Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

" A nother letter for you, Your Grace," said Lonsley, Huntingdon Manor's tall, thin, and distinguished-looking butler as he came into the library. "From the Duchess in London."

The butler's voice was smooth and without inflection. He seemed unsurprised at the creasing of his employer's brow and the loosing of a few choice oaths as the Duke of Huntingdon broke off his conversation with Gloucester, the head gamekeeper, and came to pick up the letter from the silver tray.

"Damn it all," the Duke muttered to himself after breaking the seal and running his eyes over the few lines written in Duchess Madeline's firm, clear hand. "That bloody woman!"

She had been a distraction to him on their wedding day when he had been trying to plan for Switzerland. He had deliberately looked away from her at every opportunity in the church and the carriage to Lovell House, but even now, he could recall the faint neroli scent she had worn and the curve of pale flesh rising from the neckline of that cream dress.

Now, Madeline was proving herself a distraction all over again.

The ginger-whiskered gamekeeper continued to stand patiently by the fireplace where they had been talking a few moments earlier until Charles glanced up and realized he was wasting the man's time.

"Gloucester, go and get on with your day. We'll finalize details of the main shoot tomorrow once you've spoken to the rest of the keepers again. Some guests might also appreciate a duck hunt, so we'll look at the situation around the lake this year, too."

"Very good, Your Grace," said the man with a nod. "Shall I speak to Mr. Owens about horses for the duck hunt?"

"You can mention it if you see him, but there's no need to do more than that. I won't be able to confirm numbers until the guests arrive, and we have the chance to gauge likely interest. I'll be having a general conversation with Owens about horses for the party once attendance is finalized."

With a further nod of understanding, Gloucester departed back to his woodlands and huts, leaving Charles alone with Lonsley and Madeline's damned letter. After a second reading, he laughed to himself without real humor and put the message down on one of the library desks.

Had the Duchess not read his earlier letter, or had she simply chosen to ignore it? She had ignored his obvious wishes on their wedding day too, trying to converse in the carriage when he preferred silence and then raising the specter of a wedding night. He had made it perfectly clear that their union was in name only, hadn't he? Why even raise the temptation of consummating it?

Charles had somehow managed not to think of that possibility at all until Madeline herself had mentioned it. Afterwards, it had taken him several days of travel to shake from his head the memory of her asking that innocent question and focus on Cecilia's health again.

"Bloody interfering woman…" he cursed her again. "Doesn't pay heed to a single thing I…"

A polite cough drew his attention back to the blond-haired butler of indeterminate age. Why was Lonsley still standing there, Charles wondered?

"I will write again to the Duchess later this afternoon," he informed the man. "There is no need for any immediate reply now."

"Of course, Your Grace," acknowledged Lonsley, but he still remained in his position near the door.

There was clearly something else on the butler's mind, maybe something likely to be as unwelcome as the letter from London.

"Is there a problem, Lonsley?" Charles asked impatiently.

"Not a problem, Your Grace, but you did ask to be informed of any concerns about Lady Cecilia. Your sister's maid has just informed me that Lady Cecilia wishes to eat dinner in her room tonight."

"Again?" said the Duke with an expression of mingled exasperation and concern. "This is the third night she's done this! She seemed so much better in Switzerland. Tell her to come in here, Lonsley."

"Yes, Your Grace," said the butler, now bowing and leaving the room quickly to do his master's bidding.

Charles gave a weary sigh and rubbed his forehead. This party had seemed like a good idea when he first conceived it. Now, back in England and only a few weeks away, it was proving more of a headache than he had bargained for. This was largely due to the women in his life who seemed determined to mess up his well-laid plans with their unexpected behavior…

In particular, Cecilia's reversion to social avoidance could not be borne for her own good. He must bring her to understand that fact. If she could come to dinner in Switzerland, she could come to dinner here.

"You sent for me, brother?" asked Cecilia, pushing open the library door cautiously and taking only a few steps into the room like a nervous animal.

Lady Cecilia Wraith had the same glossy black hair and striking green eyes as her older brother. Together with her slim but shapely figure and alabaster complexion, her looks alone should have made her a celebrated society beauty.

Indeed, in her first Season four years earlier, Cecilia's fun-loving personality, and the favor she'd found with the Queen after her presentation, seemed likely to seal her in such a position.

Then, according to letters Charles had received from his family during his three years traveling in Europe, she had been abruptly struck down by this mysterious nervous complaint that no physician seemed able to either diagnose or cure. Retreating from society, and as far as she could from the world at large, Cecilia had become a shadow of her former self.

"I did, Cecilia," said the Duke seriously. "I wanted to talk to you. Do take a seat."

