A Duchess to Remember (21 page)

The day she had finally accepted her dream would never be, that some things were impossible even for the sister of an earl, was one of the saddest—and the angriest—days of her life.

“Tell me about this Miss Tibbs.” Rand’s deep voice broke her thoughts as he guided his horses around another bend. “She was your governess for many years, was she not? A woman of determined character and great moral courage, I presume?”

She gave a gurgle of laughter. “How did you guess? Good Lord, how we tormented the rest of the governesses who were sent to us. Tibby was the only one who could stick beyond a week or so.”

“You are fond of her,” he said.

“Oh, yes. She is one of the family.” She wrinkled her brow. “That is, she does not always see eye to eye with my guardian, but that is only to be expected. She’s a dyed-in-the-wool bluestocking, you know, and has very progressive ideas about women’s rights.”

“I see. Does she dislike men in general, then?”

“Oh, no! But she greatly dislikes the institution of marriage. She approves of Norland, though.” She considered that. “I believe he’s the only man of whom she does wholeheartedly approve. I can’t think why, for he is in general completely dismissive of the female intellect. He thinks it’s an oxymoron.”

“He seems to judge Miss Tibbs a woman of superior sense,” said Rand.

“Did he say that to you?” When he nodded, she said thoughtfully, “I expect that is because she listens to
his
lectures with interest.”

He glanced at her. “You think her interest feigned?”

“No, I am quite certain it is not. Which makes it all the more curious,” said Cecily. “However, one can never predict human nature, can one?”

She looked about her, suddenly conscious that they had been driving for nearly a quarter of an hour now. “Do you know the area well? I have never been to this cottage before.”

“Norland told me the way,” said Rand.

They drove on for a few miles, taking numerous twists and turns. How on earth did Rand keep all that in his head? Cecily was sure she couldn’t have done so. But then, her sense of direction had never been her strong suit.

When they finally came to Wisteria Lane, Cecily was puzzled. Norland had said he was just passing and called on Tibby, hadn’t he? How odd. This cottage did not seem to be on the way to anywhere.

While Rand saw to his horses, Cecily let herself in at the cottage gate and walked up the path.

The garden was neatly kept, the path clear of leaves and weeds, the flower beds a riot of spring color.

The cottage also seemed strangely silent.

Rather surprised that no one had come out to greet her, Cecily knocked on the door.

She had not written to Tibby to apprise her of the visit, concerned that if she knew Cecily was to call, Tibby would fret about how to entertain her.

All Cecily wished to do was to ascertain if Tibby needed anything and leave her a basket Rand had been kind enough to order prepared.

She hadn’t thought that out very well, had she?

Still, no one came to the door.

Could they possibly be from home? But Norland had said Tibby’s sister was too ill to be left. Perhaps both sisters were resting. Nighttime was often the worst for invalids, so their nurses tended to snatch sleep when they could.

“Everything all right?” Rand spoke from behind her.

She started. “Oh! Well, actually, I’m not sure. There was no answer at the door, so perhaps we have come at a bad time.” She bit her lip. “I ought to have sent a note.”

“Shall I knock again?” asked Rand.

“No, don’t do that,” said Cecily “I have a feeling they might be resting. Best not to disturb them.”

Rand glanced up at the windows on the upper floor.

He nodded. “We’ll leave the basket.” He set it down on the front step, where it would be shaded by the overhanging roofline.

As they turned to go, a light patter of footsteps approached the door. It opened, and Tibby’s face peered out.

“Cecily!” she exclaimed.

Cecily embraced her companion fondly and then held her at arm’s length, surveying her slight form keenly.

Miss Tibbs was precise as a pin as always, but there was a weariness about her eyes, as if she had not slept properly since she’d left Montford House.

“My dear Tibby!” said Cecily. “Norland told me you looked sadly pulled and he was right.”

“His Grace said that?” Tibby looked aghast. “Pray, Cecily, believe me it is no such thing. But do come in. I don’t know what I’m about to keep you standing on the doorstep.”

Tibby caught sight of the duke then, and faltered.

“Oh. This is the Duke of Ashburn, but don’t mind him.” Cecily felt all at once that she ought not to have brought Rand. His presence would scarcely set Tibby at ease.

