Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

L ionel picked up the letter from Menzies Lennox, reading its meager lines once more. Lennox might have a tendency to draw out a story when talking in person, but on paper, he wasted no ink. The words were to the point and so economical that Lionel had already memorized each one of them. He didn't need to look at the paper again. Didn't need to read it a second time or a third time. Or a tenth time for that matter. That was not why he had picked up the letter again from the burnished mahogany surface of his desk. No.

What troubled him was what Lennox wanted him to do. What he himself wanted to do. And how Cecilia might react to that.

He stood, limping to the brandy decanter that rested on a sideboard on the other side of the room. He plucked out the crystal stopper, but then a moment later, roughly shoved it back, turning away from the drink with a silent curse.

Cecilia did not like his quest for revenge. Feared for him, in fact. He knew that it had consumed him, been his obsession for far too long. Until he had met Cecilia, there had been five years of isolation, ended by a supreme effort of will.

As the day had approached for the ball at which he had met Cecilia for the second time, he had wanted nothing more than to cancel it. To close the doors of Thornhill and allow no one admittance. To become a hermit and damn what anyone thought of that. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself in plans to ruin Lord Thorpe, the architect of his woes. But, he had recognized the need to return to society, to take his place among his peers. Not for his sake but for the name and the title.

He stopped before the fireplace, staring up at the Grisham coat of arms worked into the stone above the mantle. That sigil was why he had decided to introduce himself back into the ton. It was greater than he, greater than any single Grisham who had gone before or would come after. Duty went with it. Obligation .

"To hell with it, old man!" Arthur's voice boomed in his head. "Go to London like the Scotsman wants and see this evidence he's uncovered for yourself. Crush Thorpe. Destroy him."

Lionel smiled grimly, staring into the flames now, imagining that the blackened logs burning in the grate were the remains of Gordon Locke, Lord Thorpe. The man he now knew shared his father. A half-brother. It changed nothing.

"I can't let down Cece. We are going to London to introduce her to court," Lionel whispered.

"Do both," Arthur whispered back. "Introduce her to the Regent and meet with Lennox."

He could do both, Lionel realized. He could tell Cecilia that he had business to take care of and slip away for a few hours. How many gentlemen did the same when in town? A visit to his club, where he had not been since he had inherited the Dukedom and who prohibited women within their august halls. A visit to Westminster where the Dukedom entitled him to a seat in the Lords. Women were not prohibited in Parliament, simply discouraged. But all would involve lying to Cecilia. Some men would think nothing of lying to their wives or even respect them so little that they did not bother lying, simply didn't tell them what they were about.

He could do neither.

"I will not lie to her," Lionel muttered with determination.

He glared at the innocuous paper lying on his desk. That missive was the cause of his perturbation. He wished that Lennox was less efficient, less effective an investigator. Another few months in which Cecilia could cement her position within the ton was all he needed. He turned away, striding across the room and heaving open the study door.

He resolved to ignore the letter. Cecilia was his priority. Protecting her and making her happy. It was important to her that they be accepted by society as Duke and Duchess, and so it became his mission too. But the knowledge that there was something urgent requiring his attention in London would not go away. It pricked and gnawed at him. Lennox would not urge haste unless he thought it necessary. This might be something that would not be there by the time Lionel and Cecilia reached London in a week's time. The evidence gone, the opportunity missed. Thorpe safe.

Lionel stopped in mid-stride, slapping a hand against the stone sill of a window in angry frustration. Through the window, he could see an aspect of the south gardens. Cecilia was kneeling beside a flower bed, working the soil with a small trowel. A collection of plants was gathered in a basket by her side. He found himself smiling. What Duchess would deign to kneel in dirt and plant flowers rather than directing their gardener to do it? The man Lionel employed for that job was walking across the lawn to Cecilia, holding a plant with bare, soily roots in both hands. Cecilia stood and the two of them talked, Cecilia pointing to a spot in the flower bed and the gardener nodding.

Lionel shook his head. She was a remarkable woman. An extraordinary woman. He felt that he had been waiting for her for his entire life. Before Arthur's murder there had been other women, Arabella Wycliff chief amongst them.

But with all of those women, Lionel had felt more that he was supposed to be in love, rather than actually being in love. It was as though he were play-acting, going through the motions of courting because that was expected of him.

With Cecilia it was different.

He leaned on the windowsill and watched as she continued to work. With her, there was no play-acting. No pretense. She had captivated him from the first moment they had met. And the second had seemed like divine intervention. It had been a second chance. Such a shame that their love had started as a face-saving exercise to avoid scandal. Such a shame that he had been so foolish as to try and pretend he did not love her, did not want her, and could easily live without her. Utter foolishness.

