Page 5 of Her Duke at Midnight
Cecily fixed her gaze on the row of ledgers and tomes by Greek philosophers that had so consumed her husband’s attention and interest. Finally, after wasting several minutes of a morning she’d been looking forward to for months, her brother-in-law waved a hand toward the chair in front of his desk.
Cecily gave a minute shake of her head.
“I’m afraid I don’t have time to sit, Douglas,” she told him, forcing a bit of steel into her tone.
He reacted as she suspected he would. One of his brows arched high on his forehead.
Good. She was pleased that her tone surprised him. Cecily’s reputation, if she had one at all, was for her dutifulness. All her life, she’d been biddable. But she wasn’t a shy, persuadable debutante anymore. She was a widow with no children, no siblings, and very little of her own family still living.
As the months of her mourning had come to a close, she’d pondered her fate with a mix of emotions. Initially, fear and then excitement. For the first time in her life, her future was hers to choose. She owed dutifulness to no one, only the responsibility of taking care of herself, those servants she could afford to take with her when she set up her own household, and, of course, Bess.
Bissenden tipped his head, and gaslight glinted off his balding pate. Over the rim of gold spectacles, he assessed her dress, and his other brow winged up too.
The consternation she read on his usually taciturn face thrilled her.
Perhaps he could see it too. The newness she felt in herself. Her fresh resolve to be stronger, determined, adventurous.
“Ah yes,” the Earl of Bissenden finally said. “Your mourning is at an end, and I see you’re marking the occasion quite…” He scoured her with another boot-to-brow inspection, taking in the colorful gown she’d been so relieved to don this morning. “Pointedly,” he finished grimly.
“Pink is my favorite color.” Cecily had expected him to cast harsh judgment on her choice of fuchsia for the traveling gown she’d wear on her first trip away from the household in nearly a year. The color reminded her of the roses her aunt used to grow and of the azaleas at her family’s home in Derbyshire. It made her feel vibrant and alive—feelings she’d muted for far too long.
“You’re going out, I take it.”
“Have you forgotten that I’m leaving London today?”
His eyes bulged at that news. “Departing London? This is all rather sudden. Where on earth are you going?”
Cecily clenched her jaw. Her brother-in-law had seemed determined to manage her for the twelve months they’d lived under the same roof, and yet he couldn’t be bothered to recall anything she told him. She’d yet to discover whether his memory was faulty in general, or if he simply didn’t think it worthwhile to listen when she spoke.
“We discussed this last month, Douglas. I’m going to Lord and Lady Derwent’s house party in Kent. I’m accompanying Lady Fiona Prescott.”
At mention of the Derwents, he gave an approving nod. They were wealthy and highly esteemed. But at Fiona’s name, his brows climbed the wrinkles of his forehead again.
“I didn’t know you were acquainted with that woman.”
“You did know. I mentioned her when I told you about my trip.”
He scratched his head and looked momentarily abashed. “I’m afraid I don’t recall that conversation at all.”
“You were on your way out for the evening.” Much like his predecessor, he was invariably ensconced in his study or on his way to some gentlemen’s club.
“Ah yes. Perhaps my schedule has been a bit too full these last few months.”
“Not at all. You must do as you please.”
She’d never minded his frequent absences and general disinterest. Her marriage had lasted only four years—though it seemed much longer when she thought back on the pain of those years—and she and her brother-in-law had not yet become well acquainted when Archibald succumbed to a fever during a hunting trip.
Weeks later, Douglas had moved into Bissenden House, and Cecily had been relieved to vacate the suite that contained her marriage bed and settle into one of the light, airy guest rooms that looked out onto the back garden.
The lack of gas lamps on that side of the town house allowed her to see the night sky better with her telescope, and her suite was far enough from her brother-in-law’s for Bess to take a wander in that part of the house without Cecily fearing they’d encounter each other.
“Do you take issue with Lady Fiona?” Cecily would defend her friend if need be. And she certainly wouldn’t be persuaded to alter her plans. Fiona was outspoken on occasion, but she was respectable. Indeed, her father was influential within the House of Lords, a place where Douglas was keen to gain influence himself.
“She’s rather…”
“Loud? Like my choice of gown?”
“She is known for her bold views.” His mustache twitched as he frowned. Then, to her surprise, his shoulders eased, and his grim expression softened. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Cecily. It’s a fine gown.”
