Chapter 13
Cynthia Louise took a long, steaming hot bath in silence.
What was there to say? Although her bedchamber was down the corridor from the entranceway, the door had been left open and she’d heard every word.
The crowd was loud enough, she’d likely have heard it all even if the door was locked tight and her head was buried under her pillow.
Alexander still planned to select a bride from his young, pretty guests.
That had always been the plan. Cynthia knew that. It was the reason she and Gertie were here.
And yet, confirmation that he had not wavered in this mission stung as sharp as the arrow wound in her shoulder.
“I’ll help with your shift and gown,” Gertie offered.
Cynthia nodded her appreciation.
They picked a violet frock with oversized puffed sleeves, in order to hide the wound from delicate sensibilities. She covered the stitches with a thick square of gauze, and tied it loosely in place with a strip of dark cloth, to mask any blood that might escape.
It looked like a badly placed mourning arm band.
That was also how she felt. Out of place, with her chest empty inside.
“Shall I ask the footmen to look for the skis?” Gertie asked.
“No,” Cynthia answered. “The merrymaking is over.”
Even the Christmastide party was falling apart.
“It looked like you and Nottingvale were enjoying yourselves,” Gertie said tentatively. “Before I barged in.”
“Oh, Gertie, it’s not your fault.” Cynthia wrapped her cousin in a one-armed embrace. “It’s not anyone’s fault. It’s the way of the world. He’s a duke. I’m me. We should never have been together, even for stolen moments. We knew we were playing with fire.”
She’d never expected him to acknowledge their... friendship.
He’d never planned for such a contingency either.
That their affiliation was now public knowledge brought no joy or pride. The only reason his interest wasn’t still a secret he planned to carry to the grave was because she’d taken an arrow to the shoulder.
Huzzah.
Acknowledged.
And in doing so, she’d ruined his plans... and possibly his life.
Now he wasn’t the Perfect Duke of Nottingvale anymore. That myth had shattered the moment he dove down a mountain to gather her in his arms—when he was supposed to be courting respectable ladies at his house party.
His mother was right.
Cynthia was demonstrably bad for him.
If she liked him at all, the kindest thing she could do was leave him alone.
As she should have done from the beginning.
“He should have married you,” Cynthia told Gertie.
Gertie shook her head. “I didn’t want him to.”
“You should have done so anyway.” Cynthia sighed.
“Gertie, at this point... I don’t see how we’re going to find you an alternate match capable of appeasing your father.
We’ve less than a week. I can’t go anywhere until these stitches heal a little, not that my presence would help you even if I did. ”
“Nottingvale isn’t the only man at the party,” Gertie said. “I had a lovely chat with Timmy Wilson while we were waiting for the duchess to summon tea. He’ll be eighteen in six months. Timmy is new to archery, but he’s very good at—”
“Gertie,” Cynthia interrupted. “No.”
Her cousin’s shoulders sagged, and she looked suddenly much older than her eighteen years.
“I know.” Gertie’s lips twisted in a sad smile. “This was my last chance to pretend.”
Cynthia kissed her forehead. “Come on. There’s a party out there. Mayhap there’s a gentleman or two you’d do well to meet.”
“What about you?” Gertie asked. “Did you ever consider any of the gentlemen?”
Yes.
There was one.
With soft brown hair and warm brown eyes and a kiss that could melt the snow from a mountaintop.
“No,” she said firmly.
Gertie’s eyes were sympathetic. “Are you in love with him?”
No.
Yes.
Damn it all!
“No,” Cynthia said even more firmly.
Or it would have been firm, if the word hadn’t wobbled coming out of her throat, only to audibly crack at the very end.
She blinked hard and pasted on a smile. “It’s time to meet the ladies for Speculation. You remember how to count the cards, don’t you?”
A knock sounded on the door.
Cynthia and Gertie exchanged glances.
“Did you ring the bell pull?” Cynthia whispered.
Gertie shook her head and whispered back, “It could be Doctor Quinney.”
“And it might not be,” Cynthia pointed out.
The knock came again.
She rolled back her shoulders and immediately regretted it. Pain shot through her as though the arrow had struck again.
Gritting her teeth against the injury, she wrenched open the door.
It was Alexander.
“I won’t come in,” he began.
“You’re not invited in,” she told him.
“But this needs to be said.” He took a deep breath as if gathering courage, then met her eyes.
“Although you are not what I’m looking for in a duchess, I cannot deny I enjoy your company.
Marrying you will cause even more scandal on top of the unfortunate revelations that occurred today, but by refraining from unbecoming conduct in the future, with time and assiduous effort, I can rebuild some of my lost reputation. ”
Cynthia stared at him. “What?”
“For now, the damage has been done,” he said. “My primary concern is the future. Heirs will need to be raised to be respectable pillars. There can be no further embarrassments to the title or the family. I’m sure you understand.”
“I think I do understand,” she said. “Now that there’s a smudge on your sheen and the debutantes you actually wanted won’t have you, you’ve decided to save your reputation by turning our compromising situation into a surprise betrothal... on condition that I become an entirely different person.”
“Yes,” he said. “Exactly. It’ll save your reputation, too. You’ll be important and watched carefully, but I’m certain you can—”
“I’m certain I cannot,” Cynthia said flatly. “This isn’t a marriage proposal. It’s a script for a performance. You’re not trying to be ‘husband and wife’ but rather ‘duke and duchess.’”
“I am a duke,” he told her. “My wife will be a duchess.”
“But that shouldn’t be all she is, or all that you are. Can’t a duchess also be her own person, too?”
His jaw tightened. “Not if she brings shame to—”
“Let me stop you there. Don’t try to ‘save’ me.
Save your own reputation by not worrying about mine.
” She flashed a teeth-baring smile. “It will apparently shock you to discover that I don’t want a husband who’s ashamed of me.
If you’re too embarrassed to be seen with me, go and find a bride you can stand. ”
She slammed the door in his face, then sagged her good shoulder against it.
Gertie winced in sympathy. “That went well?”
Cynthia stumbled forward and dropped her forehead onto her cousin’s shoulder.
“That was a disaster. I’m a disaster. The only man to ask for my hand led with, ‘You’re an embarrassment.
I’m ashamed to acknowledge you publicly, but since we’ve been thoroughly compromised, the precious rules force my hand... ’”
“You choose to be a disaster,” Gertie pointed out. “You could follow the rules if you wished to.”
“I don’t wish to.” Cynthia lifted her head. “I couldn’t be what he wants, no matter how hard I tried. He wants perfection. I’m... me.”
“You are perfect,” Gertie said. “I love you exactly as you are. And you’re right. So would your husband... in a love match.”
“Oh, Gertie.” Cynthia scrubbed her face.
“Am I being selfish? None of the women in that parlor are hoping to be chosen because of an emotional connection. It’s like a game of whist. Some cards outrank others.
Some hands are better than others. It’s not personal.
I shouldn’t take it that way. It’s just a game. ”
“No,” Gertie said. “I cannot think of anything more personal than choosing the person you intend to spend the rest of your life with. You’re not selfish to want a husband who is pleased to have married you.
You’re the bravest person I know. You’d rather have a partner than a title, and you’re not afraid to stand up to a duke. ”
“He wasn’t even trying to ‘win’ me,” Cynthia said. “I don’t want to be the thing he settles for only because I’m what Fate saddled him with. I’d rather be alone than unhappily married to the man I love.”
“So you are in love,” Gertie said softly.
Cynthia swallowed hard. “And now I’ll watch him pick someone else.”