Page 7 of Her Duke at Midnight
“No, no, you needn’t say a thing. But we must get you out of there.”
“I have a plan. Aunt Genevieve left me a small sum, perhaps enough for a cottage.” Cecily watched the countryside pass as they rolled away from London. “I’m thinking of Hampstead? Not too far from London, but far enough.”
Fiona quirked her lips in a dubious expression. “Or you could simply come live with me.”
The offer was generous and not unexpected. Fiona had hinted at it for months without offering outright. As a widow, she’d taken her dower portion and invested wisely. Cleverly enough to afford her own town house in a respectable London square. Her independence inspired Cecily to seek some of her own.
“You’re wonderful to offer, but I crave something of my own. Unfortunately, I don’t know how difficult Douglas will be about allowing me to control my own funds.”
“That humorless man has no right to keep an inheritance from you. I’ll be more than happy to speak to him on your behalf.”
Cecily’s expression must have given something away.
“Ah,” Fiona said archly. “He doesn’t approve of me, does he?”
“He didn’t say that precisely.”
“It’s no matter. My father would speak to him if I asked, and I suspect Bissenden would listen.”
Cecily suspected the same. Both Archibald and his brother had much more respect for men than for women. Men in positions of power, in particular.
“Let’s talk of happier things,” Fiona insisted, brushing at the satin folds of her traveling gown as if she could flick away the unpleasant topic of condescending men. “I have considered founding a lady’s salon of sorts, but exclusively for widows.” Fiona shot her a mischievous smile in return. “Would you join?”
“Of course.” Cecily leaned forward, excited at the prospect of the kind of companionship she hadn’t experienced for a year. “If you ever wish me to speak on astronomy or the care of the city’s strays, you know I’d be delighted.”
Fiona tapped her lips thoughtfully. “Yes, we should have days where each of us shares our particular passions, but I was thinking we should also discuss more practical matters.”
Cecily tried not to take too much offense at the implication that studying the stars or speaking of animal welfare weren’t practical matters.
“As widows, we can discuss charitable endeavors, finances, investments, living independently,” Fiona ticked each topic off on her fingers. “And of course…” She paused dramatically and held Cecily’s gaze. “Conducting affairs discreetly.”
Cecily felt warmth wash up her neck and face again. “Do all widows have affairs?”
“All the ones that I know have.”
“You?” Cecily had always been curious, but thought it rude to ask so bluntly. Fiona was outspoken on most topics, but she’d never volunteered such intimate details.
“Yes,” she said with a bold confidence Cecily hoped to possess one day. “A year after Lionel.” She glanced away, but not in shame. Her faraway gaze and a wistful smile playing at the corners of her lips made Cecily think she was reminiscing.
“He was a bit of a scoundrel, but the perfect partner for such a tryst,” she said in a softer tone. “Discreet, patient, and determined to assist me.”
“Assist you?”
“You know,” she said as if Cecily must take her meaning, “in intimate ways. He…taught me things and allowed me to find parts of myself I’d never discovered or truly acknowledged before.”
Cecily realized her mouth had dropped open and her eyes had widened, but there was no blush this time. Just intense curiosity.
Fiona noticed and offered a soft smile. “I highly recommend an arrangement with an experienced scoundrel.” Her smile faltered. “Though there is one you’ll meet at the Derwent house party whom I must urge you to avoid.”
“Will there be scoundrels at the Derwents’? They’re one of the most staid and honorable couples in London society.” Cecily recalled that neither of them ever laughed if a joke told at a dinner party or soiree was even slightly off-color.
“If he weren’t a duke, I don’t think they would have invited him at all.”
“A scoundrel duke?”
“Try not to sound so intrigued,” Fiona scolded teasingly. “The Duke of Everton is a striking sort of man. There’s no denying that, but one of his affairs ended quite untidily.” Fiona shuddered and tugged the blue-green scarf she wore more tightly around her neck. “What should be a lady’s private dealings has become fodder for everyone who reads the London scandal sheets.”
Cecily had given up on scandal sheets after her brother-in-law had found one in a pile of post and made a very dramatic scene out of disposing of it. Regardless, her lady’s maid was a far better source of society gossip, though Cecily couldn’t recall hearing about the Everton business.
