Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
C ecilia spent her first night at her new home uneventfully. True to his word, she and the duke slept in separate chambers, and when she awoke and went down to breakfast he was nowhere to be found.
“The duke tends to break his fast rather early, Your Grace,” Mrs. Fitzclarence told her when Cecilia remarked on his absence. “He mentioned that he did not wish to disturb your rest, after the long journey you had yesterday.”
Cecilia nodded. Of course, she had not expected the duke to spend the night with her in her chambers, but it might have been nice to have his company at the breakfast table, considering it was their first morning as a married couple.
No! What on Earth am I thinking? Of course, it would not be nice , Cecilia scolded herself.
Without a doubt, they only would have bickered further, as was their custom up until that point. Her head was just clouded from all of the fuss of the sudden wedding, she reminded herself, in addition to, of course, a heavy dose of homesickness.
Since there was nothing to be done about the former, she supposed she would have to settle for remedying the latter. “Thank you for the most excellent food, Mrs. Fitzclarence,” she said, rising from her seat and leaving her empty plate behind. “I should like to take a turn about the grounds now, if that is all right?”
The housekeeper looked at her with raised brow, as though she were slightly perplexed. She was a kindly-looking older woman, tall and spindly, with capable-looking hands and grey hair that neared white at the temples.
“Why on Earth would it not be all right, Your Grace?” she asked. “It is your estate now, after all. You may go wherever you like.”
Cecilia nodded. Of course . It was hard to adjust to, thinking of this enormous, unfamiliar terrain as her home. Truly, the grounds out back of the estate were even more splendid than she ever could have guessed when she saw the front of the castle upon her arrival.
The home she had known back in London had already been plenty spacious, but this was something else. Nearest the castle was a beautifully cultivated garden, full of a variety of multicolored blooms of all sorts.
Beyond that, the grounds went much further. The rolling green fields extended nearly as far as the eye could see. There were various hedges, as well, all meticulously groomed by a team of gardeners, to whom she waved as she went past. They waved to her as well, cheerfully greeting her as Your Grace . This surprised Cecilia. She had not realized that news of her arrival, and who she was, would travel so quickly to the duke’s workers.
At intermittent points across the grounds were other various smaller gardens. One of them seemed to consist entirely of tulips. Another, of roses. Cecilia paused at the rose garden and wandered further in. She leaned down at a particularly splendid yellow bloom and inhaled the sweet fragrant perfume.
“Lovely, are they not?”
Looking up, Cecilia was surprised to see an older gentleman there one who did not seem to be dressed as wait staff. Nor did she recognize him from her meeting with the staff the night prior. He was tall, wearing a formal suit and fine black hat, holding a small briefcase at his side. He wore spectacles, as well, behind which blinked bright blue eyes, with a kindly twinkle in them.
“Your Grace,” said the man, as he greeted her with a polite bow. “It is such a pleasure to finally meet you face to face.”
She returned his bow with a curtsy, trying to sound confident as she replied, “And I you. Lord…?”
He chuckled at that, removing the pipe from between his lips. “Oh, no such thing, child,” he said gently. “I am Mr. Ainsworth. The duke’s solicitor. And now yours, it should seem.” He smiled even more brightly. “I must offer you my sincerest congratulations on the wedding! I have long been hoping to see the young duke at the altar.”
Cecilia flushed, embarrassed that she had not known who he was before. If only the duke had thought to warn her they would be having visitors! At least the older man did not appear to have taken any offense at her not recognizing him. “Thank you, Mr. Ainsworth. You must forgive my disarray. The duke—I mean, Ian?—”
She swallowed. His name was unfamiliar on her tongue, and yet it sent electricity through her to say it. There was something intimate about it, even though the man himself was not anywhere nearby.
It made her wonder what it would be like to hear her name on his lips.
She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. “That is, His Grace did not alert me that we would be having guests,” she said finally, searching for the words. She tried to smooth over her tone into one of polite assuredness. If she were to be a duchess—which, indeed, she now was—she would have to be as assured as possible. She then continued, “Or if he did, it must have slipped my mind, with all of the…excitement, of the wedding.”
Mr. Ainsworth shook his head, waving off her apology. “No need for any sort of forgiveness, my child. Who would expect a visitor so soon after the wedding?” he said, chuckling with a friendly note in his voice. “I am only here briefly, at the duke’s request, to go over some legal matters. I am certain it will take no more than a day, and then I shall leave you two to honeymoon in piece.” He tilted his head and looked back at the castle, squinting. “You can’t have arrived more than a day ago, is that right?”
Cecilia nodded. “We only arrived last night, in fact. This is my first time seeing the grounds in daylight.”
“Ah, how delightful!” He looked out over the fields, and took a deep breath, as though taking in the fresh air and the greenery into his lungs. “Splendid, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” she said, following his gaze. “They really are remarkable.” It was true. Even if she lived here the rest of her life—which she very likely would—Cecilia very much doubted that she would ever truly get used to that view. “I cannot imagine a more beautiful view.”
“They were wonderful before, of course, but I am sure everyone finds them much improved by your being here, I must say.”
Cecilia looked back at him, surprised. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Oh, the staff is lovely, of course, and Mrs. Fitzclarence runs a tight ship. But it has not been easy for the duke, living in that big house ever since the death of his mother and father, you know. I can only imagine how grateful he is—how grateful we all are —that you are here. That he has some family. Most important thing in the world, family. Makes all the difference between a house and a home.”
“That it does,” Cecilia agreed, drifting off into thought.
