Chapter 22 #2
“That is by the by. Your father and I, however, cannot abide by you being tethered to a person who might have committed familicide,” Margaret pressed on. “Have you no sense of self-preservation anymore, Cecilia? This is utterly mortifying.”
“And it’s all a lie,” Cecilia finished resolutely.
The duchess’s lips pinched tight. “I am concerned with how easily you allow this man to manipulate you.”
“I am more concerned with how easily you believe every lie written in those rags after they did the same to bury your daughter, but I guess it only solidifies your hatred of him,” Cecilia muttered.
“Did you ever stop to ask yourself why would anyone do this, and—” she reached for the paper, searching for any hint of who might have sponsored this investigation.
On the third page, she found it. “…It is sponsored by Whitmore, Mother. Did you notice that?”
“It matters not,” Margaret huffed primly. “The man is detrimental to your public image. Our public image. You shall not be tied to this monster anymore if I have anything to do with it. Get him to create an annulment agreement, and you will sign it at once.”
“Is Father doing anything to stop Gabriel from dragging my name in the mud?” she asked. “Surely he knows what his darling Gabriel is doing.”
Her mother sighed. “Yes, your father did warn him, but decided to let Gabriel’s little game run out on its own time.”
“On its own time…” Cecilia echoed in disbelief. Anger spiked in her chest. “You truly think this is something that is going to die down by itself? Mother!
“Can’t you see that Gabriel is using it as a distraction to have everyone nailing me to the cross while you all ignore his reprehensible actions? He uses ladies like me as attention fodder and then casts us aside when we are no longer useful to him.
“He is throwing the scraps to the left for the dogs to chase after while he slaughters the calf on the right!” Cecilia raged on. “And you know it! How is it that Cassian is doing more to insulate me from that man’s poison than you are?”
“Do not take that tone with me, Cecilia, and we know about what Tressingham did to protect you.” Her tone was heavy with derision and scorn. “Engaging in a brawl at White’s is not protecting you. In fact, it did the exact opposite. We are doing it the right way.”
“No, no you’re not,” Cecilia said calmly, while inside she wanted to scream.
“Taking Whitmore to task on his evil actions in any way you can is protecting me, but you are not. I—I cannot believe that—” she paused to laugh ironically, “—that my husband, the so-called scourge of London, is more concerned with defending me than my very own family.”
“That is not fair, Cecilia,” her mother told her.
For once, Cecilia was purely defiant. “Yes it is, and there is more to the story about that night at White’s, but I am sure you did not hear the other part.
“That night, Cassian civilly got Gabriel to agree to withdraw his defamatory words in the papers until at the end of the night, Gabriel reneged on his vow,” Cecilia went on.
“So yes, he did try to protect me, and you should also know, Cassian was only defending my honor. Gabriel had meant to call me a—a, you know what, in front of his peers.”
Red flags bloomed on her mother’s cheeks. “I was not aware of that.”
“I didn’t think you were,” Cecilia replied, dropping the newspaper on the table near her. “It has become quite apparent that you do not like Cassian, but I need you to understand he is not the monster you think he is.
“The gossip sheets love to paint him a rakehell, a shameless rogue, and a wild man. And yes, he was all of those things to some degree—but that is not all that he was. I was his worst critic, but I have realized that appearances are deceiving. He is a good man. Gabriel, however, is not.”
“You cannot possibly think so,” her mother gasped.
“I do,” Cecilia nodded decisively.
“After the annulment, your father thinks it best for you to go away for a while, probably to—”
“No, mother,” Cecilia stopped her. “I will not be shipped away. I am staying here, in London.”
Her mother did not like her stance, and it showed on her face, but graciously, Margaret said, “I hope you understand that this might not end up the way you think it might.”
“I’ll take my chances then.”
The moment her mother left the front doors, Cecilia turned on her heel and headed to Cassian’s room. She unearthed a bottle of brandy and swallowed a bracing mouthful—and proceeded to hack up a lung.
Wincing, she glared at the glass while coughing. “Why on earth do men like this?”
Still, she sat and sipped the drink, while hearing the soft pitter-patter of a light, misty rain that had started to fall. She called for someone to stoke the fire in Cassian’s room, then, after a quick bath, returned to a toasty room.
A heavy thunder boomed—causing her to jump in fright—and the spitting rain grew heavy. “As much as I want to have him here,” she sighed, “it is dangerous to travel in this maelstrom.”
Throwing back the last of the brandy, she settled into his bed and drew his pillow to her face again, as if she had not left from that morning. Outside, the rain lashed, and the wind shrieked, yet in here she felt safe, comforted, protected.
“Wherever you are, Cassian…” she mumbled as sleep finally began to take her, “I hope you are safe too.”