Chapter Eighteen
Christiana’s fingers shook as she held the thin envelope in her hands. Over morning breakfast, she had received two letters. One from Laura, and the other, the one she stared at now, bore her father’s writing.
If it had her father’s hand scrawling her name, it was not a missive informing her of his untimely passing.
Rather, it was probably a plea for money.
Her father cared for little else, certainly not her happiness.
If her well-being had mattered to him, he would not have sold her to the highest bidder, not even caring to know who said man had been.
And thus, he had lost the last of her filial loyalty.
But if that were the case—though that was the case—why did the knowledge of his disinterest hurt?
She took a deep breath and placed the letter to one side. She would deal with that later. Perhaps in her bedchambers, undisturbed by anyone.
“Chris.” Hugh’s voice cut through her daze. “What is it?”
She blinked and looked up, finding him watching her, his eyes very dark. “Hmm?”
“Who sent the letter that made you look like that?”
From the way he spoke, she suspected she knew.
“My father,” she said as calmly as she was able. “It’s of no matter. He can have nothing to say that would be urgent.”
“Would you like me to burn it for you?”
“No!” She tucked the envelope in her pocket. Just in case—though why she still harbored hope like a fool after all these years was beyond her. “That is to say, I am perfectly capable of handling it myself.”
He inclined his head. “Of course.”
To distract both from her reaction and her racing thoughts about whatever her father might have said, Christiana opened the letter from Laura, which aside from the usual felicitations upon her marriage, and some rather less-usual pleas—“Please tell me you are safe with the Beast”—also contained the news that she would be running away with her groom.
And here is the worst part of my request, which you may throw out, if you wish.
You see, when we return to my family, they will most likely spurn us.
I fully accept we will have to live a modest life, but I do so hope that I can retain at least one friendship: yours.
I don’t ask that you and the duke receive my husband; that would be upsetting the apple cart too far, I know.
But I would love to visit you, my dearest friend, and feel that I am welcome.
If you can open your heart to me and extend an offer or invitation, then know it will be most gratefully accepted.
Yours forever,
Laura
Christiana’s heart stilled. When she glanced up, it was to find Hugh’s gaze on her.
Would he allow this? He was so difficult to read. He had allowed her to ride astride on his gelding, but that had been where no one but he could see. When she had visited Grancott and been in danger of being spurned, he had ridden to rescue her.
His primary intention in life was to protect his sister, and for her to chaperone Amelia in London, she could not have any scandals in her past.
Laura would be a scandal.
But she was also Christiana’s friend—her only friend. The only person who had made her years at St. Mary’s worth living. Together, they had combated the rigidity of their education, and Christiana would not have emerged unscathed were it not for Laura’s unfailing friendship.
She could not turn her back now.
“Do you have news?” Hugh asked.
“I do,” she said carefully. “Do you recall Miss Crawford? She attended our wedding.”
“I recall.”
“This letter is from her.” She held up the single sheet of paper. “She is soon to be married.”
His gaze swept across her face, and she felt the slide of it like a physical touch, despite the distance that gaped between them. “You do not seem pleased by this development.”
If ever there were a hill to die on, it would be this. Nervous, restless, she pushed back from her chair and strode about the room. “In a way, I suppose I’m not,” she said. “And I doubt you will be, either.”
“Why is that?” he asked, looking up at her.
Today, he wasn’t wearing his gloves, and part of her—the part that wasn’t occupied with Laura—delighted in the sight.
As she passed, he caught her wrist, slowing her passage.
Long fingers encased her small bones, and she recalled the press of his lips against the tips of her fingers.
For days, she had done an excellent job of suppressing that memory, but now it came back in full force.
He made her wonder what it might be like to be kissed.
No, that wasn’t right—she had not been wondering how it felt to be kissed, but how it might feel to have Hugh kiss her.
There was clearly something very wrong with her.