Her heart half ached at the thought of her mother, for Zachary. And, of course, the thought of Nancy. She made a note to invite her friend to visit later in the week.
The thought of her own family reminded her of the other part of what Mr. Ainsworth had said—about the duke’s parents. Of course, she had known that he was an orphan. Perhaps Zachary had mentioned it at some point; and, in any case, it became clear, when everyone who came to celebrate the wedding was the duke’s friends and distant relatives, with no parents or siblings in sight.
“How recently did the duke’s parents pass away?”
“Years ago. He was old enough to remember them, which, of course, meant that he was old enough to feel the loss.” He seemed to notice the uncertainty on her face, because he continued reassuringly, “Oh, I would not take offense that he has not spoken of it to you, Your Grace. I doubt he wanted to sour the early days of young love with all that unpleasant business.”
“Young love.” Cecilia stifled a chuckle. “Of course.”
Though she was amused by the idea of their marriage being anything close to a love match, that feeling was quickly outweighed by a sudden and nearly overwhelming sense of sorrow. She felt sorrow for Ian, and for all that he had lost—all the pain she did not know—and also sorrow for the fact that she did not know of his loss until now.
How sad it is, she thought, to be married to a man and yet not know him at all.
“You must pardon me,” Mr. Ainsworth said. “I have been here for all of five minutes, and already I have brought gloom to what should be a sunny morning. It is, after all, your very first day as the new duchess! You must tell me all about yourself. I have heard much from the duke himself, of course, but I must hear it from you…”
That surprised her. Had the duke really spoken of her at all? And if he had, in such a way that would lead this gentleman to view her so kindly? It seemed unthinkable.
Yet, as they walked together through the gardens, Cecilia found herself at remarkable ease in Mr. Ainsworth’s presence. While she did not divulge the specifics of how she and Ian had come to be wed—although she could not help but wonder, of course, if Ian had already done so—she did tell the kindly older man all about her family.
He seemed already familiar with Zachary, of course. This was entirely unsurprising, given what good friends he and Ian were. And perhaps that was how Mr. Ainsworth knew of her, she thought; perhaps Ian had merely mentioned her in passing to his solicitor, mentioning her as the sister of his best friend.
“Now, these lilacs were a particular favorite of the late duchess. The present duke’s mother,” Mr. Ainsworth explained.
Cecilia bent down so as to look at the beautiful blooms more closely. As she reached out to cup one in her hand, there was the sound of footsteps approaching from behind.
“Mr. Ainsworth!”
“Ah, the man of the estate himself!” Mr. Ainsworth cried out, grinning widely. “So good to see you, Your Grace.”
Ian clapped the old man on the shoulder genially as Cecilia rose back to standing. When he noticed her there, Ian gave her a short nod. “Cecilia.” It filled her with an unexpected warmth, to hear the unfamiliar sound of her first name on his lips. “I see you have met my solicitor.”
“Yes. He was just doing the kindness of showing me the grounds,” she replied frostily. “Seeing as how I had yet to tour them.”
“Really, Your Grace, neglecting your lovely bride so soon into your marriage! It is unconscionable,” Mr. Ainsworth said, playfully scolding him.
Ian smiled tightly. “I have been busy managing the estate,” he said stiffly, “as is my duty as duke. In fact, Mr. Ainsworth and I have much to discuss. We shall leave you to your tour.”
As soon as they settled into the study, Mr. Ainsworth pulled out his pipe and lit it, settling into one of the fine leather armchairs. It was a habit of his. Mr. Ainsworth was a well-principled man, with few vices, but the pipe was a vice he had had for as long as Ian could remember, and he doubted the old man would ever give it up.
“Well, well, well, Your Grace,” he said, taking a deep puff of the pipe and exhaling it. “I must say, congratulations on such a fine match. I always expected you to marry a woman of great beauty, of course, but you seem to have found a wife with intelligence to match her looks.” He nodded again, looking pleased as he took another pull of the pipe. “How is the marriage so far?” he asked, an almost paternal curiosity written out across his kind, wrinkled face.
“ Marriage ,” Ian all but spit out, shaking his head as he walked around his table. “It is a farce. The lady and I were seen in what was misconstrued as an improper moment. Though nothing of the sort occurred, her brother demanded we marry so as to protect her honor. As a gentleman, I had no choice but to accept—and believe me, Lady Cecilia is even less thrilled about the marriage than I am. A more ill-matched couple could not be conceived.”
“Ah, surely you do not mean that, Your Grace?” Mr. Ainsworth inquired.
“I most certainly do. She is stubborn, ill-tempered, self-righteous?—”
Mr. Ainsworth chuckled. “Ah. So she reminds you too much of yourself, eh? You protest, but as someone who has known you since you were tall as my knee, it sounds as though the two of you may have more in common than you think.”
Ian took a deep breath. “It is a marriage of convenience, Mr. Ainsworth, nothing more. I assure you.”
“You say that now, Your Grace,” Mr. Ainsworth mused, letting out another puff of smoke. “But if there is one thing I know about you, it is that you have never been able to resist a challenge.”
Ian waved him off. “I thought I brought you here to speak of the estate, not my marriage?”
Mr. Ainsworth raised an eyebrow at him, then shook his head. “A man more interested in estate planning than his new bride. I never thought I would live to see the day,” he muttered, as he pulled out a sheaf of papers from his briefcase.
They began going over the most recent property affairs in detail. Yet, as they began to go over the documents, Ian could not shake Mr. Ainsworth’s comments from his mind.
“Perhaps you may have more in common than you think.”