Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

C ecilia strode across the gardens towards the looming grove of trees. She had chosen one of the new dresses, provided for her by her husband. It was dark green with bronze highlights that she felt complimented her hair. It was a fine dress and, she flattered herself to think, one that suited her very well. She realized that she had no clue what Lionel's favorite color might be but would discover it, if only by trying on each hue of the wardrobe she had been provided with until she found it.

A week had passed since her last contact with Lionel. He had assiduously avoided her for that time, dining alone each day. But Cecilia had observed him entering the grove once more. And on that occasion, she had seen a stranger in the castle, taking tea in a sitting room. He had introduced himself as Mr. Menzies Lennox and claimed to be of service to the Duke but unable to elaborate for reasons of confidentiality. Scottish, polite but unbending in his refusal to speak more or on any subject other than polite conversation.

On the eighth day, after bathing and dressing there had been no sign of Lionel at breakfast once more. She had been informed by Blackwood that His Grace was occupied on business matters. The butler had refused to state precisely where Lionel was, which had precipitated Cecilia to begin an exploration of the grove.

The grass was still moist with dew which wetted the bottom of her skirt as she crossed the garden. For the walk, she had chosen a sensible pair of shoes to replace the soft slippers she wore within the house. Birds were chirping noisily in the trees and the air was filled with the pleasant aroma of damp grass and mossy bark.

For a moment she stood, looking at the trees for any sign of where Lionel might have gone. She could not be sure of the point at which he had entered the grove. There was no path to follow and the vantage point of the window had provided a very different view to that which she now saw. Then she noticed the branch of a sapling, bent where it had been brushed aside and subsequently become caught behind another. Her eyes went from that sign down to the long grass and she saw where broken stems had been crushed under a heavy boot. The grass around it had sprung back up but not entirely. Cecilia had learned much of hunting and tracking from her brother, though her preference was to stalk in order to watch animals rather than shoot them.

She stepped forward, moving carefully through the undergrowth, looking for more signs. Once her eye was in, they were not hard to find. Lionel was a large man and though he was probably as skilled a hunter as Arthur had been, it would still be difficult for a man of such bulk to move through a crowded woodland like this without leaving some signs of passage. She noticed moss scraped from a stone by a heel, a soft patch of earth bearing half a boot print, a broken branch, and a snatch of cotton on the arm of a bramble. All pointed her in the right direction, she hoped. It could be that she was following the trail of Mr. Hardcastle, the groundskeeper, but she had no other clue as to where she might find Lionel, so she pursued it nonetheless.

The trail took her through a clearing created where a tree had been struck by lightning, then along the course of a merry stream. Where the stream descended steeply into an ax-cleaved valley, she began to doubt her own eyes. Surely Lionel would not have wandered so far? But she continued, slipping and sliding, skirts brushing through leaf mold, mud, and moss. Finally, she stood beside what was now a wider and deeper stream, staring at a dilapidated old mill.

Two clear sets of footprints led along the soft earth of a path, right up to the door of the mill. Cecilia cleared her throat as she approached.

"Hello? Lionel? I hope I am not disturbing?"

As she reached the door, it was opened from within. Lionel stood in the doorway. Cecilia was stopped short by the expression on his face. It was as though he had been disturbed from a deep slumber, or else caught daydreaming. He blinked, rubbing his eyes.

"You seem surprised to see me," Cecilia said brightly.

"I am. How did you find this place?" Lionel asked.

"I tracked you. Arthur taught me much about woodcraft. He was very skilled."

Lionel looked down for a moment, when he looked back his gaze was sharper. The surprise of seeing her seemed to have been sloughed away like a discarded overcoat. Cecilia felt a drop of water on her forehead and squinted at the thick foliage above.

"Was that a drop of rain? I did not see a cloud in the sky when I left the castle."

"What are you doing here, Cecilia?" Lionel said coldly.

The ice in his tone stung her but Cecilia firmed her jaw and returned his gaze steadily. Another, larger drop of rain struck the top of her head but she ignored it.

