Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
The morning sun cast a pleasant glow over the Fenwell estate as Cecil stepped down from his carriage, adjusting the cuffs of his coat.
He had arrived earlier than was likely considered proper for a social call, but punctuality had never been a particular concern of his.
And besides, it would look good for him if he appeared eager – overzealous, even, in his pursuit of Miss Fenwell.
The butler who answered the door regarded him with the sort of polite deference Cecil had learned was reserved for dukes, bowing deeply before murmuring that he would alert Miss Fenwell to her visitor's arrival.
Cecil nodded, stepping into the entrance hall and clasping his hands behind his back as the servant disappeared down a hallway.
Alone in the foyer, Cecil allowed his gaze to wander over the modest but tasteful décor. The Fenwells were not wealthy by aristocratic standards, but they maintained their home well enough. It would do. Everything about this match would do.
He exhaled slowly, a sense of satisfaction settling over him as he considered how smoothly things were progressing.
Jane Fenwell was precisely what he needed – sensible, agreeable, and utterly undemanding.
She did not simper or bat her eyelashes at him the way so many young ladies did, nor did she seem particularly interested in grand romantic gestures.
More than anything, she was practical, which suited him perfectly.
And she was lovely enough, he supposed, in that quiet, understated way some men preferred. Soft features and a gentle disposition. When the time came, their children would be perfectly acceptable in appearance, at the very least.
It was a sensible arrangement. A smart decision.
The sooner he could settle this matter and be done with it, the better. If he waited too long, if he allowed himself too much time to consider alternatives, he might slip back into old habits – the sort of habits that were entirely inappropriate for a duke seeking to establish his legacy.
Jane Fenwell was the obvious choice. She would make a perfectly adequate duchess.
Cecil's thoughts were interrupted by the soft sound of footsteps, and he turned to see Jane entering the foyer. She was dressed in a pale green day dress, her hair arranged neatly in a bun at the base. He offered her a warm smile, the sort that usually put young ladies at ease.
“Miss Fenwell,” he greeted, bowing. “Good morning.”
“Your Grace,” she replied, curtsying.
Almost immediately, Cecil could tell that something was different. Her voice was cooler than it had been the night before, and she did not quite meet his eyes. Cecil's smile faltered slightly, though he maintained his pleasant expression.
“I hope I have not called at an inconvenient time,” he said smoothly, watching her carefully.
“Not at all,” Jane replied, though her tone suggested otherwise.
There was an awkward pause, and Cecil found himself uncharacteristically uncertain. He cleared his throat, gesturing toward the windows that overlooked the garden.
“It is a truly wonderful day, is it not? The weather could not be more perfect. Perhaps we might take a walk in your lovely garden? I noticed the roses are in bloom.”
Jane hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Very well, Your Grace.”
They made their way outside, and Cecil fell into step beside her as they began to stroll along the gravel path.
The garden was indeed pleasant – well-maintained, with carefully tended flower beds and neatly trimmed hedges.
But even the attractive view could hardly distract from the growing sense that something was amiss.
Clearing his throat, Cecil adopted what he knew to be his most charming tone before he spoke up.
“I must confess, I enjoyed myself immensely last night. I had not expected you to be quite the dancer, Miss Fenwell. You move with such grace.”
Jane's expression remained stiff, her gaze fixed on the path ahead as she quietly responded.
“My mother loved to dance. She made sure I was given as many lessons as possible, so that I would not accidentally trip and embarrass myself at social events.”
Cecil laughed, hoping to lighten the mood. “Well, her efforts were certainly not in vain. You were the finest dancer at the ball.”
But Jane did not smile. She did not even glance at him. The laughter died in his throat, and a flicker of unease settled in his chest.
Perhaps another tactic could be employed then, he thought, deciding to steer the conversation in a different direction.
“Miss Fenwell,” he began, keeping his voice gentle, “Dancing is clearly a skill you possess in abundance. But tell me, is it a particular interest of yours? Do you have others –”
“I do not wish to continue our courtship, Your Grace.”