Watching his wife, Lionel knew that he could not lie to her. Would not try and keep anything from her. He would ignore the letter and let the revenge plan go. At least for now. The idea of giving up entirely made his stomach clench. The idea of Arthur never receiving justice was unconscionable and he couldn't understand why Cecilia was not as consumed by it as he was.

"For now," he whispered, "for the moment she will be my priority. Not Thorpe."

Cecilia suddenly straightened from her work and looked over her shoulder. She looked directly at the window at which he stood and beamed. Lionel smiled in return. She waved, removing the wide-brimmed sun hat she wore and shaking her magnificent red hair loose. She beckoned to him and Lionel nodded. It took him a moment to find the door that led out to the balcony overlooking the garden. Then he trotted down the worn, ancient steps and across the neat lawn. Cecilia wore yellow today. She was a bright sun amid the lush greenery of the lawn and the bright primary colors of the flowers. Her smile was the most radiant thing about her, dimming even the sun. He embraced her and kissed her thoroughly.

"What did I do to deserve that?" Cecilia said, breathlessly, "tell me so that I may do it again."

"Just being my wife," Lionel murmured, "I am eternally grateful for it."

"I'm glad," Cecilia giggled, "you are done with your correspondence for the day?"

"Yes, just a letter from…" Lionel began.

He was about to tell her that it was from Lennox and explain its contents. He would also tell her that he had decided to ignore the letter. That their preparations for Court were his priority. But something inside stopped him. He looked at her beautiful face, her innocent smile, and her shining eyes. She was perfect, and in that moment, radiantly happy. He did not want to darken that smile, to see it slip and see worry take its place, marring her beauty.

"One of my business agents about the price of cotton. A good time to sell if I have a mind to," he said.

Cecilia shrugged happily. "Not an area I have a great deal of knowledge in, I'm afraid. I've heard you talk about buying this and selling that but I don't see mountains of cotton in the barn, or copper for that matter. So, I can't conceive what it's all about."

"A man's world. Don't concern yourself," Lionel replied with a wry smile, "concentrate on the flowers."

Bad leg or no, he was prepared for the playful slap she directed at his shoulder and skipped clear, laughing.

"You have become intolerable with complacency. You would not have spoken to me so a few weeks ago. Do not think that you need to stop trying just because I am wholly smitten with you," Cecilia chided lightly, pursuing him.

She caught him, putting her arms about his waist and settling into his embrace. He smiled down at her.

"I will never stop trying," Lionel whispered, "and you can never be smitten enough for me. Or I for you."

He kissed her again, ignoring the presence of the gardener not far away or any servant who might be looking out of a window at that moment. The kiss was warmer than the summer sun that stroked them with its light. Hotter than fire and deeper than the oceans themselves.

"When do we leave again?" Cecilia said after a long, silent moment.

"Eight days' time. And our appointment at Court is set for eleven days' time. We arrive on the 14th and will be received by the Regent on the 17th."

"I have been reading up on etiquette," Cecilia noted, "it is a veritable quagmire. So many ways to make a mistake. It is quite daunting, you know? But I suppose you are more informed on it than I, being a Duke."

He shook his head disarmingly. "From what I remember of the Regent, he is capable of wit and charm and he comes from rather earthy German stock. His father was fond of farming."

Cecilia nodded, frowning, and looking nervous. "I just hope that he does not take against me. I have been reading of his appalling behavior towards his wife, attempting to get her divorced. It seems that if he takes against you, that is it."

Lionel stroked her back, hoping to reassure her. "He is, I believe, extravagant and somewhat feckless. He delights in displays of wealth and surrounding himself with beauty. We shall present ourselves as representatives of one of the oldest Dukedoms in England. Our wealth will be ostentatiously displayed, much as it is against my nature to do so. And your beauty will be a shining star that the Regent will immediately want placed in his firmament."

"And with the Regent's acceptance, we will be accepted by the ton and our children's legacy will be secured," Cecilia added, smiling bravely. "I am quite literally shaking at the thought and it is still over a week away. I have nothing in my life to prepare me for meeting royalty. I spent most of my time among the servants when I was living with my aunt and uncle."

"Royals are just people, after all. Eccentric. Odd, even, but just people," Lionel shrugged. "Despite being a Duke, I do not have much experience at Court myself, though I was introduced to the old King by my father. A very peculiar man."

"As long as you are there with me, I think I can face anything," Cecilia smiled giddily.

"Of course. I will not leave your side. I swear it."