Tactfully, she refused her old governess’s invitation to enter. “We came only to bring you this basket, and to ask if you need anything else.”

Tibby glanced down at the basket. “Oh! Oh, how kind.”

But again, it seemed Cecily had not judged the situation well, because her companion looked most discomfited.

“Has there been any improvement in your sister’s health, Tibby?”

Tibby’s mouth trembled. “She is very poorly, I’m afraid.”

“You cannot leave her. I understand,” Cecily said. She glanced at Rand. “We must be going.”

Rand started forward with the basket, but Tibby said, “Your Grace, really, no, I insist! I can manage it.” She took the basket from him.

Rand looked an inquiry at Cecily. She gave a slight shake of her head. The basket wasn’t terribly heavy, and perhaps Tibby did not wish them to venture farther into the cottage.

“Thank you so much for your kindness, my dear,” said Tibby. “Your Grace, thank you for bringing Lady Cecily to see me. I regret the circumstances which…”

She faltered and Cecily cut off the embarrassed speech, leaning forward to give her companion a quick kiss on the cheek. “Write to me care of His Grace if you need anything else, won’t you? I shall be at Anglesby another day or two.”

Tibby gave a rather strained smile. “Yes, my dear. Of course I will.”

*   *   *

“I am nearing the end of my search among Jonathon’s things,” said Cecily as they set off again. “I’ve told Lady Arden I wish to leave tomorrow.”

That came as no surprise to Rand. Ever since he’d kissed her in the attic, he’d sensed her urgency to complete the task she’d come for and be gone.

He made no protest against her departure. Tempting as it was to prolong their time together at Anglesby, he needed to return to Town to put his plans into action also.

The time had come to lay some of his cards on the table.

“If you do not mind, we won’t rejoin the others just yet.” Rand drove them to a quiet stretch of the Cam, where weeping willows trailed their long green fronds in the water.

They found an appropriate spot for him to throw down the blanket he’d brought. Cecily put out her hand to allow him to help her sit down. Then she angled her parasol to shade her face from the sun.

The parasol was a lacy affair, and when she held it a certain way, tiny pinpricks of sunlight danced over the creaminess of her skin. She looked fresh as a daisy and completely untouchable, all in white, with her legs tucked demurely to the side.

She was such an elegant little creature. So lively and full of wit. She would be a duchess for the ages, remembered through generations for her vivacity and charm, for her intelligence and her amazing capacity to give.

But he was air-dreaming of a future that might never be if he didn’t put a stop to her marriage to Norland. He’d hoped this letter she searched for would provide some inkling as to why she was so reluctant to admit her feelings for Rand, but had to concede he was stymied.

He drew the small bundle of letters from the inner pocket of his coat.

“I believe these are what you were looking for.”

Her eyes widened. She almost snatched them from him. “How did you—? Oh! I could embrace you! Thank you!”

With an effort, he resisted the temptation to take her up on that offer, immediately.

Clearly unconscious of teasing him with the notion of her soft body pressed to his, Cecily untied the black riband that bound the letters together. Feverishly, she sorted through them, her breathing growing more rapid, more distressed as she went through the pile.

She looked at him sharply. “Is this all? Was there nothing else?”

So he was right. The letter she wanted was not among the ones he’d found. “That is all. I discovered the bundle in one of the trunks. I have been searching in spare moments, too.”

The sudden suspicious light in those lively dark eyes was all too justified; he knew that. Completely unreasonable of him to wish it weren’t there. To need her to trust him, even though he knew himself to be unworthy of that trust …

“You have it, don’t you?” She said the words quietly. “Will you use it? Can you truly be so desperate to end my betrothal that you’d humiliate a good man—?”

“Good God! What is this?” he said, straightening. “I give you my word I do not have any other correspondence of yours. This was all that I found.” He held up a hand as if to take an oath. “Upon my honor, Cecily.”

She stared into his eyes, and the ire slowly died from her expression. Puzzlement took its place. “But the letter I want, it should be here. There is nowhere else it would be.”

Rand shrugged. “Perhaps he did not keep it.”

