The Duke Who Loved Me by Jane Ashford

Sixteen

“A footman brought this note,” Ned said to James, making a small, rather elegant obeisance as he held out a folded sheet of paper. James received the page appreciatively. Despite his youth, Ned had settled into Hobbs’s position and small chamber with enthusiasm. He had examined James’s entire wardrobe with great pleasure and absorbed information about the latest men’s fashions. He watched and learned bits of polite behavior and observed every move James made like a scholar presented with original sources. Given what seemed to James an absurdly small sum, Ned had outfitted himself in a decent coat, shirt and breeches from some mysterious source of used clothing. Handed one of James’s neckcloths for his own, he’d achieved a creditable waterfall style on the second try, and his hair had been brushed into something resembling a Brutus. Roughly. Even his way of speaking had begun to shift. He was a remarkable mimic. Clearly, with just a bit of help, Ned was going far.

James unsealed the note. Cecelia asked him to call on her at eleven the following morning. His pulse accelerated. Could she want to see him as much as he wanted to see her? Unless… But no, he’d heard of no new outrage from Prince Karl. The fellow had gone quiet. Perhaps ominously. They would see. But before that, he would see Cecelia. Alone. He would push her aunt out of the room and lock her in a wardrobe if he had to. He would make this the opportunity to settle matters between them. He tucked the note into his waistcoat pocket.

He looked up to find Ned slowly folding a stocking, as if he savored the feel of the smooth knit under his fingers. “That is worn with evening dress,” James said.

Ned started, froze as if fearing retribution, and then relaxed. “Knee breeches and pale waistcoat,” he answered, repeating an earlier lesson.

“Correct.”

The boy grinned, pleased and proud.

It was so easy to cheer him, though it seemed few had ever bothered. “Is all well with your mother and sisters?” James asked.

“Yes, milord. Uncle Will mended the stable lock.”

“Ah, he’s arrived then.”

Ned nodded. “Staying in a room above the stables. He reckons it was the head groom’s.”

James started to say that the man could sleep in the house. But where would he find proper quarters? The stable was probably more comfortable for now if it was fitted out for a head groom.

“He said to tell you thankee—thank you.” Ned enunciated the last two words carefully. “And if you have any other work that wants doing, he’s ready and able.”

There was so very much do. But first, always first, there was Cecelia.

James arrived precisely on time the next day. He was taken up to the drawing room at once and found Cecelia waiting for him there. Alone.

“My aunt is with her bees,” she said. “And I have given orders that she is not to be disturbed.”

He scarcely heard through the exultation racing through his veins. Now he must retrieve the words he’d been rehearsing. He’d botched this the last time. He wouldn’t again. Even though she looked so lovely that he could think of little else.

She sat down. He took a chair opposite. “I was wondering if you still wish to marry me,” she said.

This was such an unexpected beginning that James stumbled over his answer.

“Considering recent…occurrences, I thought you might. But it’s best to be sure of these things, is it not?”

Was she calling their kiss an occurrence? That made it sound like an encounter with footpads or a carriage accident.

Cecelia frowned. “If you have changed your mind, of course there is nothing more to be said.”

“I have not!” All his careful phrases now escaped him.

“Oh, well, good. Then I think we should.”

“Should?”

“Get married,” she explained, as if he was being purposely slow.

“Dash it, Cecelia.”

“What? I thought you said…”

“I spent half the night trying to find the right words to convince you to marry me.”

“You did?” Her tone was softer.

“Yes, and now you jump in before I’ve used any of them. You have a pronounced autocratic streak.”

“So you have often said.”

“Because it’s true. What about the time you shoved a quill into my hand, and it spattered ink all over my favorite waistcoat? Those spots never came out. I had to dispose of it.” James’s errant brain wondered if the garment had gone to the sort of place where Ned had acquired his refurbished wardrobe.

“Well, you and Papa had been wrangling for an hour,” said Cecelia.

“I was wrangling. Your father was wishing himself elsewhere and, unless I am mistaken, emitting very soft moans.” He shook his head. “I am not mistaken.”

“Yes, and we all knew how it was going to come out, with you signing the deed.” Somewhat oddly, she was smiling.

