Chapter Seven
“Ye look thoroughly dishevelled, Cecilia.”
Her father’s voice in the entrance hall made Cecilia freeze mid-step. The Earl stood near the drawing room door, still wearing his outdoor coat, his expression a mixture of suspicion and displeasure that made her stomach clench.
“I was walking, Father. Takin’ air in the park. I lost track of time.”
His gaze swept over her with uncomfortable thoroughness—flushed cheeks, wild hair still escaping its pins despite her attempts to repair it during the walk home, the slight tremor in her hands she couldn’t quite control.
“Fer six hours? Ye left this mornin’ before breakfast. ‘Tis now nearly dinner.”
“I was reading tae a blind lady.” The lie came easier after weeks of practice, though each one left an increasingly bitter taste in her mouth. “You know how I get when a story captures my attention.”
“Do I?” He moved closer, studying her with the sharp focus of a man who’d built a fortune on reading people accurately. “Ye look upset. Agitated. Yer colourin’ is high, and yer hands are shakin’. Has somethin’ happened that I should ken?”
Everything. She’d been kissed senseless by a man who thought her interchangeable with any other well-bred woman. She’d discovered that the duke she was meant to marry saw their union as nothing more than a business transaction.
“Nothing, Father.” Her voice emerged steadier than she felt. “I’m simply… tired.”
He didn’t believe her—that much was obvious in the tightness around his mouth, the narrowing of his eyes. But after a long moment weighted with unspoken questions, he merely nodded curtly.
“Very well. But there’s somethin’ we must discuss.” He gestured toward the drawing room. “Come. Sit down.”
Cecilia’s pulse spiked with sudden dread. Had he discovered her deception? Had someone seen her at Ravenscar Hall and reported back? She followed him on unsteady legs, perching on the edge of a chair while he poured himself brandy with deliberate movements.
“We’ve received an invitation to the Pemberton ball tomorrow evenin’.” He turned to face her, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Ye’ll attend, naturally. Wear the green silk— ‘tis yer most flatterin’ gown and will make the right impression.”
“Father, I don’t think attending a ball is—”
“This isnae a discussion, Cecilia.” His tone brooked no argument. “The Duke of Devonshire will be there. ‘Tis past time you met your intended husband properly, rather than continuin’ to hear about him second-hand through gossip and rumour.”
The room tilted sickeningly. Cecilia gripped the chair’s arms to steady herself, her vision narrowing to a pinpoint. Tomorrow. The ball was tomorrow. Where she’d be presented as Lady Cecilia Bedford while the Duke stood across the room, expecting to meet his bride for the first time.
Where her entire carefully constructed lie would collapse in spectacular, humiliating fashion.
“I...” Her voice came out strangled. “I’m not certain I’m ready to—”
“After what happened with Laird Wexford, I ken ye’re nervous about another arranged marriage.
” Her father’s expression softened fractionally—the closest he ever came to sympathy.
“But Devonshire is nothing like that scoundrel. He’s honourable, wealthy, socially impeccable in every respect.
Ye’ll be fortunate to have him as yer husband. ”
Honourable. The word was almost laughable. How honourable was a man who kissed his aunt’s companion with desperate passion while planning to marry someone else purely for business reasons? How honourable was she herself, lying to everyone while sneaking stolen kisses in sickrooms?
“Does he...” Cecilia swallowed hard. “Does the Duke know about what happened in Scotland?”
“He kens the engagement ended. Not the specific circumstances—I saw no need to burden him with sordid details.” Her father took a long drink.
“Wexford’s betrayal is in the past. Yer future is with the Duke, and I expect ye to conduct yerself with grace and dignity when ye meet him tomorrow evenin’. ”
“Yes, Father.” The words emerged barely above a whisper.
“Good. Now go rest. Ye look exhausted, and I need you lookin’ yer best tomorrow.
” He turned back to his brandy, dismissing her.
“Och, and Cecilia? Whatever ye’ve been doin’ with your morning’—these mysterious walks and readin’ sessions—they end now.
Once ye’re formally introduced to Devonshire, ye’ll have proper courtship obligations to attend to. Understood?”
“Understood.”
She escaped before he could see the tears threatening to fall.
Her legs barely carried her up the stairs to her chambers, each step requiring conscious effort.
The door had barely closed before Velma materialised from the dressing room, took one look at Cecilia’s face, and immediately began unlacing her dress with practised efficiency.
“What in God’s name happened, milady?”
“He kissed me.” The confession tumbled out broken, aching, raw with emotion she could no longer contain.
“He kissed me like I mattered to him. Like I was someone real and precious…. And then—” her voice cracked “—then he dismissed me. Sent me away like I was nothing. Like that moment hadn’t happened at all, like it meant absolutely nothing to him. ”
“Och, lass.” Velma pulled her into a tight embrace, and Cecilia finally let herself break, sobbing against her maid’s shoulder while weeks of accumulated tension and fear and desperate longing poured out in harsh, ugly sounds.
“This has gone too far,” Velma said quietly once Cecilia’s sobs had subsided to hiccupping breaths. “Ye need to end this madness before someone gets hurt worse than they already are. Before the lies destroy any chance you might have with him.”
