A Duchess to Remember (11 page)

Despite her predilection for breaking into his house, Lady Cecily Westruther was a perfect candidate for his bride. She was the ward of a duke, the daughter of an earl. She had poise and confidence. He’d no doubt of her ability to run a household, to act as hostess to his guests in all their infinite variety.

Most of all, he needed an heir. His vision darkened as heat swept through his body. It would be no hardship to bed Lady Cecily Westruther as often as possible in furtherance of that aim.

Would material considerations weigh with such a girl? Certainly, she seemed unimpressed by his rank, his wealth, and his family. She was not indifferent to
him,
however. He could use that.

He must persuade her that she had as much to gain by her marriage to him as he did. And yes, he could be very persuasive when he wished.

True, there were obstacles beyond the lady herself. Montford might prove a problem; the duke might have chosen Cecily’s mate already. Rand’s jaw tightened. He would deal with Montford and any prospective bridegroom.

But the business with Jonathon must always stand in the way. If Lady Cecily found out the truth, she’d never forgive him. Nor would she forgive him for doing all in his power to prevent her pursuing her mission.

Clever and quite ruthless of her to search his library rather than seek him out at this masquerade. He admired her the more for that bit of deviousness. But there was nothing to find in this room and he would make sure she did not discover anything he didn’t want her to know.

Jonathon’s secret was safe.

*   *   *

Cecily’s heart expanded with joy as she looked around the drawing room where her family gathered before dinner.

All her Westruther cousins were there tonight. Well, all except one. But then Beckenham never came to town. It was useless to expect him.

Eight-year old Luke wormed his way through the Westruther cousins to Cecily. “Thank you ever so much for inviting me to dine, Cousin Cecily. Aunt Jane says I can’t stay for the ball and I shouldn’t wish to anyway, on account of there’s
dancing
and
girls
.” He gave a small, eloquent shudder that made Cecily laugh.

Constantine, Luke’s guardian and Jane’s husband, glanced down at him and sighed. “How much you have to learn, my boy. Dancing and most particularly
girls
are quite the best things about balls.”

After an admonishment from Jane, Luke made his bow. It had a touch of the swagger about it that was so reminiscent of Constantine that Cecily exchanged a laughing glance with Jane over the boy’s head.

“Ought you to be here?” Cecily asked Jane in a lowered voice. “I cannot thank you enough for coming, but is it wise, this close to your confinement? I worry about you, dearest.”

Jane, big with child, waved away her concerns. “Why should I miss all the fun?” she said. “I’m as healthy as a horse, though
some
people might think I’m made of spun glass.” She said the last with a meaningful glance at her darkly handsome husband.

“You look marvelous, my dear,” said Cecily. Was it pregnancy or marriage to Constantine that made Jane’s fair skin glow with health, her gray eyes sparkle, her hair a richer, deeper auburn? Whatever elixir Jane had found ought to be bottled and sold.

Embracing her cousin gingerly over her formidable bump, Cecily looked up at Jane’s husband. “I hope you are taking good care of her,” she said severely.

“And good evening to you, too, brat,” said Constantine, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “I’ve yet to hear of any riots or even mere scandals of your making. I confess I’m disappointed. What
have
you been doing with your time?”

“I’m lulling you all into a false sense of security,” she said lightly.

But Constantine had made a pertinent observation. Since the business with Lavinia and Jonathon and Ashburn, Cecily had had little leisure for making idle mischief and little inclination for such antics, either.

Any risks she took now were for the purpose of avoiding scandal, not creating it. Not because she feared notoriety so much. Westruthers never cared what people said about them, after all. But because that dratted letter would hurt Norland if it came to light, not to mention putting her betrothal to him in jeopardy.

Rosamund and Griffin claimed her attention then. Though he was an earl, Griffin would never be totally at ease in elegant company. It would be a pity if he lost all his rough edges, however, for this was exactly how Rosamund liked him.

Cecily watched Griffin critically as he bowed to her. “You’ve been practicing,” she said approvingly as she curtsied in return. “I trust you will break your rule tonight and dance with me. I am the guest of honor, after all.”