“Well, I know, but I wished to be…argued into it.”

“Did you?” Cecelia sat straighter, with folded hands. “Very well. The points of the case then. You wanted my help with your estates. Which appear to be in disarray.”

“Yes, but…”

“And so you suggested that we should marry in order to acquire my services.”

“I did not put it as well as I might…”

“Which are quite valuable, if I do say so,” she interrupted with calm conviction. “In return I will have an advantageous social position, as you mentioned.”

“That was before,” replied James. He had said any number of idiotic things. But much had happened since then. She’d been there for most of it.

“Before?” She raised her eyebrows. “Ah, the prince and the gossip have changed my situation, of course.”

“That wasn’t what I meant!”

“I had thought you didn’t care about the rumors.” For the first time, she sounded tentative.

“Less than I do about a flea in the coat of a mongrel dog,” he replied.

She blinked, startled. “So we shall go ahead then? We will make an agreement.”

“Agreement?” This was not the term James would have chosen.

“Considering the points in favor and of…mutual benefit.”

“You are going to marry me, Cecelia? You promise.” He heard the plea in his tone.

She met his eyes. “Yes.”

That was all that mattered, really. They could set aside this odd conversation, adding it to the litany of others they’d had over the years. “Splendid! I’ll send a notice to the Morning Post.”

“I suppose we must,” she replied.

“Why not?” Was she drawing back?

“There will be talk.” She sighed. “I’m so weary of talk. I believe a special license and a quiet ceremony would be the best course of action.”

“You’ve thought about this, I see. Are you in a hurry to be wed?”

She blushed. James thrilled to see it. He was beginning to be amused as well as bemused by this exchange. “I find that I am, rather.”

“So that I will take over your work,” Cecelia said.

She’d rallied. Cecelia always rallied. It was one of the things he admired most about her, James realized. “So that you are my wife.” He said the last word caressingly, trying to make her blush again.

She disappointed him. Except that she didn’t. He appreciated the raised chin and the steady gaze. Had Cecelia ever actually disappointed him? She’d irritated him and surprised him and made him laugh. But disappointment? No. Never that. “I’d best go see the archbishop,” he said.

“Archbishop?”

“I believe one must apply to the Archbishop of Canterbury for a special license.”

“How do you know that?”

“A man on the town picks up these little tidbits of information.”

As James had hoped, she laughed. He looked forward to seeing her laugh often in the years that lay ahead. And to so much else as well.

***

Cecelia attended Ada Grandison’s wedding with her aunt, a grudging but surprisingly solid presence. Tereford and Prince Karl were not invited, not being friends of the couple, and this was a relief. It was the reason she’d chosen this as the first occasion to appear since the public announcement of her engagement. Easier to be gaped at without their contentious presence, she’d thought, and so it proved. She also found the gossips’ attitude changed, now that she was about to become a duchess. The past was not forgotten, but the general consensus seemed to be that she had triumphed over it. Decisively. Some were glad; some were sourly envious. But no one snubbed her. These were the ups and downs of society.

She couldn’t help but compare Ada’s lively festivities with her own plans, about which she evaded all questions. She had decreed a small ceremony with just a few people in attendance. The date—tomorrow!—and place were not precisely secret. They simply hadn’t told anyone. The distinction without a difference made her smile. She’d decided on this course because she thought Prince Karl the sort of person who enjoyed revenge, and she did not want some disagreeable scene enacted at her wedding. Why give him opportunities when she needn’t?

Perhaps it would not be the lavish celebration girls dreamed of, but that didn’t matter. Her greater wish had come true; she would be James’s wife. She’d wished for that since she was seventeen, and the knowledge made her heart sing.

Yes, she had doubts. It was not exactly the love match she’d longed for. But the last few weeks had convinced her that something sweet could grow between them. And that was enough, was it not?

Cecelia pushed this concern aside. She’d taken her future into her own hands; that was the important thing. She’d reached out for what she wanted and secured it. She would find a way to success. Hadn’t she often done so in the past? This wasn’t some estate problem or financial issue, of course. She was still not certain what James felt, for example. Except that he had easily agreed.

