A Duchess to Remember (20 page)

Rand clasped his hands behind his back as they walked. “Really? It’s been my observation that everything in a man’s life changes when he weds. Though of course, I’ve no personal experience of the matter.” He paused. “Lady Cecily get on all right with your mama, does she?”

“Ah.” Norland glanced over his shoulder, as if afraid his terrifying parent might pop out from behind a couch at any moment. “Forceful female, my mother. Says she’ll school Lady Cecily to her liking if it kills them both.”

“Did she just?” Rand wished quite fervently that Cecily were present to hear this. “And do you think she’ll be successful in that endeavor?”

Norland rubbed his nose. “Can’t see it myself, but there’s no telling with women, is there? My mother has never been brought to a stand yet. She’s a formidable lady.”

“As is your betrothed.”

“Ye-es.” There was marked uncertainty in Norland’s tone.

Cecily might not know it, but to avoid being harnessed to the dowager’s yoke through her son, she must engage in battle with the dowager. She would have to win the war for mastery over Norland if she wanted the freedom to pursue her own interests.

Rand doubted Cecily would have the patience or the stomach for that particular fight.

“I shouldn’t think they’ll see much of one another at any rate,” said Norland hopefully. “I’ll set Cecily up in a snug little house in Town. She doesn’t wish to interfere with my mother’s running of the estate and the household, so they’re unlikely to, er, disagree on very much.”

“I see.”

Rand did see the attraction of such an arrangement from Cecily’s point of view—at least in theory.

But in practice? What a God-awful mess! He’d seen what came of this kind of marriage before. Separation was never as cut-and-dried as Cecily might like it to be. She might believe herself autonomous, but by sheer virtue of being the wife of a man who was ruled by his mama, she’d find her freedom curtailed at every turn.

Rand clapped Norland on the back in sympathy. “You will lead a dog’s life, my friend.”

Norland puffed out his jowls. “Really, Ashburn! Why do you say that?”

“Two strong personalities—your mama wanting one thing, Lady Cecily wanting the opposite. And you, my dear fellow,
you
caught in the middle. Good Lord, you’ll never get any peace.”

Rand went on to paint a dismal portrait of life married to Lady Cecily Westruther, giving Norland example after example of instances where Cecily and the dowager would be bound to lock horns.

“Where will you find time for your work with all of that going on?” said Rand mournfully. “Genius such as yours requires tranquillity, freedom from such trivialities. Your wife ought to be a helpmeet, not an unwelcome distraction.”

Noting that his companion had fallen into troubled silence, Rand let him contemplate the bleakness of his future.

Rand was considering his next tactic when he heard the crunch of carriage wheels and the clop of horses’ hooves on the drive.

He crossed to the window. “Ah! It looks like more guests are here. Will you excuse me? I must go down to greet them.”

His companion’s frown lifted magically, as if with Rand’s exit, Norland’s troubles would depart also.

Rand suspected that despite the groundwork he’d laid during their conversation, he had a lot more to do in order to shore up his position. Norland was only too ready to bury his head in the sand and trust that everything would work out for the best. He would not be allowed to do so, however. Not while under Rand’s roof, at any rate.

Rand paused to add, “I expect the rest of my guests to arrive this afternoon. Dinner will be at seven.”

“Eh?” Norland started, as if he’d already forgotten Rand was there. Vaguely, he said, “Oh, I shan’t dine tonight. There’s too much to do before tomorrow.”

“You will dine with us, Norland,” corrected Rand pleasantly. “Lady Cecily is in a strange house with people she doesn’t know. You will pay her the compliment of attending and seeing to her comfort.”

A certain amount of absentmindedness ought to be tolerated in someone of Norland’s genius, but that did not excuse bad manners. Cecily would not be humiliated by her fiancé in this house, in front of Rand’s family and friends. Not if Rand had anything to say in the matter.

Norland huffed with impatience. “But if I’m to be prepared for tomorrow, I must—”

“I insist, Norland,” Rand said in a gentle tone that brooked no argument.

With a nod and a slight smile to his guest, he left the room.

Chapter Fifteen

Within five minutes of entering the drawing room for tea, Cecily had taken the measure of the other houseguests.

