They had danced together only once at the Caruthers ball, both somewhat disheveled after their lovemaking despite their best efforts to tidy themselves. They had left early after that, unable to keep their hands off one another or their lips apart.
Cecily had lost count of how many times they had come together, first in that sitting room at Caruthers House, then in the carriage, and again and again in Nathaniel’s bedroom back at Greyhaven Park. Fed only by kisses and short interludes of sleep, their desire seemed inexhaustible.
Unfortunately, after receiving a letter with the breakfast tray he’d had brought to his room, Nathaniel had dressed and hurried away to London.
“I have important business to attend to, sweet Cecily, but I will be home again at the earliest opportunity. I expect to find you naked and ready for me again, here in my bed…”
Cecily sighed and blushed as she remembered her husband’s parting words and kisses, his hands wandering over her curves as he spoke. Whatever business had called him back to London, she hoped it would not take the entire day. She longed for the weight and strength of his body, the tenderness of his lips, and the knowing touch of his fingers in contrast to the demanding thrusts of his?—
“Your Grace?”
Mrs. Barnes’ anxious voice pulled her out of her erotic daydreams once again. She saw that the housekeeper had what appeared to be a letter in her hand and a printed pamphlet.
“This came with the other messages, Your Grace. The note was not signed. It came from London, like the pamphlet, but that is all I know.”
“A pamphlet?” Cecily repeated, baffled as to why any of this should be of concern to Mrs. Barnes and even less to her.
“You must read it, Your Grace, I am sorry to say. Thank goodness I opened this message and not any of the junior servants. I would have just burned it right away, but then you wouldn’t be warned.”
Warned of what?
Finally, Cecily’s eyes drifted down to the address on the letter. It might not have been signed, but she knew her uncle’s hand at a glance. Cold foreboding began to seep into her veins as she reached for both the pamphlet and the letter.
The covering message had been addressed only to “Greyhaven Park, household staff” and was both brief and pointed.
You will doubtless be interested to learn the true character of your new mistress, the Duchess of Greyhaven.
Turning her attention now to the pamphlet, Cecily let out a gasp, her trembling hand flying up to her mouth.
Oh God, what has he done?
The printed document was a scandal sheet of the lowest order, carrying gossip of the type that bordered on either defamation or fantasy, and sometimes both. The main story was illustrated by a salacious sketch of a young man in military uniform, hisbreeches unfastened, gazing at the half-uncovered bosom of a flirtatious-looking young lady with a somewhat rounded belly as he helped her into a carriage.
Behind the pair, another young woman merrily waved them off from a bed, a large wedding ring on her finger and a ducal coronet askew on the head of the man snoring beside her.
“Dear God!” Cecily exclaimed, feeling all the blood drain from her face as she read the words beside the awful illustration.
She gripped the fence tightly and was grateful to feel Mrs. Barnes take her other arm, fearing that she might have otherwise collapsed.
“Cecily, Cecily! Look! Snowy ate a whole apple. They are good ponies, and Mr. Parsons the groom says I may ride them if you say yes.”
With difficulty, Cecily looked back at her stepdaughter and forced herself to smile. “Yes, you may, as long as you have a groom with you and Miss Osborne watches. I must go inside now, but I will come back to see you riding later.”
“Do you promise?” Lilian asked.
Cecily nodded. “I promise,” she replied, the words tasting bitter in her mouth.
“Come to the drawing room, and I’ll fetch you a brandy, Your Grace,” Mrs. Barnes said in a low voice. “Then, you must tell me what you want to do.”
What could Cecily do? Her uncle had evidently given this awful story to the ton’s worst scandalmongers, deliberately besmirching her and her sister. Without naming them, it painted Cecily as a scheming woman who had pursued and caught the Duke of Greyhaven by blackmailing him about his brother’s indiscretion with Mary.
No, it was worse than an indiscretion. The story implied that Mary had been repeatedly compromised and was now carrying Patrick’s child, this being the reason for his recently buying a military commission and aiming to leave the country. It even hinted that Patrick was not Mary’s first lover and that Cecily was no better than her sister’s pimp.
“There, sit down, Your Grace,” the housekeeper soothed, guiding her to a chair in the drawing room and making sure that the door was closed before going over to the sideboard.
In a daze, Cecily lowered the papers onto her lap.
“How could my uncle do this?” she choked out. “We are his own flesh and blood.”
