Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

C ecilia could only gape at this revelation. She remembered her first conversation with Sir Gerald, at Thornhill. When he had realized who she was, he had made a rather cryptic remark about Penrose. About how they must talk of it. At the time, events had transpired to wipe the remark from her mind. It had been the least of her concerns in the darkness that had followed. Now he had been explicit. He had wanted to discuss Penrose with her because either he was in the process of acquiring it or had already done so.

"What do you mean it is your property?" Cecilia demanded.

Sir Gerald turned his horse and trotted away a few steps.

"What do you mean?" Cecilia called after him in a louder, more strident voice.

Sir Gerald stopped and looked back over his shoulder.

"Precisely what I said, Your Grace ," he put scorn into the title that left Cecilia in no doubt about his opinion of her rank. "If you would like to discuss it in private, then you can find me at Thorpe Manor where I am a guest of my good friend, Gordon Locke, or Lord Thorpe as he is to you."

With that, he spurred his horse away, only to swing around and gallop towards them once more. Cecilia was forced to leap from his path, pushing Peggy ahead of her. She heard Sir Gerald laughing as his horse thundered past to leap the brook once more.

"He is mad! A gentleman shouldn't behave so!" Peggy spluttered as she and Cecilia picked themselves up.

"He is a wicked man," Cecilia agreed. "He is responsible for my marriage to Lionel."

Peggy frowned in confusion and Cecilia wished she had not spoken.

"Did you and the other staff not think it odd that the marriage took place so quickly, with no courtship? Or that it was such a small, private affair?"

"It is His Grace's business. I thought that he had decided to marry, and once decided on a course of action, he has always been one to brook no delay," Peggy said, "though I did wonder at him isolating himself from you once married. We all did."

Cecilia sighed. "Because a scandal was engineered by Sir Gerald. Or possibly Lord Thorpe. Or both. Marrying me was the only way out of it."

"Good grief," Peggy exclaimed, "I had no idea. So, the two of you do not wish to be married at all?"

"At first… it was not our choice," Cecilia admitted, "but that did not last. When we came together, we fit like pieces of a puzzle. It was all meant to be."

She watched Sir Gerald ride until he was hidden by the trees. Then she looked up towards Thorpe Manor. It now seemed to loom over them like a storm cloud on the horizon.

Penrose , the house, was no more, gutted by fire. But the property, the land around the house, why would the grasping mercenary Sinclairs sell it? Was the fire set deliberately? If so, why?

"He talked about your home, didn't he?" Peggy asked. "Penrose?"

"Yes, where I grew up and where I lived with my brother Arthur after our parents were lost at sea."

"But how could it be his? Why is it not yours?" Peggy asked innocently.

"Unfortunately, I do not have the answer to those questions, Peggy," Cecilia sighed. "Something is afoot. And, it seems, Sir Gerald has answers. But to obtain them, I must go to Thorpe Manor."

"You mustn't!" Peggy cried. "His Grace would not hear of it. He would be angry!"

Cecilia could not deny it. Nor could she convince herself that Lionel would agree to go with her. Even hearing what Sir Gerald had said, he would assume it a lie, part of some grand scheme of manipulation.

"Come along, Peggy. It is high time we were returning to Thornhill," Cecilia ushered.

She and Peggy began to gather up the picnic things, only then discovering that a number of plates had been shattered by the hooves of Sir Gerald's horse.

"My mother will be the one angry now," Peggy murmured, "she hates to lose good crockery."

"I don't suppose she would fail to notice if we simply discard these pieces into the brook?" Cecilia said hopefully.

"She will notice from the difference in weight of the baskets, I swear it. She knows the contents of her kitchen to the teaspoon."

"Then I will take the blame. Say that the basket slipped from my hand and I dropped it," Cecilia reassured. "I would rather that Blackwood did not get wind of our encounter. It would certainly be reported back to the Duke. And I do not want that."

