Chapter 11
Eleven
“ Y our Grace,” Stevenson began, his tone pointed yet somewhat cordial as he selected a deep blue coat from the wardrobe. “Have you heard that Her Grace attempted to leave the castle earlier today?”
Cedric, sitting in an armchair and tugging on his boots, froze mid-motion. His eyebrows rose in surprise, and a twinge of something uncomfortably close to guilt coiled in his stomach. “She did what?”
Stevenson walked over to the chaise and draped the coat neatly over its back. “Indeed, Your Grace. Ordered the carriage to be readied at once. Declared she would not remain here a moment longer.”
Cedric scowled, though his clenched jaw betrayed his unease. “Where is she now?”
“In her chambers, Your Grace,” Stevenson replied calmly as he returned to the wardrobe, his hands gliding across the fabric of several waistcoats. “The storm, as it happens, had other plans.”
Cedric leaned back in his chair, sighing heavily as relief warred with frustration. “I hadn’t heard anything about this.”
“No?” Stevenson asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well, I can only wonder what pushed her to make such a hasty decision.”
Cedric’s jaw tightened further, the vein in his temple throbbing. “Don’t start, Stevenson.”
Before the valet could respond, Potts appeared in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral.
“Your Grace,” he said, stepping inside. “Might I speak freely?”
Cedric waved his hand impatiently. “It seems you already do.”
Potts exchanged a look with Stevenson before speaking. “It was rather… alarming, Your Grace, that Her Grace felt compelled to leave in such inclement weather. She seemed quite… resolute.”
Cedric shrugged, but the movement was stiff. “Perhaps if the weather had been kinder, she might have succeeded. Then, I would have one less thing with which to concern myself.”
“Pardon my impertinence, Your Grace,” Potts said carefully, “but it seems this could have been avoided had tempers been held in check.”
Cedric’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. “Impertinence, indeed,” he said, though there was no heat in his voice. “You forget yourself, Potts.”
The butler bowed his head. “Forgive me, Your Grace. It was not my place to speak so boldly.”
“It wasn’t,” Cedric muttered. He paused, then let out a heavy sigh. “But… perhaps you’re not entirely wrong.”
Stevenson, who had been quietly laying out the rest of Cedric’s ensemble, decided to chime in. “You see, Your Grace? Losing one’s temper never yields favorable results. Might I suggest a bit more… decorum in future interactions with Her Grace?”
Cedric shot him a withering look. “Do you mean to dress me or lecture me, Stevenson?”
“Both, if necessary,” Stevenson replied smoothly. “Now, if you’ll allow me…”
The valet stepped forward and helped him into his coat, then he began tying Cedric’s cravat with practiced precision.
Cedric stood silently, his thoughts churning as Potts remained in the corner.
The implication of their words settled over him uncomfortably. He had been harsh—too harsh. Dragging her into the sorrow and shadows that haunted this family was unfair.
When Stevenson finished, Cedric turned toward the mirror. He inspected his reflection, smoothing the lapels of his coat.
“Do I look presentable?” he asked, glancing at Stevenson over his shoulder.
“Quite presentable, Your Grace,” Stevenson replied with a smirk.
“Handsome, even,” Potts added with a rare trace of humor.
Cedric shook his head but allowed himself the faintest of smiles. “Very well.”
He left the room but paused when he found Peter Potts, the butler’s seventeen-year-old son, waiting in the hallway.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” Peter said brightly, his hands clasped behind his back.
“Peter,” Cedric returned as he began walking. “What brings you here?”
Peter fell into step beside him, his youthful energy the opposite of Cedric’s brooding. “I wanted to ask how your evening is going.”
Cedric shot the boy a suspicious glance. “It should be promising,” he said gruffly, though he kept walking.
Peter suddenly produced a red rose, holding it out with a mischievous grin. “You’ll need this for the evening to truly go well.”
Cedric paused, staring at the flower before taking it reluctantly. “Thoughtful of you, Peter.”
Peter bowed theatrically. “I am certain the Duchess will appreciate it, Your Grace.”
“Have you met the Duchess?”
“Not yet, but I’ve heard plenty,” Peter said, still smiling. “Mrs. Potts says she’s lovely and elegant.”
Cedric’s lips curled into a half-smile. “That she is,” he murmured before adding to himself, A princess, really, though rather fierce and lovely.
He left Peter on the landing and continued toward the east wing, where the Duchess’s chambers were located. He paused briefly to inspect his reflection in a hallway mirror, adjusting his coat and ensuring every detail was immaculate. With the rose in hand, he approached her door and knocked firmly.
No response.
He knocked again, leaning closer. “It’s Cedric,” he called, his voice steady despite the uncertainty creeping in.
After a moment, her voice sounded faintly from the other side. “May I help you, Duke?”
