Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

A listair’s brows were arched in discomfort as he struggled to maintain focus on the conversation with his sister’s soon-to-be husband. He leaned back slightly in his chair, trying to project an air of nonchalance. However, his gaze kept drifting across the table, landing on Cecilia.

Her laughter danced through the air, light and loud, pulling at his attention like a siren’s call. It was infuriating how easily she could disrupt his thoughts, her melodic giggles weaving through Nathaniel’s serious discourse. Each burst of laughter sent a ripple of annoyance through him.

“Your Grace, are you listening?” Nathaniel’s voice broke through his reverie, and Alistair forced himself to refocus.

“Of course,” he droned, despite his tone lacking conviction. He could feel the weight of Nathaniel’s the man’s scrutiny, but his thoughts remained ensnared by Cecilia. She was radiant, her hair catching the lights from the candles and framing her face perfectly.

The way she animatedly spoke to Evie, her hands gesturing with enthusiasm, as though she was having the time of her life with his sister made it hard for him to concentrate on anything else.

She never looks at me that way.

He wondered why the thought irritated him so much. Since they crossed paths again, she’d been quiet around only him, even clearly avoiding him whenever they were in proximity. It was as though the woman he’d first met was gone.

Watching her now, he had half a mind to chastise her for her lack of decorum, but the thought of addressing her directly made his heart skip a beat in an entirely different way.

“Your Grace?” Nathaniel’s voice broke through again, and this time, Alistair leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his posture shifting as he tried to regain his composure. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Ah, yes,” the duke nodded as he raised his voice, then he stared across the table, ensuring he had everyone’s attention before carrying on, “On the matter of the wedding, I have arranged a ball, in a few days, to celebrate the union.”

“W-What?” Nathaniel’s eyes were wide in confusion as he faced Alistair. “I-I’m not quite sure I understand, Your Grace. We were just communicating on matters akin to this, why did you not-”

“It is better to make the announcement public to every one, is it not?” Alistair nodded at him.

“Your Grace, a ball to celebrate the wedding? That sounds extravagant,” the dowager countess’s tone was hard to decipher and Alistair could not tell if she was praising or chastising.

“Yes, extravagant is one way to put it, but it would make up for extra excitement to accompany the wedding,” He nodded again. “The couple shall have a traditional wedding. I believe it would be best as a private affair—just family.”

A sudden hush fell over the table, the clinking of silverware suddenly coming to a sharp halt. Only the sound of Nathaniel’s seat scraping across the floor slightly echoed the room as he leaned back in his chair.

Alistair raised a brow at the sight. “It’s my duty to ensure everything is in order, thus I shall handle arrangements. Tradition must be upheld,” maintaining an air of authority.

It seemed navigating this path would be far more complicated than he had anticipated. The silence was uncomfortable, and from the corner of his eyes, he felt his mother glaring. He met her eyes in wonder.

“Since this is to be a love match, t he day should be about the couple and the love they share, not a spectacle nor grand display for society, I expect we can all agree? I want my sister to have a meaningful day, not one filled with superficiality. A small, intimate ceremony will allow us to focus on what truly-”

Before he could elaborate, a sharp voice interjected, slicing through the tension. “Respectfully, Your Grace, it is not your job to dictate how this wedding will be planned.”

Alistair’s eyes nearly bulged out their sockets as he turned to find Lady Cecilia, from where she sat, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her brow furrowed in disapproval.

He felt a foreign tingle run down his spine as he maintained his composure, narrowing his eyes at her as she spoke again, “The couple deserves to make their own choices, not be overshadowed at the start of their lives together,” she asserted, her eyes narrowing. “Do they not?”

The air crackled with tension as the duke clenched his jaw, his eyes darkening with a glare that sent a chill down Cecilia’s spine. Still, she held her ground.

Cecilia knew her brother well; he thrived in social settings, his charisma drawing a crowd wherever he went. When she glanced at Evie as well, her heart sank at the disappointment etched on her face when Alistair mentioned limiting the guest list.

So how could she not say anything?

The duke continued to blink at her slowly, as if she had sprouted two heads. He sat there, his jaw clenching tighter by the second as he seemed to consider her boldness.

Cecilia couldn’t help but notice how his broad shoulders tensed under the weight of the moment, the flickering of his expression. She fought against the unwelcome thought that he looked undeniably handsome, even in such frustration.

The man has good looks and an awful behavior.

Don’t let yourself be so vain, Cecilia.

The silence was haunting, but she braced herself for the inevitable argument, knowing his pride would push back fiercely. Each heartbeat echoed in her ears as they held locked gazes.

“And what is your standing here to disapprove of what I said?” The duke’s voice was steady, but Cecilia could sense the underlying tension despite his composure. His dark eyes were like slits, and she noticed how his fingers drummed against the table, betraying the calm.

She leaned forward, her heart racing as she replied, “The same question could be asked about your standing in dictating the couple’s wedding, Your Grace.”

A slight cough came from her grandmother, and Cecilia’s heart skipped a beat. She felt a rush of heat flood her cheeks, but she couldn’t back down now. She held Alistair’s piercing gaze, the intensity of it making her pulse quicken.

“All I’m saying is that you shouldn’t get so involved in the wedding planning. It’s for Nathaniel and Evie to decide,” She attempted to ease the tension, “Besides, isn’t it all stressful to do so?”

Alistair’s expression shifted, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before he glanced around the table, as though questioning if anyone else was as irritated as he was. “As I’ve said, I simply wish to do things the right way,” he announced, his voice clipped as if he were dismissing her concerns entirely.

