Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
C ecilia woke to the sounds of birds outside the window.
Smiling to herself, she rolled over, reaching out, as though by instinct. But there was no one in the bed besides her.
That is not out of the ordinary , she thought, wanting almost to scold herself for daring to feel disappointed. What did you expect?
But…she could not deny that it stung. She had thought she and Ian had truly connected last night. Even before he had taken her to her chambers and pleasured her, she had felt as though she were truly getting to know the man, intimately, without fighting, for the first time. It was as though something had clicked into place between them.
As though, for once, they had something over which they truly saw eye to eye.
As though he almost cared…
She shook her head. She was getting carried away. This was a truce they had reached, nothing more. Whether or not he was her husband, she knew one thing about Ian Repington, and that was that he would always be a rake first and foremost. While last night had been a first for her, she was far from the first woman he had pleasured. Why should he feel any push to stay the night?
Still, she could not keep back her slight disappointment when she arrived in the dining room for breakfast to find the table empty.
After eating quickly, she thought perhaps to find him in his study. She walked around the house, admiring the fine molding that crowned each wall, and the fine wallpapers that adorned each hallway.
It was not the first time she had walked the path to Ian’s study, but it was the first time
To her surprise, Ian was not there—but neither was the study empty.
Instead, Mr. Ainsworth was there, seated at the desk, smoking a pipe as he looked over some papers. So that is why the room so often smells of tobacco, she thought. It had always struck her as odd, seeing as how she had never seen Ian smoke.
Mr. Ainsworth looked up when he heard her enter. “Ah! Your Grace.”
She curtsied. “Good morning, Mr. Ainsworth. It is so good to see you. May I ask if you know where I might find my husband? I can’t seem to figure out where in this large house he might be,” she joked.
“Oh, he did not tell you?” Mr. Ainsworth raised his eyebrows. “He is off to London, Your Grace,” he said.
Cecilia felt her smile fall. “London?” It felt as though her heart had dropped into the pit of her stomach.
Mr. Ainsworth waved his pipe, as though to wave away her concern. “Do not fear, Your Grace, he shall be back shortly. I doubt he is any more eager to be separated from you for longer than necessary than you are to be separated from him.”
“Of course.”
Then why would he have left, and so suddenly? Without any warning at all? Cecilia shook the thoughts from her mind. They were of no use now.
“Of course,” she repeated, before remembering where she was. “I am sorry to have bothered you, Mr. Ainsworth.” She turned to take her leave.
“It is no bother at all. In fact, Your Grace—” She stopped in the doorway, and turned back to face him. Mr. Ainsworth smiled kindly and took another puff of his pipe. “If you are not too busy, could I perhaps trouble you to keep me company for a bit? I shall not be long in finishing up this paperwork, of course, but it can get lonely.”
“Of course,” she replied, grateful to not be left alone with her thoughts in this big, empty house. She plucked a book off the shelves and settled into an armchair. “Only if you are certain I will not disturb you while you work.”
“Not at all,” he said.
“Then I would love to stay. Perhaps I can call for some tea?”
After the tea arrived, they sat in companionable silence for a while, Mr. Ainsworth scribbling away at his papers, Cecilia peacefully turning the pages of her book. After a while, Mr. Ainsworth sighed in satisfaction and leaned away from the desk, his glasses sliding down his nose. “Very good. Everything looks to be in order.”
“Excellent.” Cecilia put down her book. “I do hope you will not rush out of here, Mr. Ainsworth. I know Ian has already told you, but you are truly welcome in our household any time.”
“I appreciate it, my lady.” He let out a puff of smoke. “I suppose I can stay until we have finished with tea.”
Cecilia smiled and nodded, picking up her cup as well.
“You know,” Mr. Ainsworth said after taking another sip of tea. He put the mug down on the table and relaxed back into his chair. “I do not believe I properly congratulated you on the musicale last night. Truly, it was a great success.”
“Oh, you are too kind, Mr. Ainsworth. I cannot take too much credit; Mrs. Fitzclarence was such a help, of course, and it was really the musicians that did all the work,” Cecilia said, though she flushed with pride at the compliment.
Despite her protestations, she had worked quite hard on the evening. It was a busy life, running the estate as a duchess, but a satisfying one thus far. Already she looked forward to hosting more events.
“Ah, you are too modest. Though the musicians were indeed prodigiously talented. That young lady who played the pianoforte was particularly marvelous!”
