Chapter 10
Seeming puzzled more than angry, the Duke detached the child’s fists and spoke to her as though she were an adult rather than a tiny girl of around seven.
“Lilian! What are you doing here at this hour? You know very well that you should be in bed, asleep, at the dower house.”
The girl’s dark hair and furious blue eyes revealed her parentage even more than the way she had addressed him.
At the top of the stairs, another woman in a thick flannel dressing gown called Lilian’s name ineffectually and was completely ignored.
“I wanted to sleep here in case you came and went away without telling me again. Uncle Patrick came yesterday, but he would not even play with me!”
“Miss Osborne,” the Duke said to the woman on the staircase. “Lilian ought to be asleep. Please take her back to bed now and do not let her wander about the house at night like this.”
“No, I will not go to bed yet! Look at me!” Lilian protested, grabbing again at her father and clearly jealous of the slightest attention given to anyone else in the room. “I want to have cake!”
“Cake? It’s the middle of the night!” the Duke responded with bemusement rather than the patient firmness that would have been more appropriate, in Cecily’s view.
“I always want cake at night!”
“Well, you can’t have any cake at this hour.”
“I want cake!” Lilian demanded again, pouting and stamping her small foot.
Why did he not just put his child to bed instead of arguing with her about cake? But then, why was Cecily troubling herself with this more minor question rather than the most fundamental of them all?
“You have a daughter,” she realized aloud. “When were you going to tell me that you had a daughter, Your Grace?”
In the background, she heard Mrs. Barnes tutting again and muttering something about the foolishness of menfolk.
“Miss Holt, this is Lady Lilian,” the housekeeper said, when she saw that there was no explanation immediately forthcoming from anyone else. “The woman on the staircase is Miss Osborne, Lady Lilian’s governess. Lady Lilian, this is Miss Cecily Holt. I’m sure she is very pleased to meet you.”
Taking her cue, Cecily crouched down and looked into the unhappy eyes of the tousle-haired little girl. Indeed, she was very much like her father.
“I am very pleased to meet you, Lady Lilian, although I did not know that you would be here to greet us. It is very late, as your father said.”
“Who are you? Why are you even here?” Lilian threw back angrily, regarding her only with suspicion. “Are you taking Papa away?”
“Your father is helping me find my sister,” Cecily explained, deciding to leave all news of their potential wedding to the Duke.
“Find her by yourself and leave Papa here,” Lilian responded rudely. “You don’t need him, but I do.”
“I’m sure your father will have time for you soon,” Cecily assured her, thinking that she had never seen a child so desperate for their parent’s attention, nor one so spoiled that she could shout so rudely at strangers, demand cake in the middle of the night, and hit her own father.
“I hope it will not take us long to find my sister.”
“Not long at all,” the Duke confirmed. “Then, I shall marry Miss Holt, and she will come here to keep you company, Lilian. I shall visit you both often. Won’t you be happy to have a mother?”
The stupidity and insensitivity of such an announcement were shocking. Both Cecily and Mrs. Barnes shot him accusatory looks that he seemed unaware of.
“I hate you!” Lilian shrieked at the top of her voice, addressing first her father and then fixing her angry eyes on Cecily. “I hate you more! You will never be my mother!”
She ran back up the stairs at full speed, eluding the hands of her governess, who followed in her wake, still calling her name rather weakly as she went.
“Why did you say that?” Cecily hissed, rounding on the Duke.
“Well, it is true, and Lilian will have to know sooner rather than later,” he answered with a shrug, seeming genuinely puzzled by the two women’s reactions.
“You cannot just give a child this kind of news so casually,” Cecily protested, flabbergasted that he did not seem to understand. “Aren’t you going to go after her and explain?”
“Miss Osborne can take care of everything,” he said, seeming to feel no more responsibility for his child’s actions than he did for his brother’s.
“Can she?” Cecily challenged, feeling unconvinced by the scene she had witnessed. “You may find that a father’s intervention is more effective than that of a governess.”
“You may be right, but there is no time tonight,” he answered breezily.
If it hadn’t been for Mary’s safety and the need for the Duke’s assistance, Cecily might have kept arguing with him. That girl clearly required both love and discipline and was being denied both.