The words came out in a rush, cutting him off mid–sentence. Cecil stopped walking, a frown etched across his features as he turned to face her fully. Jane had stopped as well, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, shoulders tense.
“I beg your pardon?” he said slowly.
Jane took a deep breath, and he could see that it was taking considerable effort for her to speak. Her voice trembled slightly as she continued.
“I want to find a love match, Your Grace. I know that is not something you want or value, and I cannot see myself married to someone who does not love me. I am sorry, but I do not believe we are well-suited.”
Cecil stared at her, utterly bewildered. This made no sense. She had been perfectly contented the night before – blushing at his compliments, smiling during their dance. What had changed in the span of a few hours?
“Miss Fenwell,” he began, making sure to tread as carefully as he could, “We have not been courting for very long. You cannot possibly know that love is out of the question. These things take time –”
“But I know that it is not what you seek,” Jane interrupted, her voice firmer now. “So, there is no guarantee that you will ever open your heart to me. I cannot enter into a marriage with such uncertainty.”
Cecil frowned, his confusion deepening. “How do you know that I will not open my heart to you? I never said as much. Why would you think so?”
Jane pressed her lips together, clearly reluctant to answer. But Cecil was not about to let this go. He needed to understand what had prompted this sudden change of heart.
He stepped closer, his voice insisted as he implored,
“Miss Fenwell, I must know. How did you come to this conclusion? What made you believe that I am incapable of caring for you?”
She remained silent, her gaze dropping to the ground.
Whoever her source was, she was quite intent on protecting them. It only made Cecil even more curious; after all, he had known Jane for a long time. Her relationship with his younger sister was one that had indirectly pulled him into the fold.
“Jane,” he pressed, using the familiarity between them in a deliberate attempt to soften her defences. “Please. Tell me what has happened. Last night, you seemed perfectly happy in my company. What changed?”
For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, with a sigh that sounded almost defeated, she stood straighter and raised her head.
“I received a letter this morning,” she said quietly. “From Athena.”
Cecil couldn’t help but frown in confusion, the name striking no chords of recognition within his mind. “Athena?”
“You have been away for some time, so it is not surprising that you would not have heard of them,” Jane explained, her voice steadier now.
“Athena is a person – though no one knows who they truly are – who fights for women who are being wronged by the men they are romantically involved with. They have become quite popular among the ton.”
“And how is this person relevant to our courtship?”
Jane sighed, looking as though every moment she spent in Cecil’s presence was stealing her strength. He began to feel guilty, wondering if he had called her while she was ill.
“In the letter, they told me that your search for a wife was simply to fulfil a sense of duty brought about by your new title. Is that the case?” Jane asked as her gaze met his, in search of the truth.
Cecil opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again. He could deny it, of course. He could lie and tell her that he was seeking love just as much as she was. But what would be the point? If he lied now, the truth would only come out later – and it would be far worse then.
So, he stayed silent, sparing them both the humiliation that would come with his admission.
Jane's expression softened, and she looked almost sad.
“My family will not be pleased with my decision. They believe a duke would make a great husband, regardless of the circumstances. But I must ask you to understand, Your Grace. I cannot marry someone who does not – who will not – love me.”
Cecil exhaled slowly, the anger in his chest giving way to resignation. There was no point in arguing. If she had made up her mind, nothing he said would change it.
“I understand,” he said quietly. “I will not call upon you again, Miss Fenwell.”
Relief flickered across her face, though it was tinged with regret. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“But... I need a favor before our separate ways. May I see the letter you received?”
Jane hesitated, then nodded. “Of course.”
Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, holding it out to him moments later.
He took it from her, his frown deepening as he unfolded the crisp piece of paper, his eyes immediately scanning the elegant script as soon as it was visible.
The handwriting was neat and precise, the words carefully chosen.
But the message itself was clear enough.
Miss Jane Fenwell,
It has come to my attention that you are being courted by the Duke of Westerdale. I write to you out of concern for your well-being, as I believe you deserve to know the truth about His Grace's intentions.