Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
The carriage was waiting for them at the bottom of the small lane to the church; two men in livery were atop the dark polished panels. The set of four dappled greys, a set as magnificent as Ariadne had ever seen, were pawing on the ground with agitation to move.
The coachman sat high, while the footman descended from the seat next to him and bowed before opening the door. “Your Graces.”
Duke Holloway nodded to him but then pivoted to speak to a man with dusky blond hair. “Send me the details of your investigator by dawn. I will find Leander and drag his hide even if he has found the deepest hole on the furthest side of the moon to hide in.”
The man’s lips twitched. “May God have mercy on Leander’s soul because you surely will not.”
“No, I will not,” Cedric said.
Nodding his permission to the footman to help Ariadne inside the cavernous carriage, he followed. After the footman closed the door and took his place, the carriage went off.
“Do… I call you, Your Grace,” she asked quietly. “I know a lot of ladies call their husbands my lord, especially in a situation like this.”
“A situation like this?” he asked flatly.
“A marriage of convenience,” she replied. “I don’t know what to call it.”
“There is no situation like this,” he said. “And no, you do not have to call me Your Grace, or My Lord. You call me what is appropriate in the moment, but I’d appreciate it if you called me Cedric.”
She swallowed, “What do you think happened to your brother? Do you think he went off to his mistress?”
“It’s a valid theory, one I came to as well. Rest assured, my men will be at Lady Porter’s house by tonight,” he said.
“Is she married?”
“Yes?”
Scandalized, Ariadne asked, “But—but how can she be so brazen with this affair if she is married?”
“This might be hard for a naif like you to understand, but some marriages are simply marriages of the purses, not bodies,” he said.
“Lady Porter’s husband is a milksop who makes sure she is given a generous allowance and all the jewels, furs she wanted just for her to turn a blind eye to his…
. proclivities. Do you see what I mean?”
“No.” That explanation was as clear as the mud on London’s streets.
“Of course not,” he snorted, “He has a desire for women of the night.”
She was quiet for almost ten minutes before she asked, “Why did you choose to marry me? You could have left me in the turmoil.”
Cedric gave a long, staid look. “I realized it could be of mutual benefit.
Though I never wanted to marry again, at thirty-two, and a widower with a young daughter, I am beset with invitations, coercions, and blatant, overt demands to marry again.
Marrying you will stop them, well, I hope so, as there are always one or two who will try their hand.
“Secondly, my daughter Emily is already asking why she had to learn embroidery instead of Latin, and as much as I try to explain the expectations of lords and ladies in the ton, I do not think I am getting through to her.
“If it comes from a lady, it might be better received,” he said. “And moreover, you deserved better than ruin. You will have a comfortable life, but as a duchess, your sisters will have the privilege of my association and will have no worries in finding husbands.”
It’s a sensible arrangement, but… it still feels unfair.
“You’re not pleased by any of this, are you?” he asked.
His question startled her. “Why—why do you say that?”
He snorted, “Your face is more expressive than you think.”
Ariadne pressed her lips tight and looked out the window. Pleased? How could she explain that she was overjoyed that her sisters would no longer live in poverty or uncertainty, and yet, she could not stand that she would be trapped in a life with a husband who would never want her for her?
“I didn’t want to marry this way.”
“What do you want?”
“A love match,” she said plainly. “To be with someone who understands me and does not ask me to be something I am not.”
“Love matches only exist in novels and in the heads of the ninnies who read them,” Cedric snorted derisively. “I know it’s a harsh reality for you to hear, but it is one.”
Her chest burned. “My mother and father had a love match.”
“Love is not what you think it is,” he said coldly.
“You’re so cy—"
A sudden jerk of the horses slamming the carriage to a stop was so severe that it flung Ariadne forward. She would have crashed to the floor or been flung over the following seat if Cedric had not caught her.
Frightened, she gripped his arms, the ring on her finger tucked tight on her glove, as her hand was fisted tight. She could feel the blood that had left her face begin to creep back in while her heart replaced itself in her chest rather than her throat.
The fright of it all kept her fixed where she had landed on him, her limbs trembling at the panic of it. Cedric’s hands were on her waist, holding her firm, while her face was pressed in the crook of his neck.
His subtle, spicy citrus cologne wafted into her nose while she had the strangest of thoughts—it felt nice lying on his chest. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“Now, yes. Thank you for catching me.” Ariadne kept her eyes averted as she took her seat again. She asked. “Did we throw a wheel?”
The carriage began to move again, and Cedric hooked a finger around the velvet window drape and looked out. “The wheels hit a rut. We’ll be fine. Now, please tell me what you think I am?”
“You’re cynical and jaded,” she said, “What could have possibly happened in your life to make you so… I don’t think I can live with someone who cannot see the beauty of life.”
“I can give you your home in the countryside if you want,” he said. “But not so fast. The ton will eat you alive if we separate so easily.”
“Why—why do you feel such derision for the idea of a love match?” She asked. “They do exist! Why had you married your first wife then?”
His gaze cut right through her, and it was harder than steel.
“I inherited the dukedom at the age of eleven, but my father’s steward, a man he trusted with his life, stood as regent until I reached the age of majority.
I married early to make sure my bloodline would continue. Love had nothing to do with it.”
Ariadne shrank a little at the ice in his tone. She did not know what to make of this man. At times, she felt like she was making some headway with him, and then, he slammed the balustrades as thick as medieval castle’s walls between them.
“Is there merit to the rumors about your late wife being—”
She clamped her lips tight. How did she say such a thing tactfully? Was there a way to tactfully say that half of London thought he had killed his wife?
His lips were pressed tight. “The rumor of me killing my wife for the lack of a son, you mean?”
Ariadne wanted to melt through the floor. “Yes.”
“Let’s get this out of the way first,” he said. “My wife died in the same fire that injured me and almost took my daughter’s life if it had not been for two of my staff who risked their life to get us out.”
She felt as if something blunt struck her in the middle of her chest. “Does anyone know the truth of that?”
“It is known,” he said. “But the gossipmongers do not care for such banal reports. They would prefer to spin outlandish tales just to have something to titter about over breakfast. At some point, it was just easier to let them believe whatever nonsense they want to believe than to try and correct them a thousand times.”
Shame curdled her stomach, and she pressed her hand to her chest as bile surged up the back of her throat. “I should have known not to listen to gossip.”
“I also do not mind being cast as a villain if it makes sure that people will leave my family and me alone,” he replied. “Plus, looking like a beast does not hurt either.”
She plucked her skirts, “Tell me about Emily. What is she like?"
The stiff jut of his jaw softened, and for the first time, she saw a glimpse of a heart inside him. “She is eight, clever, and sharp as a whip. She has her mother's eyes and my stubbornness, which is something I fear will be difficult for her later down in the road.
“She loves books and animals, she is mischievous and does not accept a lot of people immediately, she will probably interrogate you the moment we arrive.” He paused. “She had not said it, but I know she wants a real mother figure.”
“Is… is that you want me to be for her?” Ariadne asked hesitantly. “Is that another reason why you married me?”