“Oh, you mean Nancy!” Cecilia brightened further. “Miss Nancy Banfield. She is one of my best friends. She really is a wonderful talent, is she not? And,” she added, smiling to herself as she thought of Ian’s promise to speak to Zachary and have them both over for dinner in the upcoming week—she really must send them both invitations soon— “she may soon join the family.”
Mr. Ainsworth smiled. “Ah, yes. I noticed that your brother seemed quite taken with her, and she with him, when they spoke. The duke has come around to the match, then?”
Cecilia looked at him with surprise. “Ian spoke with you about them?”
“A bit.” Mr. Ainsworth took a puff of his pipe, letting out the smoke in a slow, easy exhale. “I know he was quite reluctant about the match.”
“Yes,” Cecilia said, rolling her eyes and sighing. “I am most glad he has finally come to his senses. He was most stubborn about it for the longest while.”
“Yes, yes. He can be. Though I can hardly blame him, on this account.”
“But why?” Cecilia cried. “They are so well-matched! And as you said yourself, they are clearly quite fond of each other, as well. Miss Banfield is a remarkable young lady.”
“Oh, I mean no offense to her or your brother. Indeed, the duke has spoken quite highly of them both. But you must understand, he and your brother have been friends for years. Most of their friends in their social circle have long since left the bachelor life behind and settled down. With no surviving family left, I am not surprised that the duke was reticent at the thought of being alone once his last remaining bachelor friend—and his closest friend, at that—got married.” He looked at her knowingly with a smile. “But of course, I suppose he has no reason to be afraid of loneliness any longer. Not now that he has you, Your Grace. You are his family.”
Something shifted in Cecilia’s chest, at the sound of those words. Not a weight, but a lifting. Like her heart had suddenly become lighter.
How strange, to think of Ian as family—and yet, there was nothing strange about it at all. The anger she was used to feeling when she thought of him had not quite cooled but transformed into something different. A longing to see him. To speak with him.
To know him.
After returning from London the following day, Ian was sitting at his desk, going over papers, when he heard a knock at the door.
He looked up and saw Cecilia in the doorway.
“Duchess.” He looked down at his papers and shuffled a few of them to the side. “Good evening. What brings you here? Is something the matter?”
“Not at all, my lord,” she said.
Though she was only dimly lit in the candles’ glow, he was still taken aback once more by her beauty. Looking more closely, he realized his initial assumption that something was wrong was entirely unfounded—for, even in the low lighting, there was a glimmer in those bright green eyes, and the corners of those desirable lips curved up ever so slightly into a mysterious, inviting smile.
“I merely came bearing an invitation.”
“An invitation?” He raised a brow. “From whom?”
“From me.” She swept further into the study with delicate steps, slowly approaching his desk. “If you are done with your work for the evening, there is something I would rather like for you to see.”
Seeing her standing above him like that, he wanted nothing more than to pull her into his lap and have his way with her right then and there. Based on the flush in her cheeks, and the way she kept drifting closer to him, he suspected she felt much the same. But he kept the thought to himself, at least until he heard what her invitation was, and merely raised an eyebrow, taking her in.
“Is that so?”
“It is.” She folded her arms, and raised her brow as well, though the playful light never left her expression. “And before you decline,” she said, affecting a lofty tone of voice, “I will have you know that I spoke with Mr. Ainsworth earlier today, and he informed me that all of the paperwork for the estate looks to be perfectly in order. He also told me how you like to fuss over the estate, worrying yourself over nothing. So, as your wife and lady of the house, if you will not put down your work willingly, then I will have no choice but to order you to be done.”
A smile leaped to his lips at that, at the sound of her familiar bossy tone. “You remain as meddlesome as ever, I see,” he said teasingly. She smiled back at him.
“Well?” she asked, tilting her head and taking another step closer, so close that he could easily put a hand on her waist and pull her down. “What shall it be? Do you come willingly?”
God, she was distracting. How sweet it would be, he thought, to seat her on the desk before him, and spread her legs so that he could pleasure her as he had the night before…
He shook his head, bringing himself back to the present moment, and cleared his throat. “Well. If the lady of the house so wishes it, it sounds as though I have no choice but to obey.”
She clapped her hands together, the faux bossiness immediately replaced by simple glee. “Excellent.” She held out a hand to him. “Shall we?”
He took her hand and could not help but rub a thumb across the back of her hand, relishing in the catch of her breath when he did so.
“May I ask,” he began, “what invitation it is which I have unknowingly accepted?”
“A picnic,” she replied, as she led him out of his study.
He glanced at the window. “I do not know if you have noticed, but the sun is nearly about to set,” he pointed out.
Cecilia chuckled. “All the better,” she replied sweetly. “We can dine under the stars.”