Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
It was the shouting that woke Ariadne, and worried, she threw on a dressing gown and hurried to the source of the noise. She feared for the worst—but when she stepped inside, her gaze landed on Leander, who was glaring at Cedric.
“What do you mean you’ve dissolved my lordship?” Leander demanded.
Seated behind his massive desk, Cedric was the epitome of calm and collected.
“You are leaving London to be free from what you perceive as a prison. Why do you think you can have your title and your love overseas? Your title was a courtesy title anyhow, and you barely did anything with it other than invest in various businesses.”
Leander’s eyes landed on Ariadne, who was lingering near the doorway. His top lip lifted in a sneer, “You kept her, I see.”
“She is a human being, not a phaeton you can replace at your fancy.” Cedric’s tone was icy. “But that does not matter to you, does it?”
“Her mother tried to trap me, and while I managed to yank my foot out of the claws, you willingly jammed your foot in it,” Leander said snidely. “You do know you do not have to be the sacrificial lamb all the time?”
“Someone has to be a man about these things, and it’s clear you are still a boy,” Cedric snapped back.
Leander flung his hands up, “You didn’t have to marry her.”
“The logistics of that moment made more sense to it than not to do it,” Cedric replied.
“Logistics,” Leander mocked him. “It's all logistics with you.”
Cedric seemed to sag into his chair, his gaze suddenly defeated. When he spoke, his tone was rife with resignation. “For God's sake, Leander, I don’t want to fight this. This was a mistake. If you want to run off to America, go on. I won’t stop you.”
The sudden shift affected Leander, and the steel in the younger man’s spine vanished. Slowly, the younger brother sank to a chair, and the two stared at each other long enough that the sensation scraped over her skin.
Finally, Leander admitted, “I was scared, alright? The prospect of marriage made me see my independence crumble and vanish before my eyes. So I asked Cumberland to arrange a carriage to come for me on the day of the wedding. I never expected you to step in where I left off.”
Sighing, Cedric turned to her. “Take a seat, Ariadne.”
Silently, she came inside and took a seat across from Leander and in a direct triangle to Cedric. She folded her hands on her lap, unsure of what to do or say, but Leander took that choice from her.
Leaning over to brace his elbows on his knees, he said, “I am sorry I ran away, Lady Ariadne. I never wanted obligation; I never wanted marriage—” he waved his hand around them.
“—I never wanted the house and duty and children and making sure this bloodline goes on. So, I ran, and I am sorry for the embarrassment I made you feel that day.”
“I accept your apology,” she said. “And thank you for being honest. I cannot blame you so much, as one of my sisters does not want marriage either. It is a daunting situation.”
Drumming his fingers on the table, Cedric asked, “Do you really want to go to America?”
“Yes, no… maybe….” Leander rubbed his face. “In those moments, I thought it was the only way out.”
Leaning in, Cedric asked, “Do you want to stay?”
“Yes,” Leander admitted.
“How about you go to the country home in Bath for a while and come back when you want to,” Cedric said, “But stay for breakfast tomorrow. Emily misses you.”
“How it the little hellion doing?” Leander asked.
Pushing away from the table, Cedric said, “Stay for breakfast, and you’ll find out.”
“Uncle Leander!” Emily yelped as she ran to him while he poured out a cup of coffee at the side table.
Smiling, Ariadne nursed her tea, having already had a light breakfast of currant buns and eggs boiled to imperfection.
“Good morning, little scamp,” Leander said as he opened his arms wide to hug her. “How have you been?”
“I have a cat,” Emily pronounced proudly.
“Really?” Leander looked up to Cedric. “Your father gave you a cat?”
“It’s Miss Aria’s cat actually,” Emily said as she went to her chair. “She found it, but she lets me keep it on the weekends.”
While the two chatted, Ariadne reached for that day’s edition of the Times, and by habit, she turned to the scandal pages, and the moment her eyes landed on the large black letters, her heart fell to the pit of her stomach.
Who is the new Duchess of Holloway?
Society reeled as His Grace, the Duke of Holloway, the most elusive Duke in London, emerged one day as wedded to a Miss Ariadne Hargrave—but insiders whisper the marriage is more cover-up than courtship.