"You would keep secrets from him?" Peggy asked, voice piquing.

From the tone of her voice, it was something she did not understand and, possibly, did not approve of. Cecilia did not like it herself but could see nothing good coming from relaying their meeting with Sir Gerald. At worst, it might incense Lionel enough for him to challenge Sir Gerald to a duel. After her sparring session with Lionel, she had no doubt who would come out the victor of that duel, but still, she would not risk harm coming to her husband, nor risk dragging the Grisham name through more scandal than she already had done. Not for someone as petty as a bully like that odious man.

As they finished their packing, with the broken crockery wrapped safely in one of the blankets, she thought about her next steps. The sensible thing to do would be to ignore Sir Gerald, dismiss it as taunting. After all, Penrose was no more, a shell of a house. She was now Duchess and mistress of Thornhill. Penrose was a chapter of her life now closed. What did it matter who owned what was left of it?

On the walk back to Thornhill, she managed to convince herself of this. She would ignore the Sinclairs and Sir Gerald Knightley. Her future was with Lionel, her past was precisely that, passed.

As she entered her quarters, she saw the painting that had previously hung on the dusty, forgotten corridor wall outside the Music Room. The painting of Penrose that Lionel had concocted from his imagination as a gift for Arthur. She had hung it at first in her own bedchamber, until Lionel had moved her into his own suite. Now it hung beside the window on the side of the bed that she favored. Every morning she woke, facing the dawn through the window and with the warmth of Lionel's body at her back, arm draped over her. In that moment she always felt safe and protected. Looking upon Penrose in its heyday brought back the same feelings that she'd experienced as a child.

"Penrose is my castle. My sanctuary. Where I was safe," she whispered to herself, lost in the picture. "Everything was taken from me, I mustn't allow that to be taken from me too."

"What's that?" Lionel said as he strode into the room, rolling up his shirt sleeves.

So lost in her reverie had Cecilia been that she had not heard Lionel entering the suite from a room that adjoined the bedroom. She started, jumping up from where she had been sitting on the edge of the bed. Lionel stopped in mid-stride, looking quizzical at her reaction. Then his eyes traveled down her dress.

Cecilia followed his gaze and saw the marks of her mad leap from the path of Sir Gerald's horse. Grass and moss had left stains on the front of the dress and her skirts. A cake had been pressed into the skirts as she landed atop it, leaving a greasy stain. A leaf fluttered to the floor from where it had been lodged in her hair. Neither Cecilia nor Peggy had noticed it, and it had been there for the entire walk home. Now it chose to flutter gently down to the carpet. Cecilia blushed.

"You look like you've been rolling about on the ground," Lionel commented, brows furrowing, "did something happen?"

"Peggy and I sat for a while at the feet of the Tall Knight," Cecilia explained, "we both fell asleep. It was such a wonderfully warm day. I suppose I should have taken more care of my dress."

Lionel stooped to pick up the leaf and grinned as he placed it back in her hair, as though it were a decoration.

"No, if you were comfortable and content, it should not matter. It quite took me by surprise, that is all. I was afraid you'd had a fall."

Cecilia laughed and felt a bitterness inside at lying to him. But telling Lionel the truth would serve no purpose.

He took her in his arms and she rested her head against his chest, letting his strong embrace surround her. She closed her eyes, embracing him in return and breathing deeply of his scent. For a moment, she allowed herself to forget Penrose and Sir Gerald Knightley. She lost herself in the simple pleasure of being held close by her husband.

That pleasure lasted for scant moments before reality intruded. Her thoughts returned to Penrose and to the offer made by Sir Gerald. She tried to put it from her mind, pushing it aside and putting Lionel and Thornhill uppermost in her thoughts. Always though, her mind returned to her childhood home. The home that had been built by her ancestors. That had belonged to the Sinclairs since the seventeenth century. That was the shelter to her last happy memories. And that had become another thing snatched from her by those who had pushed her around for the last several years of her life.

