Page 55 of Wedded to the Forbidden Duke
Cecilia kept up another smile, and nodded, willing her eyes not to well up with tears. “Of course,” she said.
“I will see you to your room, Cecilia,” her mother said, giving Nancy one last embrace before taking Cecilia’s arm in hers.
Once they had made it to Cecilia’s room, her mother looked at her, holding her at arm’s length. Her eyes shined with compassion and concern.
“You do not wish to seek your friend’s comfort during this time?”
Cecilia shook her head. “I cannot ruin her happiness,” she said. “You mustn’t tell Nancy, Mama, nor Zachary. They have been waiting too long for this moment. Let them celebrate in peace.”
“Very well, darling. Though I am certain they would understand, and would want to support you. Still, I must admit, I am not quite certain that I understand. All seemed well between you and the duke the last we spoke. Things were going so well at the musicale. I assure you, he looked very much in love. What on earth could have changed?”
“It is not what changed, Mama,” Cecilia said, her voice numb. “It is what hasn’t changed. And what will never, apparently, change.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“For God’s sake, Your Grace, wake up!”
Ian jerked into consciousness, squinting up at the blurry figure before him. He had spent a long night drinking, before falling asleep again in his study. He rubbed his head, blinking his eyes.
“Hm?” was all he could manage.
“My goodness, Your Grace,” said the figure, chuckling a bit in what sounded like relief. “I had thought I had walked in to find you dead. You really mustn’t scare me like that.”
He was able to place the voice now. Ian blinked again, and dragged a hand across his eyes as he sat up straight. “My apologies, Mr. Ainsworth,” he muttered.
“We were to meet at eleven,” Mr. Ainsworth said. “It is nearly noon. I don’t begrudge you your indulgences, Your Grace, but Imust say I am quite surprised. It is unlike you to be so…” His eyes crossed the room, no doubt taking in all of the half-finished bottles of liquor and empty glasses. “Sloppy,” he finished. “What does your wife think of this?”
Something lit up within Ian. “I doubt she will think much of me at all, anymore,” he mumbled.
Mr. Ainsworth blinked owlishly at him. “I beg your pardon?” he replied.
Ian stood up, nearly stumbling. His head pounded from the previous night’s overindulgence, but the roiling hurricane of guilt and sadness within him kept him standing. “She’s…gone”
“Yes,” said Mr. Ainsworth. “One of the manservants told me the duchess had left to see her mother. Are you telling me she fled rather to escape her drunken, boorish husband?”
Ian sighed and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “It is none of your business what problems may arise between Cecilia and I. Just as it is none of your business whether my wife and I decide to have children. None whatsoever.”
Mr. Ainsworth nodded. “Ah. So that is what this is about,” he said.
“So you knew?” Ian said. “You knew what trouble you were stirring up when you raised the matter of children?”
“I was not trying to stir up any trouble, Your Grace. Only saying what would be obvious to any onlooker—that you and your wife are very much in love, and that it would be no surprise to anyone if you were to have children very soon.”
At the wordlove, Ian flinched. “You know no such thing.”
“Which of those two things is incorrect?” Mr. Ainsworth immediately said.
“You have no proof I love her.”
Mr. Ainsworth stopped. “You have not told the girl you love her?” he asked, aghast.
“I…” Ian trailed off. “As I told you from the start, this is a marriage of convenience. Cecilia knows that as well as I do,” Ian said insistently.
“Good God, my lord, if you cannot admit it to her, at the very least admit it to yourself!” Mr. Ainsworth cried, throwing his hands up in the air. “One argument with the duchess—an argument of your own doing, I might say—is enough to throw you into such a sorry state, and you will not even entertain the thought that the feelings you have for her might be love?”
“Whatever feelings I do or do not have, it does not matter,” Ian said, waving him off, “because she is gone. Fled to London, to see her family.”
“So?” Mr. Ainsworth said incredulously. “Go after her, Your Grace. She is your wife; that is your family, as well.”