"I wanted to speak to my husband. I wanted my husband's company after eight agonizing days spent in loneliness. I am sorry but no matter how many times you say it, I cannot reconcile myself to being less than your wife."

"Did my absence not tell you something about my desire for company?"

"It did, but I wished to know precisely where I stand. And for you to know the same," Cecilia replied.

The drops were coming thicker and faster now, filtering through the woodland canopy. Lionel glanced upward in irritation, then at her dress which was becoming darker in spots where the rain was striking it.

"For goodness sake, come inside. There is some shelter in here," he finally said, stepping aside from the doorway.

But Cecilia did not move. She felt the uncomfortable wet, coldness of the rain and knew that it would soon completely ruin her dress. However, she was determined. If Lionel did not care for her then it would not matter if she got wet or even ended up in bed with a fever. It would solve his problem in fact—make the task of avoiding her far more simple.

Cecilia stood her ground, watching him. Her heart pounded as he studied her through narrowed eyes. This could be the moment that her happiness hung upon. He might shrug and tell her that not only did he wish to avoid scandal but had no further desire to touch her again. He might walk away and leave her cold, shivering, and alone. Or…

"Get inside woman. I did not have that dress made for you so it could be drenched in the rain. We can discuss it in the dry, can we not?" Lionel snapped.

He sounded exasperated, and actually stepped out through the door and extended a hand to her. He was only yards away but Cecilia hesitated, examining his face. Finally, she took his hand and allowed him to draw her into its interior.

Well, it could hardly be called an interior. Part of the ceiling survived to provide a sheltered corner in which there were two chairs and a bureau as well as a formidable-looking iron safe. Lionel ushered her beneath the dubious shelter of the ceiling, which tilted towards one corner and was producing a steady drip of rain from that edge. Cecilia shook her long, auburn hair, running fingers through it to stroke out the excess water that had begun to darken and dampen it. The restricted shelter meant that she now stood close to Lionel. He looked down at her silently and she was, once more, acutely aware of his powerful masculinity. It was as intoxicating as a potent wine, making her heart skip and her breathing come fast and hard.

"This is an odd place for a study, is it not?" Cecilia chimed.

She could see the shutters slamming shut behind his eyes at the question and cursed herself for it. It would just make it seem to him as though she was prying.

"I do not wish to know your secrets if you do not wish to share them. I was simply making an observation," she added hurriedly.

"I apologize for how our last conversation ended rather… abruptly. I lost control of myself again," Lionel muttered, as though he had not heard, "I gave in to a primitive drive that had nothing to do with reason or civilized behavior. And I have avoided you, in earnest, to prevent it from happening again."

Cecilia could not help but laugh. It was sudden and involuntary, partially sparked by the look of utter seriousness on Lionel's face. That face darkened at the laughter.

"Have I said something amusing?" he asked, quietly.

"I am sorry," Cecilia smiled, quelling the laughter, "but surely civilization as we know it would not exist without that drive which you seek to demean by calling it… what? Animal? Primitive? You are more intelligent than that, Lionel."

Her words clearly stung him. He moved away, face pinched and Cecilia regretted her levity. He was a proud man it seemed and did not like the idea of being made sport of.

"I do not say that to poke fun. I simply do not see what we have done as any kind of primitive urge. Merely a natural one. I apologize for laughing," Cecilia continued.

Lionel turned back to her. "You realize how your words might make you seem in the eyes of some? A gentlewoman of England calling the things we have done as anything but animal lust? Surely, that is not the behavior of a gentleman?"

"Do you believe that?" Cecilia asked, astonished. "You took my maidenhead. As you would expect. I have never more than kissed a man before and even that was the innocence of girlhood. You may have lain with many women for all I am aware."

"Not many, but some," Lionel murmured.

"As I would expect. As I believe it normal for a young man of your age. I do not judge. How can you judge me for enjoying my husband's body and the way he uses mine?"