Suspicions arise as bystanders see the two in a renowned sweetshop with his child in his arms, but a few recall a certain ball when the gentlelady was promised to his brother, Lord Moreland.
“Everyone believes she was compromised,” confided one guest, requesting anonymity. “The poor girl’s reputation was hanging by a thread, and suddenly the Duke swoops in? It’s all too convenient.”
Cynics suggest that the union is less a romance than a rescue mission, designed to cloak a scandal and not a true union. No one knows the truth of the matter, but it is truly suspicious how one brother was switched for the other.
Ariadne stared at the paper until her eyes began to hurt and she dimly heard her name being called between what felt like cotton being stuffed into her ears.
“Ariadne?” She belatedly realized Cedric was calling her name—and had been calling her name for a while.
She turned to him and mustered a smile. “I am sorry. I went off wool gathering. Is something the matter?”
Cedric’s eyes narrowed. “Not entirely. Emily was asking if you would take her to see Amelia this evening.”
Swallowing, Ariadne said, “I—” her gaze landed on the child, her expression hopeful, and it cut her in two to know that she was going to disappoint her. “Unfortunately, I cannot today. Maybe the governess can step into my stead.”
She felt Leander’s eyes on the side of her neck while Cedric’s brows began to knit. “I am sure she will. If you want to go and rest—”
“I’ll do that, thank you,” she pushed away from the table and headed back to her rooms, to a bed she had abandoned for weeks. As she rested her head on the pillows, she clenched her eyes tight and tried to block of the memory of the words on that damned paper.
How much do they know? Is our secret truly out?
What had started as a marriage of necessity to keep shame from both their families had grown into something so much more than a marriage of convenience.
When had she fallen fully and completely in love with Cedric Greymont? And now, that love was going to be called into question by nosy busybodies in the ton.
The worries circled her mind in such a furious way it exhausted her from the inside out, and soon enough, she dropped into a tremulous sleep.
It was the soft dip of her bed that roused Ariadne from her troubled sleep, but she did not turn until Cedric gently hooked a hand around her waist and pulled her in.
“I know you’re awake, Ariadne,” Cedric said, and she heard the rustle of the newspaper drop to the end of the bed. “And I know about the rumor rag. Please open your pretty eyes and look at me.”
She forced her eyes open. “Do you think they know?”
His hand cupped her cheek, “So what if they know? It’ll blow off eventually, and no one will care a whit about it anymore. Rumors won’t invalidate our marriage, even if they will make the ton titter over their breakfast trays and at supper.
“This is the part of the ton that no one talks about or acknowledges,” he said. “These lords and ladies will smile at your face and stab you in the back the moment you turn it.”
His hand rested on her hip. “You’ll learn to grow a thick skin, Ariadne. My hide is thicker than a rhinoceros' armor at this point, and I don’t mean just the parts of my skin that look like a melted candle.”
“Will it make your life harder?” She asked.
“No, not exponentially.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I’ll get the editor to stop these publications and make sure you are not targeted for these vile rumors.”
“But they are not rumors.” She whispered.
“Regardless,” he said. “I’ll make sure you and your family are protected.”
“You cannot do everything, Cedric,” she said. “I want to help, but I don’t know how. My countryfied sensibilities are at a loss here.”
“You can help,” he said while sitting and ruffling his hair. “You can help by holding your head up high and refusing to let these rumors get the best of you. Can you promise me that?”
Ariadne sat up, “I promise. As a matter-of-fact, tell Emily I’ll take her to Amelia today. You’re right, it won't help if I hide away.”
He leaned in to give her a long, lingering kiss. “I have no doubt you’ll find a way.”
“They did what?” Cedric growled to his Mr. James, Baur’s old clerk, whom he had unceremoniously purloined from the incompetent steward as they were on the way to Westminster for a weeklong summit.
Just like Hunt, Cedric rewarded Mr. James’s loyalty to Ariadne.
“The editor has staunchly refused to hold the story,” Mr. James said. “And it's not only one, but it's several.”
Cedric ground his teeth, “Did they say why?”
“No,” his new clerk said. “None at all.”