"I can feel the tension in you. It waxes and wanes. What troubles you?" Lionel asked, tilting his head to face her.

Despite herself, Cecilia stiffened, feeling as though her flesh were transparent as glass, allowing her deepest thoughts to be read. She looked up into a face creased by concern but impossibly handsome, nevertheless. She opened her mouth, intending to tell all, but Lionel's face darkened suddenly and he spoke again.

"I almost forgot. You have received your first reply. From Sir David Greenaugh of Whitesheaf, a neighbor from Byfleet way. I had their invitations delivered by hand as the Greenaugh family have long been allies and friends to the Grishams. Look at what that young pup had the temerity to reply."

Lionel left Cecilia's arms and crossed the room swiftly, going out into the study beyond and returning with a folded piece of paper. He handed it to Cecilia and she unfolded it and read aloud.

"Your Grace, my uttermost thanks for your invitation and I hope to become acquainted with your new wife in the future. However, the date offered is not suitable for me as I have committed to dining with Sir Gerald Knightley and my good friend Gordon Locke on that day. I should be happy to combine our respective luncheons, however, and invite my guests to join you at Thornhill. Please let me know and I will make the necessary arrangements, Greenaugh."

She looked up at Lionel who was glowering out of the window, jaw set.

"Do you see what the rascal is saying?" he demanded. "That he will decline our invitation unless Knightley and Thorpe are included. They have gotten to him."

"He may simply be already committed as he says," Cecilia offered, "and quite innocent in his recommendation of… of those two men."

"Nonsense!" Lionel barked. "He knows that I once accused Thorpe of murder. It may not have been public knowledge, but it was knowledge in our circle."

The mention of Arthur's death seemed to mollify him. He seemed to swallow the anger that had blown up in him so suddenly. A smile replaced it and he came back to her, hands running down her upper arms, fingers touching with the delicacy and precision of a master pianist. She shivered pleasurably beneath that touch and moved closer, laying her hands upon his chest, and letting her fingertips feel the rigid muscle barely contained by his clothing. His was the kind of body that demanded the open air, that called out to be touched without the hindrance of clothing. She found herself envious of that long-ago time before mankind had discovered shame, when Adam and Eve had lived naked and free in the garden of Eden. The idea made her flush.

"Then forget Greenaugh," she said, "there are plenty of other gentlemen and women whose company we can enjoy."

"I am sorry for being cross. Mention of those two jackanapes makes me seethe. For the injuries they have done to us both and gotten away scot-free. It is unjust."

"The world is unjust," Cecilia told him, feeling his heartbeat thump beneath her hand, "what we cannot change, we must accept, or hatred will consume us. I will not spend my life in anger."

Lionel lowered his head until his forehead touched hers. "You are wise for one so young. Where does this wisdom come from?"

Cecilia laughed. "Common sense, mostly."

Lionel smiled. "Accept what we must. Avenge what we can," he said, quietly.

Cecilia thanked heaven that Lionel had interrupted her earlier. She knew now that she could not tell him of her encounter. His anger made him unpredictable. The thought of Lionel being shot down in a pointless duel or incarcerated for murder was unendurable.

"I'm sorry. I know you do not like to talk of revenge."

"I do not like to think of anything that might put you in harm's way," Cecilia corrected. "Revenge can be double-edged, can it not? Able to cut the wielder of its blade as well as its target."

"Not if properly wielded. Have no more thoughts of it. I will ensure that I am not cut," he murmured with dark conviction, before patting her on her shoulder twice and making to stand, presumably to meet with Mr. Lennox once more.

Cecilia's heart ached with a longing she could not voice. For she felt she had no right to control her husband's life—the guilt of possibly ruining his name and trapping him in a marriage to begin with still lingered, despite everything.

"I think I will get some rest," she sighed, before making for the bed.

"Grand idea. I shall find you in a few hours."