Freddy was nervous—no surprises there. He kept attempting to buttonhole Rand, but his cousin slipped away like an elegant and particularly elusive eel. Cecily was sorry to observe the downcast look on Freddy’s face. Clearly, the younger man was not forgiven his transgression with that rampant female in Ashburn’s library.

Freddy’s mama, Lady Matthew Kendall, was a harridan of the first order. Cecily had seen women like her before and was not fooled by her effusive protestations of affection for her nephew.

From Rand’s lack of warmth in return, Cecily deduced that he was not fooled, either. Indeed, his jaw hardened whenever she addressed him, as if it was an effort for him to respond with civility.

Mr. Garvey, Rand’s friend, was relaxed and witty and agreeable. Cecily found Miss Garvey to be equally good company, though the young lady was clearly smitten with Rand.

Miss Garvey did not do anything so vulgar as to make sheep’s eyes at her host; she merely blushed whenever he addressed a remark to her.

Cecily could hardly blame Miss Garvey for that. Rand appeared more handsome than usual that afternoon. She only hoped she herself did not betray the thrill that shot through her every time his brilliant gaze rested on her.

It rested on her frequently. She found herself wondering whether he felt, as she did, that it had been a long time since last they spoke.

They did not have an opportunity to exchange more than a few words until dinner, when Cecily was seated at Rand’s right.

It was a small party, and generally a congenial one, since their host had placed his aunt at the other end of the table from himself. That served to pay her the charming compliment of nominating her as hostess while ensuring that she was too far away for her nephew to be obliged to converse with the woman.

Excellent strategy, thought Cecily. She could not have done better herself. Although she was sorry to see Rand had also placed poor Freddy out of range of easy conversation, too. Why that should bother her, she didn’t know. It was none of her business, was it? Still, she ought to see what she could do for the young man. She thought Rand’s continued coldness overly harsh.

Everyone appeared charmed by their company, save one exception: Cecily’s betrothed looked as if a thundercloud hovered immediately above his head.

“What did you do to get Norland down here?” Cecily asked Rand under cover of the general conversation. “He looks as sulky as a bear.”

He lifted his brows. “I? Nothing. I merely requested his presence, that is all.”

Cecily rolled her eyes. “A request from you is tantamount to a royal decree. To him, at least.”

His lips relaxed and those tiger eyes gleamed. “I wouldn’t put it quite like that. Nor will I apologize for reminding your betrothed of his manners. He shows a distressing lack of courtesy toward you. It … irks me.”

“Well, if I don’t mind it, I don’t see why you should.”

She did mind it, of course; she was not made of stone. Rand’s presence seemed to make her embarrassment more acute. But she would mind a husband who meddled in what didn’t concern him far more than a man who didn’t concern himself with her at all.

He sipped his wine. “I should have thought the answer to that question perfectly obvious.”

Refusing to be drawn into that conversation, Cecily sipped her burgundy. She comforted herself with the fact that she would be obliged to deal with this kind of thing for only a few more days. Less, if she found that letter.

“Do you know,” Rand added in a low voice, “I cannot decide whether it is when you scowl like that or when you are animated, speaking of your passions, that I most want to kiss you.”

She choked a little on her wine.

“I think it must be when you scowl,” he mused softly. “Because I am seriously considering consigning my guests to the Devil and hauling you upstairs to make love to you at this very moment.”

The wine burned her windpipe. She put her napkin to her lips and coughed. She managed, “I think Norland would have something to say about that.”

“Do you really?” Rand contemplated this. “I wonder if he’d notice.”

*   *   *

Rand’s guests were delighted with the proposed expedition to Cambridge. A picnic by the Cam and perhaps a punt on the river would be just the thing to make the most of the spring weather. Lady Arden graciously agreed to chaperone them; unexpectedly, Rand’s aunt decided to come along as well.

What do you want now?
thought Rand. His aunt was at her most affable when she desired something from him. Hadn’t he learned that the hard way?

The ladies hurried off to complete the necessary preparations. Oliver Garvey lounged on a comfortable chair by Rand’s desk and drawled, “Coming on to rain again this afternoon, I should think.”

“If it does, we can take refreshment in a tea shop,” said Rand calmly.