“No, no, I know he kept it.” She held up the small stack of letters. “I even saw him put it in here.”

“Maybe he took it out. Perhaps he destroyed it before he died,” said Rand. “There are any number of possible explanations.”

Slowly, Cecily said, “Or Lavinia could have found it.”

“Lavinia?” Rand straightened. “You mean Lady Davenport?”

“She was the one who sold you those papers, was she not?”

He frowned. “Yes. I suppose she could have taken it. But why should she? And how would she have had time?”

And what else might the countess have taken?

Christ!
The implications didn’t bear thinking about. Of course, it was unlikely the countess would know what she’d stumbled across, but still …

“First we must finish going through those trunks,” said Cecily. “If that fails, I will find a way to search Lavinia’s things. I know her secret hiding place. If she has anything to conceal, it will be there.”

He would need to be there, too. “Her London residence?”

Cecily’s eyes narrowed. “I believe so. I believe that if she has my letter and wants to use it against me, she will use it any day now. I wonder what price she might demand in exchange.”

“I suppose I need hardly tell you my services are at your command.”

She glanced at him. “Thank you, but it would be easier for me to conduct a search on one of my visits there.”

He smoothed a hand over the blanket beside him. “And are you going to tell me what is in that letter? What can you have written as a child that would be so damaging to you now?”

She looked away from him, staring out over the peace of the water. Then she looked back. “I was young and stupid and something of a rebel. My parents had chosen this man to marry me, a man years and years older than I. Well, I was spoiled and silly and I wrote a little book. A satire lampooning the Duke of Norland. I called him Sir Ninian Finian the hapless knight and invented a series of madcap adventures for him. He got into all sorts of hot water, from which the precocious Henrietta Peddlethorpe rescued him.”

She sighed. “It was wrong of me. But no one would ever recognize Norland in that fictional character, except…”

“Except that you wrote about it in that letter to Jonathon,” Rand finished.

“He’d seen the likeness and reproached me,” said Cecily. “I wrote that letter justifying my ridicule, point by point.” She blinked rapidly. In a brittle voice, she said, “Do you know, I don’t think I like my younger self at all. However, I did alter the way Sir Ninian looked in later episodes. And of course, after a time the character became his own person and not a caricature.”

“But if someone gets their hands on that letter, they could make it public.”

“Yes.” She swallowed. “It would ruin me and make a laughingstock of him. I couldn’t bear it.”

He hesitated. “You were a child, Cecily.”

She flung out a hand. “Do you think that will matter to the gossips? Of course it won’t!”

“And you thought that I would use this letter against you if I found it.” The notion that she’d thought him so base fired his anger.

She threw him a guarded look. “Well, I didn’t know, you see—”

“Are you ready to go now?” he said abruptly. “The others will wonder what’s keeping us.”

“Why yes, I—” She broke off. “Good God, Rand, are you angry with me?”

A muscle ticced in his jaw. “Angry? Why should I be?”

“Oh, not the least reason in the world,” she retorted. “Yet you are. I can tell.
You
might think you are the iceberg of the ton but your eyes give you away every time.”

He stared at her. She bit her lip, as if sorry to have said so much.

“Tell me this,’ he said abruptly. “You wrote that scathing summary of your betrothed’s character many years ago,” he said. “But has your opinion of Norland altered since then?”

She took a deep breath. “I was a silly, headstrong little girl, puffed up in her own conceit. I bitterly regret writing that letter.”

“That is not an answer.”

She remained silent.

Harshly, he said, “Did you truly think that
I
would go to the scandal-sheets with that story?” Try as he might, he couldn’t erase the wounded outrage from his tone.

“No, I thought you would hold it over my head as blackmail,” said Cecily, looking him straight in the eye.

Her words slid beneath his ribs like a stiletto. The pain of it nearly robbed him of speech. “Charming notion you have of me!”

“Well, you’ve shown yourself to be utterly ruthless when you want something,” said Cecily, her gaze averted now. She shrugged. “How should I know where you would draw the line?”

He reached out and captured her pointed chin in his fingertips, turned her head so she faced him. “You know,” he said softly. “You know me better than you want to admit.”