Chapter 21
Twenty-One
C edric turned sharply at the sound of his name, his hand instinctively curling into a fist before he forced himself to relax. Grosvenor Square bustled behind him, carriages trundling over the cobblestones, but the voice cut through the noise like a bell, all too familiar.
“Haremore!” the voice called again, louder now.
Cedric’s gaze landed on Edward Hunting, the Marquess of Belleville, who was striding toward him with his usual infectious cheer.
Edward had always possessed the peculiar ability to look both impeccable and utterly at ease, with his unruly golden hair tamed just enough to appear stylish and a grin perpetually tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Belleville,” Cedric returned, his tone neutral but not unkind as his old friend approached him.
“Good God, man,” Edward said, clapping him on the shoulder with a strength that belied his lean frame. “I thought I was hallucinating, seeing you of all people wandering about town. I nearly had to pinch myself.”
“Should I be flattered that my presence is so astonishing?” Cedric asked dryly, though his lips twitched faintly.
“Flattered? Hardly,” Edward teased. “Shocked and appalled, more like it. What are you doing in London, of all places? Come, tell me at White’s. You look like a man in need of civilized company.”
Cedric opened his mouth to refuse, instinct pulling him back toward solitude, but Edward had already turned on his heel, heading toward the club without waiting for a reply. Cedric sighed, resigning himself to the inevitable, and followed.
He wrinkled his nose as they stepped inside White’s. He hadn’t been here in years, and the place had hardly changed. The same gilt-framed mirrors, the same smell of cigars and brandy—everything too polished, too perfect.
It rankled.
Edward, unbothered as always, led them through the room with the ease of a man who belonged everywhere he went. They found a table near the window, and Edward flopped down into a chair, signaling to the waiter without missing a beat.
“Spiced cordial for both of us,” he said, flashing Cedric a knowing smile. “Unless you’ve suddenly taken to drinking.”
Cedric shook his head, the corners of his mouth quirking up slightly. “No. The same will do.”
Once the waiter had retreated, Edward leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he regarded Cedric with that same infuriating cheer. “So, tell me—what are you doing in London? I never thought to see you south of the border again.”
Cedric exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightening briefly. “I’m here with my wife.”
Edward blinked, startled. “Your wife? I had nearly forgotten you were married. I suppose the rumors were nonsense, then.”
Cedric frowned, narrowing his eyes at him. “Rumors?”
The Marquess’s expression shifted, his casual manner softening into something more thoughtful. “You truly have been away from Society for too long, Haremore. The gossips claim that the Duchess ran away to London, and you—well, you were supposedly too busy brooding in Cumberland to care.”
The words hit Cedric like a blow to the ribs. He forced himself to remain still, his face betraying nothing, though his fingers curled against his thigh beneath the table.
“Interesting,” he said coolly. “And what does this rumor have to do with Lady Lilianna?”
Edward tilted his head, studying him. “Everything. The story has grown fangs, you see. If you’re indifferent to your wife, the logic follows that you are indifferent to her family as well. Lady Lilianna has been at the mercy of every vile whisper.” He hesitated, choosing his next words carefully. “Your presence in London, however, might change that.”
Cedric’s chest tightened. He looked around the room, his sharp gaze landing on clusters of men—some with cigars, others with brandy—engaged in idle chatter.
How many of these men spread such gossip behind their perfectly respectable facades? The hypocrisy made his blood boil.
“I see,” Cedric said tersely. He forced his voice into a measured calm as he leaned back in his chair. “And what do you know about Lord Rashford?”
Edward’s eyebrows rose, though he answered readily. “Ah, the young lord at the center of this delightful mess. Not much to know, really. His father bought him a commission just before the scandal broke, and he’s likely on campaign in Portugal by now.”
Cedric’s jaw worked as he considered this information. “And his intentions? Did he ever—” He paused, his voice hardening. “Did he ever intend to be honorable?”
