Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
I n the late afternoon, Cedric looked up from the report he was reading as the door to his office in the House of Lords opened with a confident creak. Belleville strolled in with the ease of a man who had never been troubled by formalities. His hair, as golden and artfully disheveled as ever, seemed to catch what little light filtered through the window.
“You know,” Belleville said, “you are quite terrifying when you look serious like that. The poor report doesn’t stand a chance.”
Cedric set the papers down deliberately and leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. “A fascinating observation, Belleville. Perhaps I should embroider it onto my coat of arms.”
Belleville grinned, unperturbed. “Ah, the Duke of Haremore—the scourge of reports and protector of all ink-stained parchment.” He dropped into the chair opposite Cedric’s desk without invitation, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “How fortunate for England that you are here.”
“Fortunate, indeed,” Cedric drawled, though his eyes remained sharp. “And yet, I suspect you have not come all the way to my office to impart that particular pearl of wisdom. So, what is it?”
The shift in Belleville’s expression was subtle but undeniable. The teasing light in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something harder, more thoughtful.
Cedric frowned, sitting up straighter. “What is it?” he asked.
Belleville exhaled, clasping his hands together as he rested his elbows on his knees. “I came upon something this morning—information passed along from a cousin of mine. The same cousin who happens to share blood with our dear Lord Rashford.”
Cedric stilled, his eyes narrowing. “Go on.”
Belleville’s voice lowered, his usual joviality entirely absent. “Rashford is not in Portugal.”
Cedric’s fingers flexed on the arms of his chair. “What?”
“You heard me,” Belleville said, meeting his gaze squarely. “He’s still in England. Somewhere.”
The words landed like a blow to Cedric’s chest, but his expression remained stony. “Are you certain of this?” His voice was measured, low, but it carried the sharp edge of barely restrained anger.
Belleville nodded. “My cousin is not the sort to lie, and why would he? I was under the impression that Rashford had taken his commission like a proper coward and fled to Portugal with the army. It seems, however, that he has remained here all along.”
Cedric’s jaw worked, tension coiling in his shoulders like a tightly wound spring. “He is in England,” he said, his voice hard, “and yet he allows Lady Lilianna to suffer alone? To endure disgrace and ruin while he hides?”
“It would seem so,” Belleville replied carefully, watching Cedric’s reaction with a touch of wariness.
Cedric rose to his feet abruptly, unable to remain seated. He turned his back to Belleville, staring out the window with narrowed eyes. Below, the streets of London were alive with carriages and pedestrians, but he barely saw them.
“Where is he?” he demanded, his voice clipped.
“I don’t know,” Belleville admitted, his tone regretful. “But I will find out.”
Cedric turned back sharply, his coat shifting with the movement, before he stalked back to his desk. “Do that,” he said, his words clipped and precise. “I want to know where he is, Belleville. Every detail.”
“You shall,” Belleville promised. “Give me a day or two. My cousin will know more.”
Cedric inclined his head curtly, forcing his temper back into its cage. He owed Belleville a great deal—both for the information and his discretion. “Thank you.”
Belleville waved a hand dismissively, though his expression softened. “Think nothing of it. I know you, Cedric. You are not the sort to leave a mess uncleaned.”
Cedric didn’t reply. He simply glanced down at the gold watch he pulled out of his waistcoat pocket, the polished surface catching the firelight as he flipped it open. The time was later than he had expected.
Damn.
“I have to go,” he said, tucking the watch back in his pocket as he reached for his coat. “My wife is waiting for me to dine with her family.”
Belleville leaned back, a look of exaggerated delight crossing his face. “The Duchess of Haremore! I must say, I’m still waiting for an introduction.”
Cedric paused, his hands lingering on the buttons of his coat as he regarded his friend thoughtfully. Belleville might joke and jest, but there was no denying the influence he had in Society. His acceptance of Audrey—and by extension, her family—could sway some of the skeptical critics.
“Come to dinner with me,” Cedric said suddenly.
Belleville blinked, clearly surprised. “Dinner? With her family?”
“Yes,” Cedric replied simply, shrugging into his coat. “Stonebridge House. Tonight.”
Belleville laughed, shaking his head. “Cedric, I asked for an introduction to your wife, not her entire clan.”
“Suit yourself,” Cedric said with a nonchalant shrug. He turned toward the door.
Belleville rose, still chuckling under his breath. “Of course, I will attend. How could I resist? The Winslows and the illustrious Duchess of Haremore—I daresay the evening will be most enlightening.”
