubbed a man for all to see.”
“Forgive me, My Lady, if I was hoping to save us all a little time by frightening off the riff raff,” his grace said, and his words made her look at him again.
His expression was entirely unreadable as he added, “You have said it yourself that you have little time to find a husband. I was merely ensuring you did not waste any of it on the wrong suitors.”
“Don’t!” Cecelia snapped at him. She grabbed her serviette from her lap and slammed it down on the table. “Do not act as if anything you did was for me.
It was all for you, all for your constant need to prove your power over other people. Well, you did it, Your Grace. You are the mighty duke, and nobody can stand against you. Are you happy? You have entirely sabotaged my marriage prospects, and it only took you the matter of one afternoon.”
His grace baulked at that.
“That was most assuredly not my intention, Lady Cecelia,” he said. He leaned forward, his hand upon the table almost as if he meant to reach for her.
“You may have everyone else fooled, Your Grace,” Cecelia insisted, “but I can see your self-importance from a mile away. Though I do not understand why you would wish to see me suffer so.”
Their gazes met, and for a second, everyone else in the room seemed to disappear.
There was nothing but Cecelia’s anger and the hurt in the duke’s eyes; nothing but the sound of her rapid breathing. And seeing the way he pursed his lips, his expression suggested he was trying to come up with something to say.
“Cecelia, enough,” her mother put in, causing her to blink, and when she opened her eyes again, the duke had taken his gaze from her.
Something akin to disappointment flared in Cecelia’s gut.
She had rather hoped to let all of this anger out upon him.
“You ought to be thanking his grace for safeguarding you so diligently.”
“I need no thanks, My Lady,” his grace told her, and Cecelia scoffed. Every nobleman in the country loved to hear his praises sung, and his grace was no different.
Before Cecelia could suggest so, her mother added, “Besides, there will be many more opportunities for you to meet the right gentleman. There is Lady Ashmore’s garden party coming up, and I have invitations to more than one luncheon and several balls.
There are bound to be more invitations arriving by the day. ”
Cecelia’s insides twisted in knots at that. Though she was prepared for such things, she still couldn’t say she was entirely pleased to have to attend every single society event to find herself a husband. A part of her had almost hoped that the debut ball would be enough.
It was a stupid thing to hope. After all, she wasn’t about to go and marry the first man who set his cap towards her just because he had, but at least the ball had given her prospects, prospects that were entirely gone now, thanks to the duke.
The look in her mother’s eye warned her not to bring up the subject again, and so instead, she forced herself to think of something else.
“Regarding Lady Ashmore’s garden party, I think it would be a good idea if Lady Mary were to attend with me,” she said, and her sister’s response was quite immediate.
The choking sound from Mary was enough to make Cecelia chuckle, her anger ebbing somewhat as she turned her attention to her sister.
“I beg your pardon?” Mary exclaimed, looking at her with wide eyes that suggested just how frightened she was by the prospect. “I don’t think I am ready for any such thing.”
“It isn’t a ball,” Cecelia insisted. “It is only a garden party, and there are many families invited. It would be good for you to make some connections, especially if you hope to debut next Season.”
“No, no,” Mary shook her head. “I could never.”
“Well, I would happily attend,” Catherine put in, and she picked up the small ribbon of flowers that had been decorating her serviette before she had placed it upon her knee.
Fashioning it into a corsage upon her wrist, she looked at them all and said, “I would happily go in Mary’s place if she is too frightened. ”
“I am not frightened!” Mary protested, glowering back at her sister.
His grace did not look in the least bit uncomfortable as the two ladies sitting on either side of him started their bickering. In fact, he looked quite at ease, if not a little amused.
“You are. Whenever someone mentions your debut, you shut up like a clam!”
Imagining Mary as a clam did make Cecelia smile, and she leaned back in her seat with a sigh of relief, all too happy to let her sisters take over the fight. At least if the rest of the table was concentrating on them, they weren’t concentrating on her.