She wondered if her mother had felt as if her heart was in her throat when she arranged her future. James’s blank look when she’d begun had nearly stopped her cold. But then he’d said that he’d spent half the night trying to find the right words to convince her. She clung to that. With a wisp of regret that she had not waited a little and let him speak.

“How do people bear the tedium of these things?” asked her aunt. “Chatter, chatter, chatter, all empty.”

Cecelia turned to the small fair-haired woman at her side. As she so seldom had been before. Aunt Valeria’s presence had actually caused a small stir, since she never appeared in society. “Well, you won’t have to endure it again. Your job is nearly over. After tomorrow, I shall be gone.”

Her aunt looked startled. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Now you can, and be glad,” replied Cecelia.

“Will your father wish me to leave, do you think?”

Aunt Valeria, and Papa, would always consider themselves first, Cecelia acknowledged. It was their nature. “He will need someone to manage the household,” she answered.

“Deal with Cook and the coal merchant and…all that sort of thing?” Her aunt frowned. “I suppose I could. A bit. You will be nearby to help out.”

This was not a happy prospect, and Cecelia nearly denied it. But she was silenced by the sudden realization that she didn’t know where she would be after tomorrow. She would be married. That was certain. But where would they go after the ceremony? Where would they settle? Not in the shambles of Tereford House surely? James couldn’t mean to do that. Did he have a plan? When had he ever had a plan? She was the planner everyone relied upon. But she hadn’t. She’d leapt without really looking, and now life was rushing forward at a frantic pace to…where? This was so unlike her familiar self. They should have talked. They should have discussed…everything. Something!

Charlotte and Sarah approached, each carrying two plates heaped with wedding delicacies. “Lobster patties,” said Charlotte, holding out one.

“Oh splendid,” said Aunt Valeria, taking the plate even though Charlotte had clearly meant it for Cecelia.

“Are you all right?” asked Sarah.

“I feel…sightly dizzy,” said Cecelia.

“Oh dear. It’s probably the heat. It’s dreadfully close in here.” Sarah handed a plate to Charlotte and took Cecelia’s arm. “Come and sit down.”

“I don’t think that will help.”

“Are you ill?” asked Aunt Valeria. “Can we go?” She ate two lobster patties in quick succession.

“I don’t know where,” muttered Cecelia, too distracted to notice their stares.

***

James tracked down Henry Deeping at his lodgings preparing to go out for the evening. “Henry, you’ve been a hard man to find lately.”

“I’ve been out of town for a few days. Stanley wanted to see a mill. My brother, you know.”

“Yes, Henry, I remember that your brother is called Stanley. One of them. The others are Cecil and Bertram, the youngest.”

“Well done, James.” Henry made a final adjustment to his neckcloth.

“I am going to be married tomorrow, Henry. I hoped you might stand up with me at the ceremony.”

“Is it tomorrow? I saw the announcement of your engagement, of course.”

“And sent a note of congratulation. Very proper. Diplomatically so. I answered it, with my request for your support at the wedding.”

“Oh. You did?”

“I did.” James examined his old friend. Henry’s gaze seemed evasive. “What is the matter?”

“May I ask you a question?”

This was odd. Did Henry not wish to stand by him at the wedding? James found that idea curiously lowering.

“Are you marrying Miss Vainsmede because of the prince?” Henry asked. “Out of a chivalrous impulse to save her reputation?”

“I am marrying her because I wish to. I told you that weeks ago.”

“You did. But much has happened since then.”

“Nothing to the purpose,” said James, pushing back a quiver of anger.

“That’s good then. Of course Miss Vainsmede is a fine choice.”

James thought of saying that it had not been entirely a choice, but he didn’t. Cecelia’s proposal would be a secret he cherished all his life.

“It’s just that…”

“What is it, Henry? You’re not usually so…oblique.”

Henry sighed. “I’m not sure how to… You know I’ve become rather friendly with Stephan Kandler during their visit.”

“Who?” James wondered what this had to do with anything.

“Stephan Kandler, Prince Karl’s aide. I introduced you. He was at Lady Tate’s evening as well.”

