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“Lies are lies.” She’d meant to sound stern, but her treacherous voice trembled.
There was a short silence. Harriet gazed at the gravel path at their feet.
Cecelia took Harriet’s arm and guided her into the shrubbery. The thick bushes cut off some of the wind. Cecelia led her to a sheltered bench, sat beside her, and then said nothing for a bit longer. “It is important to know your own mind,” she said finally.
Harriet glanced at her, then away.
“Which is not always easy,” the duchess continued. “Or simple.”
Platitudes were not less annoying when they were true, Harriet noted.
“But once you do.” The duchess paused. She pressed her lips together, then gave a small nod. “A woman can take her fate into her own hands, you know. My mother taught me that.”
“I thought she died when you were quite young,” said Harriet, startled by this change of topic.
“She did. My aunt told me the story. Of how my mother settled her own destiny.”
“Destiny?” Harriet wasn’t certain what she had expected. A warning to be more careful perhaps? Reminders about propriety and appearances? Not this, at any rate.
“My mama arranged her own marriage,” Cecelia continued. “She went to my father and presented a list of the advantages of marriage. When he heard them, Papa conceded.”
“Conceded,” said Harriet.
“I know. It doesn’t sound romantic. You would have to be better acquainted with my father to understand the significance. He is a…tiger for argument. He hardly ever gives in. To have convinced him was a true achievement. I think he must have wanted very much to marry her. But would he ever have bestirred himself to ask?” Cecelia shrugged.
An interesting tale, but Harriet didn’t see that it applied to her.
“I’ve been telling her story to other young ladies. Those who don’t think they can do anything about their situations. Why should they not?”
“Family, society, training, fear,” suggested Harriet.
“Yes, it is hard to surmount those things, but not impossible. I did something rather like my mother.”
“You?” She’d imagined the duchess’s life as serene and perfect, including her marriage to the handsome duke.
“Our cases were not quite the same,” replied Cecelia with a secret smile. “But the point is, I decided to act, and I did. I would like to spread that idea throughout the female half of society.”
“A kind of amative philanthropy?”
Cecelia considered this. “More like fomenting a petticoat rebellion.”
Harriet had to smile at the picture this presented. “Ladies to the barricades? But with no better cause than marriage. As ever.”
“Do you not wish to be married?” the duchess asked. “It certainly looked as if you and Ferrington…”
“I thought he was a…a free spirit,” burst out of Harriet. “Someone living a different sort of life. Far away. And then he turned out to be anearl.”
“Which many would see as a great advantage and a wonderful surprise,” replied Cecelia.
“Many.” Harriet nearly spat the word. “The many who comprise society, which is…no more than a glittering scum disguising wretched behavior.”
“Scum wouldn’t really be much of a disguise…”
“You know what I meant, Cecelia.”
The duchess paused, then nodded. “There are problems, of course. And those of us who care work to improve things.”
“I don’t know what you think…” Harriet began. And stopped. She saw Cecelia’s line of reasoning laid out before her—Ferrington an earl, marriage to him, a position that could influence others, favorable change. Somehow, the cool logic was vastly dispiriting. “My grandfather sees marriage as another kind of business deal. I thought better of you, Cecelia.”