The big man flushed and glanced about, presumably for assistance. When Rosamund simply widened her eyes at him and let him sink or swim on his own, he cleared his throat. “I, uh. Ahem. I don’t—”

“He’d be
honored,
” said Rosamund, turning the full power of her smile upon her hapless husband. “Wouldn’t you, Griffin?”

It was a fascinating phenomenon to observe the effect of Rosamund’s smile upon her lord. The great colossus of a man melted on the spot.

He did not even glance in Cecily’s direction. “Yes, of course. Honored,” he repeated absently.

“I’ll hold you to it,” said Cecily, but she wasn’t sure if he’d heard her. Clearly, Griffin expected to be a very lucky man later this evening.

“Cecily, where is Tibby tonight?” asked Rosamund.

“Oh, didn’t you know? Tibby was called away to her sister in Cambridgeshire. I believe the poor thing is ill.”

“What a shame,” said Rosamund.

“Yes, rotten luck,” agreed Cecily. “I do feel for her. Particularly when—” She broke off as the male contingent shouted greetings to a newcomer.

A smile burst over her face as she saw who it was.
Beckenham.
Her cousin Beckenham, who never, ever came to London, stood in the doorway, looking gravely handsome in his evening clothes.

“Becks!”
She ran to her cousin and flung her arms about him in a tight bear hug, ignoring Jane’s admonition to mind her gown.

“Oh, Becks! I am so glad to see you.” She squeezed his hands, bouncing on her toes. “Thank you for coming.”

Beckenham’s stern features relaxed a little as he returned the grip of her hands and held them wide so he could see her finery. “You look very grown up,” he said softly.

Cecily interpreted that mild statement as approval of no mean order. Tears stung behind her eyes.

In an effort to collect herself, she curtsied grandly. “Why thank you, my lord.”

They had locked horns on many occasions over the years, for her wayward behavior provoked the staid Beckenham to no end. Nevertheless, he held a special place in her heart. For Becks to make the sacrifice of returning to Town to attend a ball in her honor was a gesture she’d never forget.

“Beckenham, you oaf! Cecily is
exquisite,
” corrected Andrew, Viscount Lydgate. He eyed her white silk gown with approval. “You might not have Rosamund’s beauty, Cec, but I’ll say this for you: I never met another woman who could match you for taste.”

“What an evening for backhanded compliments,” murmured Xavier, pouring the last glass of sherry. When the drinks were distributed, he said, “To Cecily. Unleashed, at last, on an unsuspecting society. The ton will never be the same.”

Her cousins took turns roasting Cecily mercilessly. She laughed harder than anyone at the jokes at her expense and the many stories that began with
Do you remember the time she …

Laughter and love surrounded her like a warm embrace. She was glad that she’d insisted on a small, private dinner this evening.

The Duke of Montford came in, accompanied by Norland, and their party was complete.

A small hand found Cecily’s and tugged. Obedient to Luke’s wordless command, Cecily bent down to give him her ear.

“Is
that
him?” he whispered.

“Yes, darling,” she whispered back. “That’s the man I’m going to marry.” Why did she feel a trifle reluctant to admit that to Luke? She was not ashamed of Norland, was she?

“I know that,” breathed Luke with a touch of scorn for her slow-wittedness. “But that’s him, isn’t it? That’s Sir Ninian Finian.” He snorted and his shoulder shook beneath her hand. “Oh, Lord! How f-funny.”

Cecily’s heart sank. She recalled now that Jane had read those silly stories to Luke. Dear God, if a mere child could recognize her caricature of Norland in all that nonsense …

Before she could answer him, her attention was claimed by the butler’s announcing dinner. All she could do was throw Luke a minatory look. In response, he sobered and ostentatiously pressed his lips together. She hoped to goodness that meant he knew not to breathe a word about that dratted book.

On tenterhooks, she caught Luke observing her betrothed keenly throughout the evening, like a dog watching for scraps its master might throw from the table. A small smirk of private enjoyment appeared on Luke’s face whenever Norland said or did something Sir Ninian–like. Cecily died a thousand deaths, anticipating some indiscretion that would expose her.