“I can’t end it now.” Cecilia pulled back, swiping at the tears on her cheeks with trembling fingers.
“Tomorrow night, Father’s taking me to the Pemberton ball.
Where I’m supposed to meet the Duke of Devonshire properly for the first time.
Where he will look across the ballroom and see that Clara Vale and Lady Cecilia Bedford are the same person. ”
Velma’s face paled dramatically. “Blessed Saints preserve us!”
“He’ll never forgive me.” The words emerged as barely more than a whisper, weighted with devastating certainty.
“He’ll think I infiltrated his household to spy on him—to search for scandals or weaknesses I could use against him.
Or worse—” her voice cracked “—that I was playing some cruel game, making the Ice Duke feel things just to prove I could, then revealing myself to humiliate him. Everything we’ve shared…
he’ll believe it all to be some deliberate manipulation.
He’ll never believe I only wanted to understand the man I was meant to marry. ”
“And do ye?” Velma’s question was gentle but direct.
“No.” The word came fierce and certain, even as confusion swirled through her.
“That’s what makes all of this so devastating.
And tomorrow he’ll see my face across that ballroom and any chance we might have had—to understand each other, to see if there could be something more than duty and cold politeness between us… will be destroyed.”
Velma helped her out of the grey dress and into a soft nightgown before guiding her to sit at the dressing table. She began pulling pins from Cecilia’s hair with gentle hands, letting the copper waves fall free.
“Then perhaps,” Velma said quietly, meeting Cecilia’s eyes in the mirror, “’tis time to be brave. Time to trust that in time, the truth will be revealed, and that it will be more than ye ever dreamed of, milady. Perhaps there’s a grand romance still waitin’ fer ye.”
Cecilia wanted desperately to believe it. Wanted to imagine him hearing her confession and understanding, seeing past the deception to the desperate, terrified woman beneath who’d only wanted to know him before binding herself to him forever.
But she recalled his words from this morning with perfect, painful clarity.
“He doesn’t want truth,” Cecilia whispered. “I heard him say it explicitly—romance is irrelevant to business. I’m just a means to an end for him. Capital and legitimacy in exchange for title and position.”
“And yet he kissed ye today with enough passion that ye came home lookin’ thoroughly ravished.” Velma began braiding Cecilia’s hair with soothing, methodical movements. “Men don’t kiss women like that if they feel nothing, lass. Ice Duke or not.”
“But he didn’t kiss me, Velma. He kissed Clara Vale. A mystery. A puzzle to solve.” Cecilia’s reflection stared back at her, eyes red-rimmed and hopeless. “When he discovers I’m Lady Cecilia, that desire will turn to disgust. Or worse, indifference.”
“You don’t ken that.” Velma finished the braid and turned Cecilia to face her, gripping her shoulders firmly.
“Although,” the maid continued with suspicious innocence, “I suppose it’s possible His Grace goes about kissin’ all his staff members with such enthusiasm.
Perhaps the scullery maid gets ravished on Tuesdays, or the housekeeper on Thursdays—”
“Velma!”
“Och, dinnae mind me, milady. I’m just… explorin’ all the possibilities.
Ye did say he sees the marriage as a business arrangement, aye?
Well, perhaps passionate kisses are listed in the contract.
” She made a banner with her hands, “Husband reserves the right to thoroughly ravage his wife between the hours of two and four o’clock every—”
“You’re not helping, Velma!”
“Who said I was? I’m tyin’ to make ye laugh before ye cry yerself sick, Lady Cecilia.”
Cecilia pressed trembling hands to her face. “What if he hates me?” The question emerged small, frightened. “What if I tell him everythin’ and he just... freezes me out entirely? Refuses to see me ever again? Cancels the engagement and leaves me with nothing?”
“At least you’ll have tried. And if he does hate you after hearing the truth—if he can’t see past the deception to the woman who was brave enough to finally be honest—then maybe he’s not worth the worry you’re putting yourself through.”
Cecilia wasn’t entirely sure that he was worth it, but perhaps…
he could become worth it? That was the question that haunted her.
She’d glimpsed something beneath the duke’s ice—moments of unexpected kindness, flashes of heat in his dark eyes, and then there was the way he’d kissed her… like she’d mattered.
But she’d also heard him dismissing her as his bride as if she were interchangeable.
Which man was real? Which man would be her husband?
The Duke certainly had the potential to be worth every risk, but he’d have to prove it first—show that beneath all that ice was a man capable of choosing warmth… of choosing her.
After Velma left her alone, Cecilia lay in bed staring at the ceiling, sleep impossibly distant despite her exhaustion. Tomorrow. Everything would change tomorrow, one way or another.
But perhaps—just perhaps—there was a difference between pain that came from honesty and pain that came from continued deception.
Cecilia closed her eyes, but all she could see was the Duke’s face the moment before he’d kissed her. The way his eyes had gone from ice to fire. The way his voice had roughened with want. The way he’d looked at her like she was something precious rather than interchangeable.
Tomorrow, she would discover whether that look had been real.
And God help her, she had no idea which possibility terrified her more.