His sister nodded and did as he asked, sitting close to where he leaned on his desk, her eyes first flickering quickly around the room as though checking for dangerous wild beasts or other perils.

What was Cecilia so afraid of? It puzzled Charles greatly. She had never been a delicate child. The difference between the spirited and boisterous young girl he remembered and this half-broken, terrified creature was impossible to understand.

"I have still been feeling very tired today, Charles," she said, a pleading note in her voice. "I hoped you wouldn't mind if I took dinner in my room again. I suppose that's what you want to talk about?"

Likely worried about how any mental disorder might reflect on the family, the former Duchess of Huntingdon had closeted her daughter at home and indulged her desire for isolation — a major mistake in Charles's view. He would not make the same error.

"I would like the pleasure of your company at dinner, Cecilia. It is regrettable to hear that you intend to deprive me of it."

He rebuked her mildly as though she were still a schoolgirl to be cajoled this way into proper behavior.

The statement only made his sister look distressed and wring her hands rather than being either abashed at her own childishness or keen to please him as he had intended.

"Oh dear! I do not want you to be lonely at dinner, Charles. I do wish I could be a better companion. I must be such a disappointment."

"I am not lonely, and you have never disappointed me, Cecilia," he corrected her with a frown. "It is only that I enjoy your company, and I did think you enjoyed mine. I do not see that things must be so different in England to Switzerland."

"I do enjoy your company, brother," Cecilia protested. "But dinners here are so formal with so many servants coming and going and the ticking of that great clock in the dining room. Then there's all those portraits on the walls staring at me too, especially the one of Mother and Father…"

Cecilia's words began to race, and her face became agitated. Charles also hated that particular portrait of his parents. The painter had been too skilled, perfectly capturing their personalities on canvas and preserving forever the distance in his father's eyes and the scheming manipulation in his mother's.

"Could we eat in the breakfast room tonight and have only one maid wait on us?" Cecilia asked, trembling slightly. "Would that be acceptable? It would be like we lived in Switzerland, wouldn't it?"

Trying to hide his disappointment and frustration, he nodded a curt assent to this compromise.

"Very well; that is what I will arrange for this evening. But when the house party arrives, I cannot have you hiding away from the all the guests or skulking in the breakfast room. We must eat in the dining room with everyone else while they are here."

"Must we?" asked Cecilia, seeming overwhelmed and on the verge of tears at this unremarkable idea. "I have seen that guest list…"

"We can talk about that later when you are not so tired," he suggested, baffled by her tears, her attitude, and this whole conversation. "For now, let us only think of dinner."

The guest list that caused Cecilia such distress was not so very long. The house party would be one of only moderate size, apart from the night of the ball when further guests would travel to Huntingdon Manor from far and wide. Why, in God's name, should it frighten her so much?

"Mother said I was not fit for society," Cecilia said then in a small voice, breaking in upon his thoughts. "I sometimes believe she was right."

"Mother was wrong about that just as she was wrong about everything else!" Charles insisted vehemently, slamming his fist on the desk with emphasis and surprising himself with the intensity of the anger he felt towards his mother, even in death. "Forget anything that infernal woman ever told you, Cecilia. You are my sister, and we will make you well again somehow. Do you understand?"

She nodded, but Charles saw no real conviction in her eyes, only further anxiety, likely fueled by the loudness of his voice and his banging on the desk when he spoke of their mother. He was sorry to upset Cecilia further but could not help his ire. In the absence of any adequate explanation, part of him instinctively believed their mother was somehow responsible for his sister's state of mind.

"I know that this house party is important to you, Charles…" Cecilia said and then paused, groping for the right words.

"It is important," he agreed, forcing his voice into a measured volume and pace. "Benedict is my good friend, and if I had been in England, I would certainly have attended his wedding. This is my wedding gift to him and his new wife."

"It's more than that, though, isn't it?" his sister continued to probe. "I can't see what some of the people on your guest list have to do with Benedict."

"Yes," he conceded. "The guest list and party plan also contain Duchess Madeline's suggestions."

He doubted that he'd managed to hide his irritation at this fact. His wife's interference had required him to rethink all manner of arrangements he had already settled in his own head. The worst part of it was that she had been completely right in everything she suggested, particularly around reflecting Letitia's friends and interests.

"Some of them aren't connected to your wife's family either," Cecilia pointed out. "Do you even know them? I need to tell you… it's going to be very hard for me to be here with… these people."

Charles sighed and rubbed his brow again. He could not simply give up on Cecilia and let her hide in her room forever. What kind of life would either of them have if he did that?