Thankfully, none came. Indeed, she could not blame Luke for his enjoyment of the situation. Norland looked sadly out of place in this gathering. Cecily winced several times as he failed to understand her cousins’ jokes or recounted an incident to do with one of his experiments that could not be of interest to anyone but him.

Norland looked completely discomfited by the casual way the family talked across the table to one another. She rather feared he was shocked by some of her exploits that her cousins couldn’t resist recounting over dinner.

It wasn’t poor Norland’s fault that he was so awkward. He’d had a formal upbringing with no siblings close to him in age. He couldn’t understand the exuberance and eccentricity of the Westruthers. She doubted if he’d ever be absorbed into their circle the way Constantine and Griffin had.

But then, that made it easier for her to keep him at a distance, didn’t it?

A clutch of apprehension made Cecily’s smile waver for an instant.

She dismissed it. At the ball this evening, Montford would announce her betrothal to Norland. After tonight there would be no going back.

*   *   *

“My compliments,” said Lady Arden, glancing around the ballroom. “I could not have done better myself.”

“High praise, indeed,” murmured the Duke of Montford. The ball he’d thrown for Cecily’s debut was as spectacular as befitted a lady who was not only a Westruther heiress but also his ward.

It was nearing the supper hour, when he’d undertaken to announce Cecily’s engagement to the Duke of Norland.

The truth was, he approached that task with something akin to dread. Once the betrothal was public, it was to all intents and purposes irrevocable.

“Something troubles you, Your Grace?” Lady Arden’s voice was gentle.

Montford produced his blandest expression. “Troubled? I? Perish the thought.”

Her low laughter sounded in his ear. “I know you quite well by now, my friend. Do not seek to deceive me.” She tapped her chin. “Let me guess. You are having second thoughts about allowing the spirited Cecily to marry that dreadful bore.”

He was silent, which was all the confirmation she needed.

“Don’t do it, Julian.” Her hand touched his arm. “Dance with me and we shall discuss the matter.”

But he never danced; she knew that. Montford did not answer that part of her command.

Instead, he said, “You will not alter my decision. This match was made long before I had guardianship of Lady Cecily. I cannot, in conscience, put a stop to it. Particularly when Lady Cecily is content to have it so.”

Though every fiber of his being urged him to forbid the betrothal, his hands were tied by his own principles. Hoist with his own petard, in fact. Wouldn’t his adversaries at the Ministry of Marriage laugh themselves sick if they knew it?

“What does a chit that age know about marriage?” scoffed Lady Arden. “Oh, I grant you, Lady Cecily is not your average simpering debutante. She has character, that one. But at a mere twenty, she is ill equipped to determine her own path.”

Her words were like a shower of darts in his flesh. A line from Shakespeare ran through his head:
If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well / It were done quickly
. He’d delayed Cecily’s debut for two years, waiting for her to come to her senses, but she held fast to the understanding her parents had forged with Norland’s years before.

It was an effort to reiterate, “I shall announce the engagement at supper.”

He felt, rather than saw, Lady Arden shake her head at him. “Then I shall be very sorry indeed,” she said softly, and drifted away.

*   *   *

Rand never bemoaned his exalted position nor the responsibilities that went with it, but tonight he’d happily consign them all to the Devil.

His aunt had come to him in a rare taking that afternoon with the news that Freddy had not returned to his lodgings at all after the masquerade and in fact had not been seen by anyone since.

If it weren’t for the affair with Louise, Rand might well have dismissed his aunt’s hysteria as overreaction.

Young men tended to be erratic. They went on drinking sprees that lasted days; they jaunted off to the countryside without warning if a friend suddenly decided that it was a jolly idea.

Ten to one, Freddy was sleeping off his excesses in the arms of a luscious woman or, indeed, on the couch at a crony’s lodgings. He might have taken it into his head to drive down to his property in Kent or made a bet that he’d walk backwards to Brighton, for all Rand knew.

Then why was Rand trawling Freddy’s usual haunts, looking for the boy? He tried to shake off the nasty, uneasy feeling that wrapped around his chest like armor.

His inquiries finally led him to a gin shop in a disreputable part of town, and there the trail went cold. If the boy had imbibed much of the rotgut they served in this place, he could not have gone far without assistance.