“They’re getting paid,” he said stiffly. “I need to know who is behind that money.”
Fixing the files on his lap, James nodded, “I’ll find an investigator to look into it.”
Speaking of investigations, no one from Bow Street had reached out to him regarding Draven, so he guessed that the case was long closed.
Now he had another ne’er-do-well nipping at his heels, faking love notes, bragging about this ‘affair’, and this rumormonger was determined to destabilize his marriage.
Is it too much of a coincidence that both are happening at the same time? Is the same person trying to attack us publicly and privately?
Grabbing the Times, his eyes ran over the scandal sheets.
The Story Thickens.
The Duke’s brother, Leander, has long been known for his appetites— wine, wagers, and women. Now, his shadow looms over the Duchess herself.
Following up on the rumor that the gentlelady was to marry the duke’s brother, there is a whisper that the night before the lady was announced to marry, she was spotted dancing with the lordship himself, and later drunk at the dinner table of the duke’s ball.
Her mother led her out of the hall and, supposedly, to their rooms, a lady who wished not to be named offered her testimony. Or it could be to lead the lady to the lord’s room as a sacrificial offering or a bid for marriage? How is it then that they are announced to marry the next morning?
Cedric’s skin itched at how close these rumormongers were getting to the truth. He had faith in his staff that no one would be feeding these people private details, but he could not know for sure; a five pound not could turn any servant’s mind.
He rubbed his face, “Let's focus on this bill. Are you sure I made all the pertinent points?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” James nodded. “Do you want to go through it all again?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Let’s start.”
The debate exhausted him beyond comparison, but he’d managed to sway a few lords on the other side to see his point. He’d gone to his lodging house in the city, knowing by the next morning, things will be back to the same again.
He felt the pressing need to get back home and find this damned editor for the newspaper while bringing the hounds of hell with him. But he had to endure five more days of this and more.
Needless to say, he did not sleep well that night.
He was not eager to see the newspaper that morning, and when it was placed before him the next day, he wanted to march out of the House.
The Lady Duchess with no dowry, no rank, and no connections.
The intrepid scouts have managed to track down the original marriage order from the Archbishop, and it has been revealed that the good lady was to marry Leander Greymont. So how did the lady marry his brother instead?
To follow up with yesterday’s insinuation on the lady being drunk, another witness added that the good lady was embroiled in an interaction with Lord Moreland and his long-term mistress, Lady Dilalah, who was escorted from the premises.
Then, and this is from a bystander who knows the incident, the lady was escorted by her mother to Lord Moreland’s room, not my mistake, but by design. No one knows what happened in that room that night, but it is not too far to draw some conjecture….
Cedric flung his coffee cup at the wall, roaring in fury. Red blasted over his vision in waves. This was not good; he felt so pressed to march back to London and rip the printery down brick by brick— but he still had a job to do at Westminster.
Hunched over the table, he sucked in long, slow breaths to calm the fire in his chest. Nothing would come from his running off from his civic duty to fix his civilian one.
I will fix this, Ariadne. I will fix this.
The fury burned right through him, and that fire carried him to the floor. The compunction he usually had to remove his emotions from his logic was gone, and he used that fire to fuel his arguments.
“That was painful to watch.” Lord Pollock, a fellow duke, a silver-haired sexagenarian, said as he strode to him. “It would have been more merciful if you had drawn and quartered them than vocally eviscerate those two poor souls you decimated.”
“I am not in the best of moods,” Cedric told him.
“Is this about that nonsense in the papers?” Pollock asked and scoffed. “I thought you had thicker skin than that, Holloway.”
“I do,” Cedric replied. “When it was only me, I do not give a whit, but I have more people to protect now.”
Pollock clapped Cedric on his shoulder. “You’ll be fine, old boy. You’ve weathered worse storms than this.”
Those words seemed to snap Cedric’s frayed composure together, and he scolded himself for losing his control. This time, he could pass the passion off as fighting for common sense and lower taxes, but outside these walls, that explanation would not work.
All he had to do was to weather the next four days until he could go home again. He rubbed his face and sighed, “I’ll be surprised if I do not combust by day three.”