Page 122 of The Dueling Duchess

“You don’t need to keep that appointment. I know you are—”

“It is one of my favorite hours of the week.”

“Mine, too,” Cecile admitted.

“Good, then that is settled. Now, the reason I’m here today is that I’m giving my first dinner party and ball.” She reached into a lovely beaded reticule and pulled out a thick cream envelope with the distinctive crest of the Duke of Staunton. “And you are invited.”

Cecile gave her friend a startled look. “But, Marianne—”

“If you say even one thing about not being suitable, I shall be extremely vexed with you, Cecile.”

Cecile felt her face heat at her friend’s fierce, affectionate expression, and she was unable to keep her yearning gaze from the elegant invitation; an invitation into a life she’d only ever seen from the outside, like an urchin peeking into a sweetshop window.

“Promise me that you will come,” Marianne begged, leaning forward and clutching the hand that wasn’t holding the invitation. “Please.”

“You know I will come. But I can’t help questioning the wisdom of your husband and his aunt.” Her eyes widened. “Please tell me they know I am coming—this is not some surprise that—”

“Of course, they know you are coming!” Marianne looked hurt and more than a little angry.

“I’m sorry, naturally you wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“I don’t think you understand my position, Cecile. Yes, I am the Duchess of Staunton and wife of Lord Flawless. And yes, the Prince of Wales himself granted me a title, so people are forced to accept me or insult Prinny. But trust me when I say that nobody has forgotten where I come from. Julia says I must embrace my past and make it part of my reputation—which is that of an original.” She frowned. “Apparently, being an original means—”

Cecile laughed. “I know what that means!”

“That’s right. How could I forget you probably know more about fitting into the ton than I do, with all your many years of research. In any case, as an original, I’ll be expected to do things like invite my friends to functions. Not that I needed such permission, but if you are concerned about ruining my entrée into society, you needn’t be. Understood?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Very well. I will go to the ball, Marianne. But I cannot attend your dinner.”

Marianne opened her mouth, no doubt to scold and nag, but she must have realized that Cecile was not merely fishing for assurance in this instance.

“Fine. I can see that might be a bit . . . nerve-racking. You are excused—but only on this occasion. So,” she said briskly, “now that my business is out of the way, let us talk about yours. You hired him.”

There was no doubt which him she meant.

Cecile shrugged.

“Oh no! You cannot get away with that, Cecile. I’ve been forced to miss an entire month of our Tuesday teas, and I’m positively burning up with curiosity.”

“It was just good business. Can you imagine how thrilled Barnabas would have been to have the Darling on his stage?”

“Yes, my uncle would have loved it.” Marianne’s smile was sad. Cecile didn’t know what had transpired between Marianne and her uncle before he’d died last year, but she knew there’d been bad blood on her friend’s side toward the end.

“So, Guy is living in the house with you?” Marianne asked.

“Not just me, I have almost a dozen people living there.”

“I met the little girl—Cat. She’s a darling, and it was so kind of you to take her in.”

Cecile knew her face was as red as a boiled lobster.

“Ah, well,” she muttered.

“Don’t feel bad for being softhearted, Cecile.”

“Softheaded, you mean.”

“Whatever you want to call it, I’m happy for you both. She is a little charmer.”