Page 34 of Her Duke at Midnight
“He’s a wealthy duke, Cecily, and a man with…skills.” Fiona smiled softly. “If he cares for you, and you for him, and he’s offered for you—why would you refuse?”
Cecily stood and began pacing across the oval rug before the fire. Suddenly, her body was full of nervous energy and, she realized, fear. Fiona made good points, and she knew that aristocratic matches were often founded on far less than all the goodness she and Adam had discovered with each other in a matter of days.
She’d known Archibald one month before her father began negotiating their betrothal, and in that time, she’d danced with him at two balls and accepted chaperoned visits from him twice. She’d never seen any real, true aspect of his character, and they’d certainly shared no intimacies—either physical or emotional.
She already felt she knew Adam far more deeply.
And yet, she was terrified of being stuck again, being at the mercy of any man.
“There’s more,” Fiona said bleakly. “I overheard a few men talking in the drawing room.” She swiped a finger across the skin below her eye. “It’s why I was in such a state when I found you.”
“Talking about what?”
Fiona turned in her chair to face Cecily. “About you, my dear. They’re deplorable men, and most of them have already partaken too much of the Derwents’ liquor stores, but they were speaking of you in the most abominable terms. Declaring which of them would have you after Everton. I couldn’t bear to hear such slander and…” Fiona sniffed and notched up her chin. “Well, I may have shouted.”
Tears pricked at Cecily’s eyes. Not because she gave a damn about what men like Whitlock—and she would have bet anything he was at the center of the group Fiona had encountered—said about her. It was the fact that Fiona truly cared about her well-being, her reputation, that made her heart feel full.
She took the chair across from her friend again and then reached out to take Fiona’s hands.
“Thank you, dear friend, for wishing to defend me. I wish I’d known you before I married Bissenden.”
“As do I. I would have fought your father personally to prevent that union.”
Cecily quite liked the thought of that. “He did a good job of hiding his true nature. I’m not sure anyone would have known to stop the marriage.”
“Do you think Everton is hiding his true nature from you?”
“No.” The answer came instantly. Cecily had no doubts on that score. “You informed me of his reputation, and he’s done nothing to hide his past from me. And when we’re alone, when he could treat me however he likes—”
“Yes?”
“He’s wonderful.”
Fiona allowed the merest curve of her lips. “Perhaps he would continue that way. You know what they say about a reformed scoundrel.” A fuller smile caused a dimple to flicker in her cheek. “Apparently, they make the best husbands.”
Just the wordhusbandmade Cecily shiver.
“And it would stop men like Whitlock from speculating about my moral character.” Cecily knew that was Fiona’s implication without her spelling the sentiment out bluntly.
“I know you’re not a debutante, as you reminded me, but as widows with a bit more freedom to do as we please, respectability still matters a great deal.”
Cecily stood, her arms crossed, finger tapping her lips as she considered Fiona’s arguments and tried to sift her own feelings.
“Oh look!” Fiona sprang from her chair and strode toward the library window. “It’s finally snowing.”
Cecily joined her, watching the fat, sparkling flakes flutter to the ground. Something about the moment felt like a threshold, a moment when everything could change depending on the choice she made.
“I think I need to go and speak to Adam.”
* * *
Bennett headed straight for Adam the moment he reentered the drawing room.
“Well, how did it go? Tell all.” He yanked his pocket watch up on its chain and flipped the lid. “You were gone longer than most talks would take, but I allow that as it was a serious matter that, no doubt, required thorough discussion.”
He offered Adam a knowing wink.
“There’s not a great deal to report, my friend.” Adam fussed with his necktie, then gave up, knowing he’d never be able to tie it as well as his valet back in London. “No decisions have been made.”