Reluctantly, Cecily set her jaw and suppressed her anger. This issue was only delayed, not resolved.
“Come, Miss Holt. I will have your bath drawn and show you to your room myself,” the housekeeper said warmly, touching her elbow and encouraging her to follow.
As Mrs. Barnes set off up the staircase, she threw up her hands and rolled her eyes helplessly, from which Cecily gathered that the housekeeper agreed thoroughly with her upbraiding of the Duke over his daughter but would not venture to say so aloud.
Within a single day, Mary had eloped with a man she barely knew, Cecily had betrothed herself to a handsome but maddening duke in exchange for his help in finding her sister, and then run away from home with him in the middle of the night.
Now, she was apparently also to be stepmother to a child determined to hate her.
What in the world have I gotten myself into?
* * *
“If you ring when you are out of the bath, one of us will attend you,” Mrs. Barnes told Cecily once she was content with the water’s depth and heat, which had been drawn by an efficient but yawning maid. “I must go see His Grace now.”
“There is no need for anyone to attend me tonight,” Cecily responded quickly. “I will only be going straight to sleep and can put on my own nightdress. You have already shown me my room and filled the bath. There is no need for either of you to stay up so late on my account.”
Thankfully, the servants bid her goodnight without arguing.
Cecily closed the bathing chamber door before stripping off her clothes and sinking down into the water with a sigh of pleasure. After the stress of this long day and night, a warm, solitary bath was both a relief and a comfort.
A little way along the corridor from the bedroom she was assigned, this bathing chamber was both larger and more luxurious than the one given to her and Mary in Holt House. They did not enjoy rose-scented soap, an extensive selection of sponges and brushes, or such soft, white towels either.
Swirling the scented water and breathing in the steam, Cecily felt her muscles finally relax and the urgency of Mary’s plight fade.
There was, after all, nothing more she could do tonight.
This moment of peace was likely only the calm in the storm, but it might be the only such moment she would get for a while, and she might as well enjoy it.
Despite trying to dispel the day’s confusion from her mind and the tension from her body, the perplexing Duke of Greyhaven kept returning to her thoughts.
What kind of man was he? She could not figure him out. She had even less understanding of his younger brother, Patrick, who could either be Mary’s salvation or her ruin.
Who are you, Nathaniel Winslow?
The name recalled dark, unruly locks, deep blue eyes, an insouciant manner, and a carelessness of dress that was close to indecent.
His open shirt came back to her mind again, together with the sight of his bare chest beneath, strong, muscular and scattered with dark hair.
What did the rest of his body look like, she wondered?
Shocked by her own curiosity, Cecily imagined the limbs that complemented such a chest and untidily handsome face.
She supposed she would see all of him soon enough, and the thought made her hotter and more breathless than the comfortable bath could account for.
Trying not to think of him only seemed to conjure him more vividly.
As time went on and the water cooled, she finally gave up trying to push the Duke out of her mind. Reluctantly, she climbed out of the bath, wrapped herself in a large towel, and walked into the dressing room where she had earlier left her clothes.
The dusty dress, petticoats, and stays were gone from the floor, along with her shoes and stockings.
For a moment, Cecily stood there blinking, then realized that the maid must have briefly returned to the dressing room while she was splashing in the bath and had taken the clothes to either the bedroom or laundry.
She glanced at the bell pull, hesitant to disturb the servants at this hour or to have her own peace broken. She really wanted to be alone tonight.
Well, if she was unwilling to call for help, she would just have to walk back down the hallway to her room wrapped in a towel.
Setting her jaw firmly, she opened the door a crack and peered up and down. In the dim golden glow of the lamplight along the corridor, she saw no one, so she stepped out and stole back toward her room on her bare feet.
How many doors away is it? Four? five?
Cecily turned a handle and found a completely different empty room, its furniture covered with dust sheets and its darkness unlit beyond the candlelight in the hallway. She almost jumped upon seeing a flash of her own reflection in a mirror where the cover had fallen away.
This feels like being the heroine in a gothic novel, lost in some sprawling mansion, but at least they are always wearing more than a towel.
Beating a quick retreat back to the corridor, she tried the room next door, which did not even contain a bed.
Did I take the wrong direction from the bathing chamber?