“Quite right.” Garvey paused. “Not one to pry, dear boy…”

“Heaven forbid,” Rand muttered. He inclined his head. “Why is it that I hear an imminent ‘but’?”

“However,”
said Garvey, “just thought I’d drop a word in your shell-like.”

“My shell-like is all agog,” said Rand. He knew what was coming but saw no way to avert it.

Garvey rubbed his elegant nose. “Devilish tricky thing to tell you your business, but remiss of me not to. Fond of you, Ashburn, which is why—”

“Oh, out with it, man! It’s not as if I don’t know what you’re going to say.”

Relief relaxed Garvey’s features. “Well, I daresay you don’t like it, but I’ll tell you to your head, Ashburn. I would not venture into that territory if I were you.”

“And what territory might that be?” Rand rose and walked around his desk. He leaned against it and folded his arms, waiting.

“Not going to do any good to loom over me like that,” said Garvey. “I ain’t afraid of you.” He threw up his hands. “Montford’s territory, of course! Good God, man, the girl’s to be married in a week!”

“Which is why,” said Rand deliberately, “I must act now.”

Garvey’s jaw dropped. “My dear fellow. You want to
marry
her?”

“I am
going
to marry her,” said Rand grimly.

Recovering his usual nonchalance, Garvey inspected his fingernails. “Uh, dear boy, does the lady know that?”

Rand did not answer, just stared blandly at Garvey.

“Right. Of course. None of my business. But Lord Almighty, Ashburn, be careful what you are about. Montford is not a man to cross. And those cousins of Lady Cecily’s…” He shuddered. “Steyne in particular. Now,
there’s
an ugly customer. Did you hear about that business with Elliott?”

Rand held up a hand. “Calm yourself, Oliver. I am not shaking in my boots over any Westruthers, ugly customers or otherwise. But to set your mind at ease—and this is for your ears only—it so happens that in this instance, I already have Montford’s support.”

“Well, that’s a first,” said Garvey after a stunned silence.

“Probably a last, too,” said Rand. “Shouldn’t you see to your cattle?”

Garvey glanced at the clock and rose. “Yes, I suppose I should.” His blue eyes sparkled. “This little jaunt into Cambridge part of your plan?”

Rand shrugged. “How should it be?”

“I don’t know, but I know you, Ashburn.”

“I can’t imagine what you mean by that.” Rand smiled as Garvey got to his feet.

“I hope you know what you’re about,” said his friend, drawing on his gloves. “I don’t want to be a second at any duels.”

Rand snorted. “Can you imagine Norland fighting a duel?”

“Dear boy, that’s what I keep telling you. It’s not Norland I’m worried about.”

*   *   *

Cecily was like a cat on hot bricks, anticipating Rand’s next move. She dreaded being alone with him; if it weren’t for Tibby, she would have cried off from the proposed excursion.

It rather astonished her to learn that the entire party was to go. She’d expected Rand would try to get her on her own.

In fact, far from monopolizing her, Rand offered a place in his curricle to Miss Garvey. Cecily could either drive with Mr. Garvey or beg a seat in the barouche.

Mr. Garvey it was. Rand’s friend was amusing company, but Cecily was obliged to stare at the backs of the Duke of Ashburn and Miss Garvey the entire way. It made her rather sour to see their heads bent together as they appeared to share an amusing conversation. Miss Garvey had a truly infectious, jolly laugh. Cecily wondered what Rand was saying to her to make her laugh so very often.

So when they’d disembarked and refreshed themselves at a tea shop and Ashburn finally suggested that he and Cecily ought to call on Miss Tibbs, she all but snapped at him.

“Yes, let us go now, shall we? I must hope the basket of food I brought is not spoiled.”

His eyes glinted with mirth, as if he knew the true reason she was so cross. “Indeed. Let us make all haste to Miss Tibbs’s cottage.”

As they bowled along in Rand’s curricle, Cecily avoided looking at her companion. Yet she felt his presence in every cell of her body.

At any other time, she would have taken intense interest in her surroundings. The awe-inspiring architecture of the university colleges, the bustle of students in their billowing gowns. The lazy glide of punts on the Cam.

As a girl she’d longed to be part of all this. She’d envied her brother being so at home here among the intellectual elite, while she would always remain an outsider due to her sex.