“What about her marriage displeases you?” Hugh’s expression hardened, even as he held her gently. “Was it a gentleman you had hoped—”
“No.” Unable to help herself, she laughed. There could have been nothing further from the truth. “I’ve never met him. But he’s…” How to put this delicately? “The marriage is an imprudent one.”
Hugh still held her wrist; his thumb swiped across her skin and she felt the contact as though it had been seared into her. “I see.”
“I have a favor to ask. And you won’t like it, but I beg you will hear me out.”
“Go on.”
“Laura—Miss Crawford—is my best friend. After her marriage, I would like to invite her to stay with us for a few days. After her marriage, I expect her father will cut her off. I would hate for her to be friendless.”
Hugh’s face blanked until it resembled stone, cold and hard. She had to resist the urge to touch his features to remind herself that he was still flesh and blood. “Precisely how imprudent is the marriage in question?”
“She is the daughter of a viscount, and she is to marry her father’s groom.”
Awful, terrible silence. Hugh’s expression didn’t change, but she could practically sense his anger. She’d heard of his rage but seen very little of it—from what she could tell, it was a slow, unfurling thing.
This had definitely provoked it.
“I know there will be a scandal,” she said quietly. “But I would like to stand by her. After all, she stood by me during my marriage to you.”
His fingers squeezed her wrist almost painfully, and he dropped her as though she had burned him.
“I,” he said quietly, the fury in his voice a lash against her skin, “am a duke. The two situations are not comparable. You may not think yourself suited to being a duchess, and my reputation is not savory, but you are now a high-ranking member of society. In London, at least, there will be few doors closed to you. The same cannot be said for Miss Crawford.”
“Are you going to blame her for falling in love?”
“I blame her for acting on it.” He shoved back from the table and paced away, his shoulders tight.
“Is that excuse enough in your eyes, Chris? Should one be forgiven for ruining their life merely because they fell in love? More to the point, how did she endeavor to fall in love with a mere groom if her behavior was not already reprehensible?” He strode through the room with prowling grace.
She felt as though she had set fire to a fuse and was watching it burn steadily closer to the gunpowder.
She raised her chin. “Does loyalty mean nothing to you?”
“If this were a question of merely you and I, then you may do as you please.” He turned to face her, the light playing across the terrible scars on his face.
“I know there is no salvaging my reputation, but I have done everything in my power to protect Amelia from the force of public condemnation, and I did not bring you here so you would ruin that.”
“My reputation?” a voice said from the doorway. Amelia stood there in a pale-white morning dress, looking positively angelic in the sunlight. “Why are you discussing my reputation?”
Hugh’s jaw worked as he fought to keep his temper. Christiana felt her own temper fray, made all the worse by the memory of her father’s note in her pocket.
“Your brother would like to deny my friend access to this house,” Christiana said.
“In light,” Hugh added ominously, “of her disgraceful marriage.”
“Oh, how exciting!” Amelia clapped her hands together. “I had no notion you were such a romantic, Chris.”
“This isn’t a romantic notion in the slightest,” Christiana said. “I can disagree with her choices and still wish to welcome her to my home.”
“Choices have consequences,” Hugh said, arms folded across his massive chest. “And the consequences of Miss Crawford’s choices are that she will not be welcomed by most of the ton. Her life will have to be more modest, and she will lose most of her friends. That is the way of things.”
“That does not have to be the way of things.” Christiana folded her arms back at him.
“She did not have to be my friend at St. Mary’s.
We were of the same rank, but where she always had clothes of the latest fashion, I had to stay up late and sew mine.
The other girls mocked me for—” What hadn’t they mocked her for?
“She chose me when the rest of my limited society did not.”
The anger on Hugh’s face didn’t fade. “You ask for too much,” he said shortly. “I will hear no more on the subject.”
Amelia sighed. “Hugh, you don’t have to—”
“Enough, Amelia.” With one last glower at them both, he swept from the room.
Amelia pursed her lips as Christiana sagged a little. Her sister-in-law’s glasses slid down her nose, and she pushed them back up with a sigh.