James supposed he might have been. But he didn’t see why Henry wanted to talk about the fellow.

“He may be of some help with the prince.”

“I have no need of help, since I don’t intend to ever think of him again.”

Henry went on as if James hadn’t spoken. “This is not the first time Prince Karl has…behaved in a shameful manner. He has a habit of bullying people, particularly women, with false stories. He was sent on this trip to see the wider world, understand that he cannot ride roughshod over everyone, and modify his behavior. With a view toward becoming a wiser ruler when that time comes. But it has not worked.”

“Obviously,” said James. “And I don’t really care a fig about his future, Henry.”

His friend held up a hand. “His father is not pleased with his progress, and he has given Kandler permission to do something about it.”

“Take Prince Karl away from England, I hope.”

“He has no power to do that.”

“Too bad.”

“He will act, however. In case that should make a difference in your plans.”

James struggled with his temper. It seemed that Henry was trying to discourage him from marrying Cecelia. Why would he do that? Did Henry—Henry!—think that Cecelia had been tainted by the gossip? If so, he thought less of his friend. He didn’t want to do that. “I would be glad to see Prince Karl paid back for his infamy, through some other agency than mine,” James said carefully. “I shan’t have anything to do with it.”

“That’s very…astute of you.”

Did he sound surprised? “Were you still expecting that I would waylay him some dark night and beat him senseless?” asked James dryly. The man who’d struck Prince Karl after their fencing bout seemed distant to him now.

“I simply thought you should know about Kandler’s plans. In case…that is.”

James waited.

Henry looked uncomfortable. “You began talking of marriage to Miss Vainsmede as a kind of…contest with the prince.”

That wasn’t right. He’d asked her before he knew the fellow existed. He thought he’d told Henry that. But Prince Karl had…altered his courtship. That much was true. As well as unfairly maligning Cecelia. Suddenly, James wondered if she’d changed her mind because of that. She’d refused him, rather firmly, and then she’d turned about and proposed to him after the prince tried to ruin her reputation. Many thought Cecelia very fortunate to have “snagged” him and redeemed her social position. He’d heard that said of her, perhaps had been meant to overhear it. She’d mentioned the rumors, of course, in case he wished to withdraw. But had it been a maneuver? To goad him into moving ahead?

No! Cecelia wasn’t that sort of person. She possessed the highest moral character. She’d changed her mind because…

James realized that he could not definitively complete this sentence, and that, unlike all the rest, worried him. She’d tossed his foolish arguments back at him and spoken of a deal, the advantages to them both. But she’d rejected those ideas the first time. Was she really marrying him to save her reputation? He was happy to do so, naturally. He would have eradicated the prince if that had been possible. But there was more involved in their union. Was there not?

He was having doubts, James realized. He wasn’t accustomed to doubts. He never had them. And he didn’t like them. At all. It was ridiculous. This whole match had been his idea. He refused to doubt.

“Hasty marriages do go wrong,” said Henry.

His match was not hasty. He’d known Cecelia for years. Yet never thought of marrying her until the responsibilities of a dukedom descended upon him, a dry inner voice pointed out. And a rival appeared. The last few weeks had felt rather…headlong. Henry thought James was marrying out of pique, or an irresistible desire to win a competition. He suspected his grandmother thought the same. And others? Perhaps. All of society thought they could have an opinion and exercise their wagging tongues, it seemed. Marriage was not simply an agreement between two people. “The prince has nothing to do with my wedding plans,” he said in an even tone.

His friend nodded. “All right.”

“Do you not wish to stand up with me, Henry?” James was conscious of a mournful annoyance. Why had Henry thought it necessary to roil the waters in this way? “If you would rather be excused…”

“Of course I would not.”

“You seem reluctant.”

“I just wanted you to know…to be certain.”

“And if I wasn’t?”

“Then I’d help you get out of it.”

How had Henry imagined that might happen? A gentleman could not draw back from an engagement. He’d procured a special license, engaged a parson. And he didn’t wish to cry off. He couldn’t imagine being married to anyone other than Cecelia. He would simply like to understand that she felt the same.