There was a touch of anger in her now. Anger and frustration at having to justify what should have been beautiful and natural. Perhaps not every Duke and Duchess made love in the open air though. Perhaps not every Duke and Duchess reveled in their nakedness and the sheer sensuality of their conjoined bodies as they had done. Cecilia was prepared to accept that but not to be judged by a man who had been equal partner and participant.

"I do not judge you," Lionel sighed, "never that. And I agree, there is no shame in what we did. It was primitive and animalistic but I would be a hypocrite if I said it was wrong."

"Strip away the trappings of civilization and we are revealed as sophisticated animals. But as the Lord made us."

"Well argued. You are a philosopher?" Lionel added, with a hint of a smile.

"Arthur kept a large and wide-ranging library at Penrose."

Lionel barked a sudden laugh, throwing back his head. Now it was her turn to be offended. She folded her arms beneath her breasts, mouth set in a firm line.

"Have I said something funny now?" she asked.

"I was at school with Arthur. I doubt he could find the library at Westlands without a map. The librarian certainly would not have recognized him. He spent his time playing cricket or football. Or pugilism and wrestling. Any sport. Arthur was a master but he had to be whipped to open a book."

Cecilia wanted to be offended at the suggestion that Arthur had been some kind of muscle-brained oaf but the description was too close to the man she had known and loved.

"Arthur was never happier than when he was out of doors. He could not sit still," she confessed.

Lionel chuckled but seemed to sober quickly. "I do miss him very much."

"As do I," Cecilia whispered.

She looked up at Lionel and was shocked to see the glint of wetness in his eyes. He turned away when he saw her watching him but she was unwilling to let this glimpse of the man behind the armor go. She put a hand to his shoulder, moving around so that she faced him. Lionel looked up with eyes bright with pain, face taut with suffering.

"We both still grieve," she sighed, tears of sympathy staining her own eyes.

He shook his head sharply. "I do but that is not… I do not shed tears for loss. It is the injustice. And the guilt."

"Guilt?" She released him at once. "You told me that it was not you that shot Arthur as the coroner decided."

"And I spoke the truth," Lionel responded with heat.

Such was the conviction in his voice that Cecilia nodded and put her hand to his shoulder again. "Lionel. Look at me. I believe you. But why will you not tell me what truly happened? Even if you cannot prove it. I am your wife and I want to be your most trusted confidante and advisor. You should be able to trust me with your life."

"I feel guilt for Arthur's death… he died because of me. I did not pull the trigger but it was my family that brought about his death," Lionel muttered.

"How?" Cecilia said, breathlessly.

"The man who killed Arthur was aiming for me. Arthur saved my life. Had he not acted with such courage, I would be dead and another man would be Duke."

Cecilia had both hands on his shoulders now, though she did not remember putting up a second hand. Lionel did not pull away and she could not bring herself to lose the physical closeness she had now realized. Thoughts whirled through her mind as she tried to adjust her worldview to this new information. He spoke with such pained sincerity that she did not doubt him. When he could not offer her any other explanation, it was hard for her to take him at his word. But now…

"Who?" she pleaded.

"A man I knew, but did not know at all, it seems. A man I have since discovered bears my father's blood in his veins, though I am reluctant to admit him to be a Grisham. No Grisham would behave as he has done. You recall the Viscount of Thorpe?"

Cecilia's heart pounded violently in her chest, her breath catching as her eyes widened in disbelief. "The Viscount of Thorpe? He is your…?"

"Half-brother," Lionel finished.

"Half-brother?!" she blurted without regard. "It was your half-brother that took away my Anthony?!" Cecilia was shocked—no, horrified. She did remember the confident young man who had escorted Lionel's then-fiancée to the hunt that fateful day. He had seemed confident to the point of arrogant and it was clear that Arthur and Lionel both disliked him, though it was unclear why. There had been no opportunity to ask Arthur about the feud—if that is what it was. She looked into Lionel's face, still handsome despite the anguish that painted it at her accusatory glare.

"Lionel," she whispered, her voice quivering yet resolute, "I shouldn't have… I'm sorry, I believe you. I will stand by you."