Cedric didn’t respond to the jest, though his mouth twitched with amusement. “I’ll see you there.”
Belleville sketched a mock bow as Cedric turned the door handle. “Until tonight, Your Grace.”
Cedric’s mind raced as he walked out, the anger still simmering low in his gut. Lord Rashford— that coward —had been in England this entire time, allowing Lilianna to bear the shame alone. It was inexcusable, unforgivable.
Audrey stole a glance at her husband as they entered the drawing room, her fingers brushing against his sleeve. Cedric looked every inch the formidable Duke of Haremore—his coat immaculate, his posture rigid, his brow slightly furrowed as though he’d rather be anywhere else.
“Smile,” she muttered under her breath, leaning closer as they crossed the threshold.
Cedric’s jaw tightened slightly, though he didn’t look at her. “It’s your family, not the ton , ” he argued, his voice a low rumble. “I don’t need to smile.”
Audrey bit back a laugh, her lips twitching despite herself. “Well, at least you don’t think of my family as the ton , ” she replied softly, her amusement slipping through.
Cedric turned his head slightly, his dark gaze flicking to hers for just a moment before he exhaled sharply, the faintest glimmer of something that could have been humor in his eyes.
Her stepmother, Grace, was already on the settee, her face lighting up when they entered. Clarise stood nearby, smoothing the folds of her pale dress, her shy smile widening at the sight of them. Lord Stonebridge stood stiffly by the fireplace, his usual air of stoic authority softening only slightly as he inclined his head to Cedric.
“Good evening,” Audrey said warmly, releasing Cedric’s arm to greet them. “Where is Lilianna?”
Clarise stepped forward, her hands clasped demurely before her. “In her bedchamber. She said she wouldn’t be joining us.”
Audrey frowned, the words tugging at her heart. She glanced briefly at Cedric, who was being offered a glass of port by the butler. He lifted a hand in refusal.
“No port,” he said curtly. “Bring me something else—tea, perhaps.”
The butler hesitated for only a second before bowing. “Of course, Your Grace.”
Lord Stonebridge raised an eyebrow at him. “You are having tea?”
Cedric shrugged, his tone insouciant. “I find port intolerable. Besides, I prefer to keep my wits about me.”
Audrey’s lips twitched, though she said nothing. Of course he would. It was such a Cedric response—controlled, unyielding, and maddeningly direct.
“I will be back,” she murmured, already turning toward the stairs.
Lilianna’s door was ajar when Audrey reached it. She knocked softly, then entered without waiting for a reply.
The room was dimly lit, the fading light of the day filtering through the heavy curtains. Lilianna sat at her vanity, dressed in a simple blue dress, her hair pinned in a loose chignon. Her fingers ran absently over a silver hairbrush, and her expression was distant as she stared at her reflection.
“I heard you wouldn’t be joining us,” Audrey said gently, stepping inside. “And yet here you are, dressed.”
Lilianna sighed, setting the brush down with a soft clatter. “I feel obligated,” she admitted, meeting Audrey’s gaze in the mirror. “The Duke is here, after all.”
Audrey shook her head, moving to stand beside her sister. “You are not obligated,” she said firmly. “You should join us because we are a family, and your sorrow is ours too. We want to support you, Lilianna. Not because Cedric is here, but because you matter to us.”
Lilianna turned in her chair, her blue eyes glistening as she looked up at Audrey. Slowly, she rose to her feet, and before Audrey could say another word, her sister wrapped her arms around her.
“I’m sorry,” Lilianna whispered, her voice breaking. “I know I’ve been behaving oddly. I just… I don’t know what to do. The pain is unbearable.”
Audrey’s heart clenched, and she hugged her sister tightly, smoothing her hand over Lilianna’s back. “I know,” she murmured. “But this is the first step, dearest. Come to dinner. Things are getting better already—have you not noticed? We’ve been invited to an event.”
Lilianna pulled back slightly, furrowing her brow. “Margaret and her aunt are simply being kind.”
Audrey smiled faintly, brushing a stray curl from Lilianna’s cheek. “No, they are being wise. You are worth far more than your sorrow, and others are beginning to see that. Let them see it.”
For a moment, Lilianna hesitated. Then, she nodded, her lips curling into the faintest of smiles. “Very well. I will come.”
Audrey descended the stairs with Lilianna at her side, her thoughts briefly brightening. But when they entered the drawing room, her steps faltered. She hadn’t expected to see a guest, much less one sitting comfortably with her father and husband as though he belonged there.