Even in her unhappiness, she was polite, proper, and utterly infuriating.
“I came to ask if you would join me for supper,” he said.
There was a pause, and he swore he heard the soft rustle of fabric. Then, her voice came again, closer this time. “I have already eaten.”
The words struck him like a small blow, and he found himself asking, “How could you eat without me?”
Her response was sharp. “How could I not?”
Cedric closed his eyes briefly, inhaling deeply to collect himself. He opened his mouth to speak, to apologize perhaps, but she interrupted him.
“Good night,” she said, her tone final.
The door remained closed.
For a moment, Cedric stood frozen, the red rose hanging limply in his hand. His lips pressed into a thin line, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface.
Finally, he turned on his heel and strode back down the hall, his footsteps echoing loudly in the silence.
The evening, it seemed, was not promising.
Cedric stopped abruptly in the hall, the soft strains of music reaching his ears. He frowned, tilting his head. The melody was hauntingly beautiful, each note flowing into the next with a grace that demanded his attention.
Curiosity tugged at him, and he found himself following the sound to the music room. The door was slightly ajar, and he peered inside. The Duchess sat at the pianoforte, her back to him, utterly engrossed in her playing. Her head swayed slightly as if she were listening intently to the music. Her fingers glided effortlessly over the keys, her posture perfect. She seemed to breathe life into the melody.
She was the most elegant creature he had ever seen.
Cedric lingered in the doorway, captivated despite himself. Her expression, though he could only glimpse it from the side, was one of serene focus.
For a fleeting moment, he imagined her in his arms, dancing to the very tune she played, her laughter soft against his ear.
He scowled, shaking his head sharply as if to dislodge the thought.
Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.
The music stopped, and the Duchess’s hands lingered on the keys for a moment before she turned slightly. Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw him, and though her cheeks flushed, she remained composed. She turned her face away briefly, her hand resting lightly against her cheek before she returned her gaze to him.
“You startled me, Duke,” she said evenly.
“I seem to have a habit of doing that,” Cedric replied, stepping into the room with a faint smile. “I did not mean to interrupt.”
Her posture straightened further if that were even possible, and she clasped her hands neatly in her lap. “You are not interrupting. I was merely practicing.”
“Practicing?” he echoed, raising an eyebrow. “You play as if you’ve mastered every piece in existence.”
A faint smile touched her lips, but she lowered her gaze. “Thank you, Duke. I have played since I was three. I suppose it is one of the few accomplishments I truly enjoy.”
He nodded, stepping closer. “You play well. Perhaps too well. It seems unfair that the pianoforte should be so well-loved when the rest of us are subjected to scorn.”
She arched a delicate eyebrow. “Scorn, Duke?”
“Well,” he said with a mock-serious expression, “you did attempt to leave the castle during a snowstorm. I might be forgiven for assuming you were displeased.”
Her composure faltered for the briefest moment, and her lips pressed into a thin line. “I did not decide to leave on a whim,” she said, her voice frosty. “You shouted at me, Duke. I do not tolerate such behavior.”
Cedric sighed, the guilt twisting in his chest again. “I was wrong to shout at you. You have my apology.”
She studied him for a moment, her gaze searching his. “Thank you, Duke,” she said at last. “I accept your apology.”
However, the stiffness of her mouth betrayed the fact that her quick forgiveness was mostly a habit.
There was a beat of silence between them before he said, “I did not know that music was one of your accomplishments.”
Her face softened as she glanced down at the pianoforte. “It has always been a solace,” she admitted. “A sanctuary from… everything else.”
Cedric hesitated, then asked, “Everything else, Duchess?”
She drew a deep breath, her fingers moving lightly over the keys. “Expectations. Judgments. The pressure to always appear perfect, even when it feels impossible.”
He furrowed his brow. “This is about the ton, isn’t it?”
She turned her head slightly, glancing out the window. The pale light framed her profile, and for a moment, Cedric wondered what thoughts flickered behind her composed exterior.
“It always is,” she said softly. “The ton thrives on cruelty, Duke. They thrive on whispers and scandal, no matter how untrue or undeserved. My sister… Lilianna…” She paused, her voice catching briefly. “Her letters to Lord Rashford were stolen. Someone sent them to the gossip sheets, and they printed every word. They painted her as a shameless seductress, a thief of affections.”
Cedric’s jaw tightened. “And Lord Rashford?”
“Engaged,” she said bitterly. “To a young lady who has not even debuted yet. He led my sister to believe that he would marry her, that he cared for her. And now she is the one who bears the brunt of the ton’s scorn.”
Cedric’s fists clenched at his sides. “The man sounds like a coward.”
“He is,” she said, her voice trembling with anger. “And yet it is my sister who suffers. Lilianna is young and impulsive, but she is kind. She doesn’t deserve this.”
