Chapter 9
Nine
A udrey paused at the entrance, smoothing the skirts of her dress. She took in the table, set for two. Her gaze lingered on the silver place settings and polished crystal glasses, and a faint smile tugged at her lips.
Foolish . He won’t come. Not after the way he stormed off earlier, muttering something unintelligible about solitude and peace.
Still, her feet carried her forward.
“Your Grace,” Potts said, appearing as though summoned by her thoughts.
He moved to pull out her chair, but just as his hands touched the back of the chair, a low, rich voice cut through the room.
“I believe that is my duty, Potts.”
Audrey’s head snapped up, her heart leaping as though it had been startled into motion.
The butler froze, his cheeks coloring faintly, and then he quickly stepped back with a murmured, “Of course, Your Grace.”
Audrey turned toward the source of the voice and felt a rush of heat creep up her neck. The Duke stood in the doorway, dressed impeccably in a dark green coat that accentuated his striking brown eyes. His wavy dark hair was still damp from a bath.
He strode forward, his movements smooth and commanding, and for the briefest moment, her breath caught. She braced herself as he approached, her hands clasped together in front of her for balance. When he pulled her chair out with ease, she felt the warmth of his proximity and smelled the faint scent of cedar and soap.
“You’re joining me?” she asked, her voice lighter than she had intended, betraying her surprise.
“It would seem so,” he replied, his tone neutral, though the faint twitch in his lips betrayed his amusement.
Audrey hesitated, then inclined her head with the grace she had perfected over the years. “Then I am honored.”
The words earned her a fleeting look of surprise, but he said nothing, merely gesturing for her to sit.
As she settled into the chair, his hands brushed lightly against the back of it, and the subtle contact sent a ripple of awareness down her spine.
Ridiculous. He’s just being polite.
Once he was sitting across from her, Potts reappeared to serve the first course—a delicate consommé that shimmered golden in the porcelain bowls.
Audrey smiled warmly at the butler. “Do give Cook my compliments,” she said. “This looks delightful.”
Potts nodded, his posture straightening at the praise. “Of course, Your Grace,” he replied before stepping away.
As Audrey lifted her spoon, she caught the Duke staring at her. The intensity of his gaze made her fingers falter for the briefest moment before she regained her composure. She lowered her eyes to her bowl, determined to ignore his scrutiny.
The consommé was rich yet impossibly light, a perfect blend of flavors that tickled her palate.
“Exquisite,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.
“I see you enjoy your soup,” he said, his voice cutting through the quiet.
Audrey glanced up, startled. “I do. Don’t you?”
He hesitated, his spoon resting against the edge of the bowl. “It’s not the soup that interests me.”
She furrowed her brow slightly. “What do you mean?”
He set his spoon down with deliberate precision and leaned back slightly, the faintest smile curving his lips. “Every movement of yours is calculated. Poised. Practiced. It’s as if you believe the soup is judging you.”
A laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it, light and melodic. “I assure you, Your Grace, I have no such illusions about consommé.”
“No,” he said, tilting his head, “but I think you have the same notion about everyone else. As if the world is constantly watching.”
Her smile faltered, though she quickly masked it with a practiced air of humor. “It is no bother,” she said, taking another elegant sip. “I’m not certain I know how to eat any other way.”
“And you don’t find it exhausting?” he pressed, his gaze unrelenting. “This… unending performance.”
Audrey set her spoon down gently, her back straightening. “It is not a performance,” she said evenly. “It is decorum.”
“Decorum,” he repeated, the word falling from his lips like a curse. “And what purpose does it serve? To please strangers who will gossip about you regardless of your manners?”
“To maintain one’s reputation,” she countered, her voice sharper now. “Surely even you can understand the value of that.”
His expression darkened, and the room seemed to grow colder despite the crackling fire.
“I value honesty more than reputation,” he said. “And I’ve seen the cost of placing too much weight on the opinions of the ton.”
Audrey tilted her head, studying him. “This is about your sister, isn’t it?” she said softly. “Lady Cecilia.”
The shift in his demeanor was immediate. His jaw tightened, and his fingers curled against the edge of the table. “You know nothing about her,” he said, his voice low.
“I know she was treated poorly,” Audrey said carefully, her hands folded in her lap. “The ton can be ruthless, especially to young ladies who fall from grace.”
“You think she simply ‘fell from grace’?” he scoffed, his voice bitter. “You think they merely whispered behind their fans and moved on?”
Audrey hesitated, her fingers tightening around the folds of her dress. “I assumed…” she began, but she faltered under his glare.
“They destroyed her,” he said, each word laced with suppressed fury. “The ton—those so-called paragons of civility and virtue—crushed her under their hypocrisy. And when she could no longer bear it, they turned away as if she had never existed.”
Audrey’s breath hitched, the raw pain in his voice cutting through her. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, unsure what else to say.
He exhaled sharply, his gaze fixed on the space between them. “Sorry doesn’t change what they did. And it doesn’t absolve you—or anyone else—from perpetuating their poisonous games.”
The accusation stung, and Audrey lifted her chin defensively. “I am not like them,” she said, her voice steady despite the tightness in her chest. “I took no part in their cruelty.”
“No?” he said, his eyes narrowing. “Then why do you care so much about their approval? Why go to such lengths to win their favor?”
“Because I must,” she said, her voice rising despite herself. “Because without their approval, I am nothing. Do you know what it’s like to be judged for every step, every word, every breath you take? To have your worth measured by how well you conform to their rules?”
“I know what it’s like to reject those rules,” he shot back. “And to pay the price for it.”
Audrey stared at him, her chest heaving with the force of her emotions. The room felt too small, the air too thick.
“You think me weak,” she said finally, her voice trembling with anger. “But you don’t understand what it’s like to fight for your place in the world.”
“And you think me cold,” he countered, his gaze unyielding. “Though I am not sure you would think the same if you knew what it’s like to lose everything because of the very people you seek to please.”
Silence fell between them, heavy and charged. Audrey’s hands trembled slightly as she clenched them in her lap, her nails digging into her palms. The Duke’s expression softened slightly, though the storm in his eyes remained.
“I do not wish to fight with you,” she said quietly, breaking the tension.
“And yet we seem destined to,” he replied, his voice weary but devoid of malice.
Audrey wondered if they would ever truly understand each other.
Before she could respond, Potts returned with the second course—partridge encased in golden pastry, surrounded by parsnips and carrots roasted to perfection.
The Duke raised his glass, and Potts quickly filled it from a crystal jug.
Audrey furrowed her brow. “Is that lemonade?” she asked, surprised.
The Duke set the glass down. “I don’t drink wine,” he answered curtly.
“You don’t?” she asked, the curiosity obvious in her voice. “Not at all?”
“Not at all.”
Her gaze lingered on him, her thoughts swirling. “May I ask why?”
His jaw tightened, and he avoided her gaze. “I simply choose not to.”
The finality of his tone stopped her from pressing him, but her mind was reeling.
Why doesn’t he drink wine? And why does it seem to matter so much to him?
Her thoughts drifted to the west wing, the forbidden territory in this vast castle, then to the raw anger in his voice when he spoke of his sister.
There’s so much he doesn’t say. So much he keeps locked away.
She glanced at him. His expression was stoic as he cut into the pastry with precision. The candlelight flickered, the shadows deepening around them.
Who exactly did I marry?