Cecilia felt a surge of frustration. She refused to let him brush her off. “Right for whom, Your Grace? You or them?” she pressed, her tone unwavering.

She drew in a short breath as his eyes shifted back to her, blazing, his jaw tightening as he braced himself against the table, the muscles in his arms flexing beneath his crisp white shirt.

“As Evangeline’s brother, I have every right to dictate how her wedding will go. This is my business,” he declared matter-of-factly as he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. The flickering candlelight danced across his sharp features, emphasizing the tension radiating from him.

Cecilia frowned. “And I’m Nathaniel’s sister, Your Grace. I have a say in this too, yet I do not attempt to-”

“You would compare us?” The duke looked disgusted at the thought. “I am my sister’s elder brother and the head of the Holloway estate, I own more standing in this matter, this is not up for discussion.”

“Yet this not change the basic facts on what is right and what is not,” unable to help herself, Cecilia countered still.

“Enough,” Tristan interjected suddenly, his voice cutting through the thick tension that had settled over the room. He tilted his jaw, a gesture that had become all too familiar in moments of conflict. “This wedding is something sacred, something that should be discussed between the couple at a later time.”

A light laugh escaped him, an attempt to diffuse the charged atmosphere. “Cecilia’s just always been so passionate,” he added, glancing toward their brother for support, “We all want what’s best for the couple.”

Nathaniel remained silent, his discontent obvious. His arms were crossed tightly, and his brow furrowed as he stared at the table. The air grew heavier, the silence stretching uncomfortably, and Tristan’s smile faltered slightly under the weight of it.

“Come on, Nate,” Tristan urged, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s all in good spirit, right?” He shot a sideways glance at Cecilia, who was visibly bristling at the attempt to downplay her concerns.

“This matter has been decided,” Alistair’s tone was snappish at this point. He shook his head vehemently, his dark hair falling slightly over his forehead. “The couple will not have a large wedding.” He pursed his lips. “And considering the scandals I’ve heard from the groom’s inability to make steady decisions, I shall handle everything.”

There it is.

“Brother!” Evie’s quiet whisper was sharp.

Cecilia’s eyes shifted to her brother to find an expression on his face akin to him being physically slapped across the face. She swallowed the angry words that threatened to spill.

Nathaniel had explained the situations with his fleeting scandals to the duke, this she knew because he had said so, and it was obvious a man like Alistair would hardly let his sister get married to someone without assurances.

How low! Despite knowing the truths behind it all, he’s bringing this up to prove a silly point!

Her eyes widened in disbelief at the man’s stubbornness, “Everyone can tell that it remains out of anyone, mainly the couple’s choices to make concerning their wedding.”

Alistair’s expression twisted into a fearful anger, his words dripping disdain as he regarded her,“Tell me, do you speak for everyone, Lady Cecilia? Are you always this forward?”

Cecilia felt her heart race, she opened her mouth to counter, but Alistair’s next words came out like a whip as he chuckled emptily. “Then again, it’s not surprising to see you act this way.”

The insult hung in the air, and Cecilia’s mouth snapped shut, a wave of surprise followed by embarrassment washing over her.

She caught Tristan’s eye from the corner of her vision; he lifted a brow, silently questioning the remark. Panic surged within her as she realized the implications of the moment.

Seriously, Alistair? This is how low you’re willing to go?

Her fork clattered against her plate as she lowered her head, trying to hide the panic rising within her. The last thing she wanted was for him to dredge up the past. She realized she’d completely forgotten the ace he had up his sleeve.

She was defeated.

Across the table, she could feel the irritation radiating from her elder brother. “And can you explain why you would make such a statement about my sister, Your Grace?”

Evie’s frantic voice broke through the thickening air. “Brother, please! We can discuss this later,” she urged, her hands waving slightly as if trying to physically push away the escalating conflict. “Nathaniel and I will handle whatever needs to be done for the wedding without any interference. We appreciate the concern.”

“Without any interference, indeed,” Nathaniel finally spoke, his annoyance bubbling to the surface. Cecilia rarely saw her brother’s quiet fury. His arms crossed over his chest, a clear signal that he’d reached his tolerance limit. “Evie and I have made our decisions on our own. We thank you for the suggestions, yet do not need any input on this.”

Cecilia glanced up, catching Alistair’s expression. His face was a mask of defiance, but she could see the flicker of anger and surprise in his eyes. The tension at the table was at an all time high, each person’s breath hitching as they awaited a response.

He began, his brow furrowing deeper as he shifted in his chair, “Now is as good a time as ever to have this discussion.”

“Indeed, yet perhaps with your permission, we could return to dinner, Your Grace?” all eyes turned to the dowager duchess as she cut in, her voice firm yet surprisingly calm.

The room fell into another uneasy silence. Cecilia watched in surprise as Alistair's eyes narrowed as he held his mother’s gaze, a silent battle of wills seeming to unfold between them.

For a split second, he looked as though he was about to say something. And alas, Alistair shifted his gaze.

Finally, Lydia broke into a smile, her voice smooth as she skillfully redirects the conversation. “How about a game of cards after we finish our meals, anyone?”

Louisa, Cecilia’s grandmother, was the first to agree eager and all enthusiastic. One by one, the others chimed in, albeit reluctantly, as if trying to escape the weight of the earlier confrontation.

Cecilia felt a wave of dizziness wash over her, disbelief coursing through her veins. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something significant has shifted, and for the rest of the night, could no longer meet the duke’s gaze.