“No,” Cedric agreed quietly. “She doesn’t.”
The Duchess turned back to him, her expression weary. “You understand this, don’t you?” she said softly, her gaze searching his. “The way they whisper, the way they twist and destroy everything.”
His chest tightened. He had seen it—lived it through Cecilia.
Cedric studied the Duchess for a moment, noting the tension in her posture and the way it betrayed the significance of her words, the way her fingers brushed lightly over the pianoforte’s keys as if grounding her. The sight gave him pause, and an unfamiliar sense of duty settled over him.
Now that she’s speaking openly about her sister, it seems only right to clarify another matter between us.
“Duchess,” he said cautiously, his voice measured. “There is something I should tell you about the necklace—the one you wore when you first arrived.”
Her fingers stilled in her lap as she turned to face him fully. “Yes?”
“It belonged to my sister, Cecilia. It was a gift from our mother.”
The Duchess’s face softened, and she glanced down at her hands before looking back at him. “It must hold great significance for you.”
“It does,” Cedric admitted, his throat tightening slightly. “When I saw you wearing it, it… startled me. It brought back memories I wasn’t prepared to face.”
She nodded slowly, her gaze thoughtful. “I didn’t mean to intrude on something so personal. When I found it in the townhouse, I thought it was simply a family heirloom. I never intended to?—”
“You didn’t intrude,” he interrupted. “You couldn’t have known. My reaction was… unfair.”
She searched his eyes. “It must have been difficult to see it again, after so long.”
Cedric exhaled, his voice quieter now. “It was. The necklace represents a part of Cecilia. Society did to her what they are doing to your sister now.” He stepped a little closer to her. “You carry a great deal, Duchess, but you need not do it alone.”
Surprise flickered in her eyes again, but this time, she did not look away. “It is my responsibility,” she said, though her voice lacked the firmness it had earlier. “For my family. For Lilianna.”
“Perhaps,” Cedric said. “But that does not mean you must bear it alone.”
She tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. “And who would bear it with me, Duke? The ton? Hardly.”
“Not the ton,” he replied firmly. “But perhaps… your husband.”
Her breath caught, her surprise evident. For a moment, she seemed to consider his words before nodding slightly.
Cedric stepped even closer until his hands were resting on the top of the pianoforte. “I will help your sister in any way I can.”
Her gaze met his, and as the moment passed, he felt his chest lighten.
“Thank you, Cedric. Truly.”
Her words made him pause, the sound of his name on her lips striking him as unusual.
For a moment, he simply looked at her, until he cocked an eyebrow and asked, “Cedric, not Duke?”
A laugh escaped her lips—a light, melodic sound that caught him off guard.
“I believe I have earned the privilege of using your Christian name after enduring this cold castle and your temper for so many days,” she teased, a playful gleam in her eyes.
His lips curled into a faint smile. “Have you now?”
“I think so,” she said, her tone mock-serious. “It has been no small feat.”
“And here I thought I’d been a perfectly agreeable host,” he drawled.
She tilted her head as if considering. “Well, you’ve improved marginally. That should count for something.”
Cedric chuckled, shaking his head. “You are bold, Duchess.”
“And you are insufferable, Duke,” she replied smoothly. Her smile grew as she added, “Though perhaps not entirely.”
He allowed himself a quiet laugh, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “So you mean to call me Cedric now?”
“I do,” she said lightly. “And if you truly object, I am willing to endure your grumbling.”
He gave her an exaggerated skeptical look. “Oh, I don’t grumble.”
Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “You most certainly do.”
He straightened, his mock-serious expression returning. “If that is the case, then I insist on reciprocity. If you are to call me Cedric, then I shall call you Audrey.”
Audrey stilled for a moment, her eyes meeting his, something unreadable flickering in them. “Very well, Cedric,” she said softly. “You may call me Audrey. After all, you no longer feel like a stranger to me.”
Her words struck him with more force than he had expected, the truth of them settling in his chest. They had been strangers throughout their marriage. Strangers bound by expectations, convenience, and duty. But here, trapped by the storm and the solitude of the castle, they had started to get to know each other.
And now that he was getting to know his wife, Cedric realized that he wanted to know more. What did she like? What did she dislike? What made her smile, laugh, or even scowl? What secrets she hadn’t shared yet?
He shook his head, interrupting his train of thought.
Clearing his throat, he straightened. “Audrey,” he said, testing her name as if it was a foreign language. “Will you play another tune?”
Her lips curled into a soft smile, and she inclined her head. “Of course, Cedric.”
She turned back to the pianoforte, her fingers gliding effortlessly over the keys as a gentle melody filled the room.
Cedric leaned against the piano, watching her with a quiet intensity.