"Some guests are business contacts," he confessed. "But there's no need to be afraid of them on that account. Frankly, I'm using the house party to facilitate a business opportunity. I've been looking into some overseas investments, particularly in Holland, and reaching an understanding with one of our guests. The Earl of Oakley is key to this."

"Then I fully appreciate the importance of the party, brother," she said faintly. "But do I really need to be there? I cannot deal with… crowds, and I can add nothing to a party. Send me to stay with our aunt. I managed to travel there with my maid before we went to Switzerland, didn't I? You will do very well without me."

"Cecilia," he interrupted, deciding to put an end to this sad and defeated discussion now for her own good, "perhaps this party will be good for you. Think about that. You will be with me, and you will be safe. This is the best way to start mingling with people again."

"I cannot," she said, shaking her head as tears welled in her emerald eyes.

"You must trust me, Cecilia," he told her with well-intentioned sternness. "I want only what is best for you."

The reddening of her weeping face brought into relief the thin, white scar above one of her brows, usually invisible against her natural pallor. When Charles had asked about that scar, Cecilia dismissed it only as "an old injury", but he was quite sure it had not been there before he went abroad. This was just one of the many things Cecilia would not discuss.

"A young woman should have acquaintances, friends, and even honorable admirers. Do you not wish to marry and have a family some day? There will be little opportunity for that if you cannot even meet people and certainly no chance of making a love match if that is something you wish for."

Turning her head away from him entirely at these words, Cecilia's eyes now fell on the letter from Madeline, lying beside her on the desk. She picked it up and scanned it before looking back at him.

"I will not hear any talk of love matches from a man who has so casually abandoned his own wife," she declared.

This accusatory statement was spoken with an uncustomary zeal that took Charles by surprise. If it had come from anyone else, he would likely have taken them vigorously to task for it. The words themselves were unwelcome and unfair — at least in his view — but the show of spirit behind them was an encouraging glimpse of the old Cecilia he remembered as a girl.

"Very well. I will not talk to you of love matches or marriage, for now," he replied, taking the letter and crumpling it into a ball which he tossed back onto the desk. "But you are an intelligent young woman and must consider these matters for yourself. Try to understand my decisions even if you don't like them. You have your life ahead of you."

Charles stood as he spoke and went to look out of the window, becoming increasingly uncomfortable with Cecilia's charge against him the more he considered it.

He had not really done wrong by Madeline, had he? He was sorry to hear in her letters that her life in England had not been easy this past year. Still, she was more than capable of making her own way. That was why he had married her after all.

Friends told him that the Duchess of Huntingdon was spoken of respectfully among the ton, if not with any great enthusiasm. She had nothing significant to complain about, surely.

"Did you even answer your wife's previous letter?" Cecilia pursued.

"Yes, I did," he defended himself. "I told her not to come here until the party and to leave everything to me. She has clearly taken no notice whatsoever and has been going around London…"

Charles heard the volume of his voice rising again and checked himself, knowing that he would sound ridiculous if he completed that sentence and complained about anything Madeleine had done.

Going around London ordering exactly what was necessary before he even knew himself? Booking the best available musicians for their ball, even though they had been rumored to be traveling to Austria? Persuading several important guests to cancel previous engagements and come to Huntingdon Manor instead?

"We shall not talk about marriage at all tonight, Cecilia," he said instead, closing the subject. "Neither yours in the future nor mine in the present. Think on it for yourself."

"I must rest now, brother," Cecilia said quietly after a few moments of silence, and he nodded his permission.

"I will see you for dinner in the breakfast room at seven-thirty this evening, Cecilia."

Alone in her bedroom, Cecilia Wraith unfolded the short and pointed letter from her sister-in-law and took her writing set from its drawer. Charles would never notice that she had appropriated it from his desk when his back was turned.

How could Charles be so blind to people right in front of him, despite his good heart and sharp brain? He really had no idea how similar he could be to their father, and she doubted he would appreciate her pointing it out. No, she must help him in spite of himself, Cecilia decided, and perhaps help herself too. Another young woman might understand certain matters better.

She regarded quill and ink thoughtfully before she dipped one in the other. It was a long while since she had written to anyone except her brother or her aunt, and today, she was not entirely writing in her own voice.

Your Grace,

You should come to Huntingdon Manor at once. There are matters here that are best settled in your presence.

Cecilia took another moment's pause before deliberately leaving the letter unsigned and picking up the sealing wax. While she was not being entirely honest, there were lines she would not cross. After applying the wax and stamping the seal with the Huntingdon family sigil, she walked quietly downstairs and passed the letter directly to Lonsley for immediate dispatch.