That was the first time in quite a while that Amelia had seen Hugh lose his temper.
In the early days, when he had still been healing from the burns and the house had been still in the process of being repaired, and everything had felt a little out of place, his temper had been terrible.
He had raged against the world and his situation; the only person with whom he had learned to be gentle had been her.
And soon, she would be gone forever.
What he needed was for someone to take her place—someone else for whom he needed to be gentle.
Right now, having sparked his rage, Christiana didn’t exactly seem like that person. But just yesterday, Hugh had braved the village in order to bring her back. That alone told Amelia there was something to save. They just, perhaps, needed a little push in the right direction.
Amelia was more than happy to provide that push.
“Don’t worry,” she said cheerfully. “He’ll come around.”
“Perhaps.” Christiana’s tone was dubious. “But I won’t let this lie. Laura is my best friend.”
Amelia had her friends from her school in Bath—they would debut in London next year along with her—and she would do anything for them, too.
“I suppose I could travel and visit her,” Christiana said, looking as though she were contemplating the idea. “Would he go after me, do you think?”
For a moment, Amelia imagined it. He would most certainly go after her, but Hugh in a towering rage chasing after his wife was not quite the picture of romance she had hoped for.
“Let’s not be too hasty.” Amelia fluffed her skirts as she hopped onto a small, round table and perched there. “All you need to do is speak to him. He’s not unreasonable.”
The look Christiana shot her suggested she disagreed. “He is not usually unreasonable, but when the matter is about you, he most certainly is.”
“He is stubborn,” Amelia conceded. “How tiresome.”
“Indeed.”
With him working against her, Amelia would have to try even harder to force him into happiness.
Time was slipping away from them—nearly a month had passed since Christiana’s arrival, and there were only a few more—six or seven, perhaps—before the Season began.
Hugh must be firmly in love before that happened.
“But there will be a solution,” she said, more to herself than Christiana. All they needed was to engineer a situation in which they had no choice but to talk.
She would think about that.
In the meantime, she had more pressing questions. She kicked her legs idly. “Have you made any progress on the seduction front?”
Christiana’s already pale face went a shade whiter. “Hush! What if the servants hear?”
“So what if they do? Is it so very strange for a lady to desire her husband’s attention?” Amelia examined her nails. “When I marry, I intend for my husband to be so taken with me, he has no eyes for any other ladies.”
“Then I wish you luck,” Christiana said dryly, “but that hardly helps my current predicament.”
“If you are in any doubt, kiss him,” she said, tapping her lip thoughtfully. “That ought to do wonders for your argument as well.”
“Your brother will not concede in exchange for a kiss.”
Perhaps, perhaps not. Amelia had given very little thought to Hugh’s tastes in that department, and she wanted it to stay that way. Once she had gotten them into a situation, what they did there was entirely their business.
A plan formed in her mind. First, she would need to steal Mrs. Partridge’s keys.
Then she would need to set up a meeting from which there could be no escape, thus forcing them to talk.
And perhaps she could convince Christiana to change her gown to something more flattering.
That morning dress was all very well, but for Hugh to be swept off his feet, she would need something a little more daring.
Amelia would have a word with Christiana’s lady’s maid and come to some kind of arrangement.
Christiana herself leaned against the chair, lost in thought, big eyes pensive and determined.
Yes, Hugh would come around. He had never wanted an insipid miss for a wife.
Thus decided, Amelia beamed. “Shall we retire to the library? I have a novel I would like to finish reading, and I know you are rather bizarrely fascinated by those books on mathematics.”
“One must know the basic principles in order to apply the same rules elsewhere,” Christiana said, and Amelia wanted to laugh. Hugh had, entirely by accident, stumbled across the very lady likely to pique his interest the most, and he hadn’t even known it.
All it would require would be for Amelia to orchestrate their falling in love, and Hugh would be happy for the remainder of his days.