Edward’s expression darkened slightly, his charm slipping for the briefest moment. “Honor and men like Rashford rarely coexist, Haremore. His sudden departure speaks volumes.”
Cedric’s fingers tightened on the edge of the table. “Then he had better not return, unless he intends to do the right thing.”
Edward watched him with shrewd eyes, though he offered nothing more than a slight nod. “You’ve taken quite the interest in this matter.”
“I do not tolerate dishonorable men,” Cedric replied curtly.
Edward leaned back with a thoughtful smile, as though he were seeing Cedric in an entirely new light. “And what of your Duchess? I heard whispers about her as well—how she’s been holding court, hosting teas, and charming the ton.” He grinned. “You must introduce me. I admit, I’m most curious to meet the woman who managed to drag you away from Cumberland.”
The suggestion caught Cedric off guard. He opened his mouth to respond but then stopped short. An uncomfortable realization dawned on him—he had never formally introduced Audrey to anyone. Not as his wife. Not as anything.
“I will see to it,” he said stiffly, finishing the last of his cordial. Rising abruptly, he signaled to the waiter. “I must go.”
Edward blinked but stood up as well, ever the gentleman. “Off so soon? I feel as though I’ve barely had the chance to irritate you properly.”
Cedric’s lips twitched despite himself. “You’ve had enough success for one day.”
The streets were quieter as Cedric walked back to Haremore House, his hands tucked in the pockets of his coat. Edward’s words echoed in his mind, stirring thoughts he would rather leave buried. He tried to focus on Rashford, on the scandal, but Audrey kept intruding—her stubbornness, her calm certainty, her damned floral perfume.
What has she been doing these past couple of years? What has she endured while I was sequestered in Cumberland, refusing to care?
The question was unwelcome, gnawing at him as he passed familiar streets and familiar buildings. He tried to shake it off, but a memory surfaced, unbidden and sharp.
The church. Their wedding.
He had stood at the altar, his shoulders squared as the guests whispered and murmured behind him. The air had smelled of roses—roses and perfume—before he even turned to see her.
Audrey.
She had glided down the aisle on her father’s arm, her movements graceful and measured. Her dress, pale and delicate, had shone faintly in the dappled light, and her chestnut-brown hair, arranged so artfully, seemed to catch the sun itself.
Cedric had swallowed hard, his fists clenching at his sides. He had known she was beautiful, but seeing her so near—so real—was something else entirely.
Focus, he had told himself. She is like the others—shallow, vain, and scheming.
When her father handed her to him, her gloved hand trembled faintly in his. Cedric had ignored it, pushing down the disquiet that threatened to rise.
“Do smile, Your Grace,” she had whispered then, her voice low but clear. “Everyone is watching.”
The words had struck him like a slap, his irritation instant and fierce.
What woman orders a man like this? he fumed silently, his lips pressing into a hard line.
The arrogance, the audacity—no, it only proved what he already knew. She cared for nothing beyond appearances, for the opinions of people who did not matter at all.
He had barely tolerated the ceremony, reciting his vows with all the enthusiasm of a man reading his death sentence. And when it was over, as she prattled on about the perfect wedding breakfast she had arranged—flowers and pineapples, for God’s sake—he had felt the last of his patience snap.
“I have done my duty,” he had told her the moment they stepped outside. “I am leaving for Cumberland. That is all.”
She had stared at him, her blue eyes wide and startled, the beginnings of hurt flashing across her face. He had ignored it, had turned and left, feeling a satisfaction that had turned almost immediately into something bitter and sharp.
Cedric stopped suddenly, his breath catching as he looked up. The church stood before him, its tall spire silhouetted against the darkening sky. He stared at it, unblinking, as though it had appeared out of nowhere.
What in God’s name am I doing here?
The image of Audrey’s disappointed face lingered at the edge of his mind, as vivid now as it had been back then. His fists clenched, his jaw tightening as he turned on his heel, as though the memory itself might chase him down.
But it was too late. It had already taken root.