Page 40 of When her Duke Returns
Alexander moved toward her. “You mustn’t tell anyone, Cecelia. Please, they mustn’t know.”
Cecelia sucked in her cheeks. “No, I suppose that would be bad,” she said without emotion, unblinking.
“Very bad,” Alexander agreed with tenderness. “Tremendously bad, even.”
Cecelia seemed to snap out of her daze as Alexander walked toward her. “Does she know?”
Mary was frozen in place. “Do I know what?”
Alexander shook his head. “Not now, Cecelia. We will talk things over when we are less pressed for time.”
“Do I knowwhat?” Mary repeated, her voice rising to a shout.
Cecelia stared at her then, her brown eyes wild with concern. “Alexander and I,” she stated, “we’re engaged to wed.”
ChapterSixteen
As Summer drew to its close, all eyes turned to the young Lady Mary. It had been two months since her engagement ball—two months since she had found herself trapped in a web of rumors—and her wedding was but three weeks away.
The family had returned to Hatton House shortly after they came back from the country. All seven of them and their staff had cramped into their small, town abode, getting along much as a family should like little dolls in their little rooms with their little, innumerable problems. Francis and Sophia were entrapped by the promise of their first child with Francis away on business to secure their future and Sophia was largely concerned with her health and blooming belly. Harry had been traveling, visiting friends all about England and dodging his summerly duties to the best of his ability. Mary’s mother gallivanted between soirees as was in her nature when she was not fretting over her children, of course.
And Antony was there—for where else would he be but shadowing Mary with every step she took. Quite surprisingly, his laborious presence had not been without fruit. Their rapport had grown sweeter, less like to end in revolt and running away. No doubt, Mary ruminated, it was not the genteelness of his character that had triumphed but the sealing away of hope. The Duke, after all, had been promised to her dearest friend, and the game was well and truly up between them. It came as quite a relief, then, that she was to be whisked away to Scotland once the marriage was concluded.
Mary stood now in her chambers at Hatton House. The room appeared small and terribly sad. Its faded, periwinkle blue wallpaper was coming apart at the seams, and its worn, sable floorboards were grey with dust, dotted here and there by trunks and boxes of her belongings.
With a sigh, she rummaged through her armoire, flicking through her evening gowns. Cursing herself as she went, she pulled out a dark blue gown—the one she had worn on their final night at Whitcliff—then stuffed it back inside with a huff.
“Whatever has that poor dress done to deserve your wrath?”
Mary gasped and spun on her heels, almost falling back into the closet. Antony was standing in the doorway with a satisfied grin. “Are we so well acquainted with one another that we have no need to knock?” she jested bitterly.
“Ididknock,” he said plainly, staying put. “You can hardly blame your blocked ears on our familiarly. What is it you’re up to?”
Mary scowled then turned back toward her dresses. “Mama has asked me to sort through my gowns before we leave for Edinburgh though I cannot say why the task has fallen to me. Better Honora do it, I say. Mama will loathe what I pick, regardless.”
“Come now, that can’t be true.”
“You would think not, given that Mama commissioned half of them herself… But ‘tis,” she retorted with a sigh. She pulled an older, satin gown from the closet and lay it against her body. “So, what do we think of this one?”
“It’s of no consequence to me, so I would rather not say. My bias shall lend you no favor, besides.”
Mary shot him a deadened smile. She threw the gown on the bed and put her arms on her hips. “Why have you come up? I thought you were sorting your own things down on Grange Street.”
Antony cleared his throat then eyed the room as if asking for permission to enter. “The packing of my things is quite concluded. Then again, my effects aren’t nearly as vast as yours… No, I have something for you.”
“A gift?” Mary asked and gestured for him to settle on her bed. If there was any intimacy to the moment, it was lost on her. “We are quite a way from Christmastide,” she quipped.
Antony smiled, a strand of dark hair falling into his eyes, and he pulled a small silken sachet from his pocket. “I know it’s not customary to gift one’s betrothed something so close to the wedding, but I feel it most important to let you know how proud I am that you’ve agreed to be mine.”Mary simply nodded.
“For you,” he continued upon her silence and pried the gilded tie of the bag open with his long, pale fingers. Hidden within was a small locket, shaped like a heart upon a reef of flowers. “You needn’t wear it all the time if it’s not to your liking,” Antony said though he could not keep Mary’s gaze. “All the women of our family have one like it. I thought it only fitting you bear one as well.”
Mary gently coerced the locket from his grasp and held it to the light of the sun. She could not deny its beauty though still, she did not much like the idea of being branded aSimons.
“It’s lovely. Thank you, My Lord,” she said in earnest, and the Earl was pleased. With a smile, he reached his hand to her chin as if to angle her face toward him. Mary knew what was about and quickly rose to her feet.
“I—I should find a place for it,” she said nervously, “lest it be swept up with the rest of my things.”
“Right you are,” Antony replied and cleared his throat.
