“It is all my fault,” stated a pale-faced Mary after hearing Cecily’s story. “You only agreed to marry the Duke so that he would help you find me. You barely know him and cannot possibly love him.”
Cecily paused before replying, not wanting to add to her young sister’s distress. Yes, ensuring Mary’s safety and well-being was definitely her main reason for seeking the Duke’s assistance, and his proposal had surprised her. But was that truly the only reason she had accepted it?
Despite the warmth of the day, she shivered as she thought about the intensity of the Duke’s deep blue gaze, the warmth and strength of his body against hers, and the unnerving yet irresistible erotic intimacy of their close encounters.
“It was not only that,” she admitted with a sigh. “Love is not the only reason that people marry, Mary.”
“You only say so to comfort me,” Mary replied, shaking her head ruefully. “I know that you did not care about being a spinster, Cecily. You always said so, and I cannot believe you accepted this man now, only because you had no other prospects. It is not like you. How can you ever forgive me?”
Cecily did not correct her misconstruction. It would be easier to let her believe that she was marrying solely for Mary’s salvation, or to avoid remaining a spinster, although her sister was unconvinced on this score.
It was unthinkable to explain that there was also the matter of the Duke having eyes so blue and a voice so compelling that she had stripped naked before him and obeyed the most indecent commands with unprecedented physical joy.
“There is nothing to forgive, Mary,” she assured her sister, refilling their cups with fruit cordial. “Really. Anyway, nothing could be worse than living with Uncle Preston and Grandmother.”
As Cecily hoped, Mary laughed and nodded at the small joke.
It was true that marriage and life at Greyhaven Park could not be worse, but it was also far less clear to her what life as the Duchess of Greyhaven would entail.
The Duke had made two things very clear so far. Firstly, he expected his Duchess to be a stepmother to his daughter. Secondly, he had extensive expectations around marital congress, and Cecily would have to meet them.
Glancing at the carriage, she saw the Duke leaning against it, watching her thoughtfully. Blushing under his gaze, she nodded politely and turned back to her food.
“Do you like him?” Mary asked curiously, but Cecily did not trust herself to speak. “I think he likes you. He keeps looking at you, you know.”
“Eat your food, Mary,” Cecily instructed, getting to her feet and brushing away the crumbs of bread from her skirts with great deliberation that she hoped would hide her inexplicable inner turmoil. “The driver is hitching the horses again, and we must get back on the road to Richmond.”
CHAPTER 14
It was evening before the coach arrived at Epworth House, a Queen Anne-era mansion on the riverside in Richmond, both majestic and scenic.
“Oh my, I feel quite underdressed,” Mary whispered in awe as the driver helped them down from the carriage. “They must need a hundred servants to keep this place!”
“I have some good dresses with me, and Mother’s pearls,” Cecily whispered back, a little embarrassed at how her sheet-wrapped belongings would appear until she remembered Mrs. Barnes saying that they had been packed in a small trunk for her. “You may change into something finer than you have on.”
“Nathaniel! How lovely to see you, dear boy,” called out a tall and handsome fair-haired lady of around five-and-forty, stepping forward on the path to receive the Duke and be kissed on the cheek. “I was delighted to receive your note and hear of your betrothal, but now I see you have brought me not one but two young ladies.”
“You are my favorite cousin, Isabella. I always seek to exceed your expectations.”
The blonde lady laughed and beckoned Cecily and Mary forward. “You more often confound my expectations, Nathaniel, than exceed them. Now, introduce us, please, before you embarrass everyone.”
“With pleasure. This is Miss Cecily Holt, who will soon be my wife, and her younger sister, Miss Mary Holt, whom I must entrust to your care until our marriage.”
Shrewd gray eyes took them both in, before the blonde lady nodded.
“Miss Holt, Miss Mary, this is Lady Isabella Jackson, my second cousin but vastly superior to my very prim first cousins whom I make a point of avoiding like the plague.”
The two sisters curtsied politely, both slightly thrown by the Duke’s style of introduction.
“Come in, my dears,” Lady Jackson urged with a nod of satisfaction, seeming to have sized up the confusing situation in an instant and to be well-accustomed to the Duke’s manner of speech. “Dear me, Miss Mary does look to have been in the wars. We must run her a bath before dinner, and my maids will see to that dress.”
“Anything your guests require, you may order and charge back to me,” the Duke pronounced, offering his arm to his cousin and walking into the house with her.
Cecily and Mary followed behind, and servants began to unpack the various small boxes and bags from the carriage.
“Miss Holt will need a trousseau, just to begin with,” Lady Jackson advised. “From what you say, there is no one else to advise her on this.”
Having been constantly in crisis since the moment the Duke proposed to her, Cecily had not even thought about a trousseau. But all brides had one, didn’t they?
