Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

S leep did not grace Ciara with its blissful presence that night. The same unease and feeling of guilt kept gnawing at her throughout the dark hours of the morning, and it did not leave her side even with the sun rising. Instead, she felt even guiltier, knowing that she was partly to blame for what had happened with the Duke of Silverbrook. She was supposed to push him away and quickly go back to the ballroom, refusing to be in his company unchaperoned. Yet, she couldn't refuse him. And that lack of character had cost her dearly now.

A knock on the door interrupted her need to hide away from the rest of the world for the day, even from her own uncle.

"Yes?" she called out, her voice a whisper.

The door opened, revealing the butler. "Miss Everton, your uncle requests your presence in his study."

Ciara swallowed heavily. "Now?"

The butler nodded apologetically. "Yes. He said at your earliest convenience."

That, of course, meant right now.

"All right," she confirmed with a tinge of concern in her voice. "Please let him know that I shall be there momentarily."

"Yes, Miss Everton." The butler bowed respectfully then closed the door behind him.

Ciara's heart was beating wildly. She had hoped that his tirade of questions would end the previous night during their carriage ride home. She had hoped that she would be able to hide in her chamber for the rest of the day, for the rest of the week, even the month, and not see anyone. She knew that was impossible, of course, but one could always hope.

Inhaling deeply, she took one glance at the looking glass, not even certain why she had done that. It was a nervous habit her parents had instilled in her. Always look your best, my dear, her mother would say. Even now, she could not get those words out of her head. Did she need to look her best for a chastising?

Mustering all the courage she had left, she opened the door and hastily walked down the corridor, climbing the grand stairwell that led to her uncle's study. She lingered in front of the door, her fingers curled into a fist, then she quickly knocked, fearing that her courage might leave her.

"Come in," she heard from inside.

As soon as she opened the door, she felt as if someone had punched her in the gut, forcing her to expel all the air out of her lungs. With her hand still clutching at the doorknob, she realized, much to her horror, that her uncle was not alone.

"Miss Everton," the Duke of Silverbrook smiled upon seeing her, getting up from the armchair which he was sitting in a moment ago.

Her uncle did not get up. He simply stared at her then at the man who had been there for quite a while, judging from the comfortable expression he was wearing.

"You?" she gasped, barely managing to breathe in. She felt as if a claw had grabbed her by the throat, squeezing menacingly with each new word she wanted to expel into the world. "What… what on earth are you doing here?"

He bowed before her respectfully, taking her hand into his own, without her even offering it, and bestowing a chaste kiss upon it. Then he took a reverent step back, creating some distance between them, something she was not certain he even knew how to do, and yet, he was now being courteous beyond her wildest imaginations.

"I am doing the only natural thing, my sweet siren," he said in a voice dripping with gentility and affection. "I am asking for your hand in marriage, of course."

Her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes widened in astonishment, her hand rising to her chest. She didn't know what to say to that. The blush on her cheeks was evident. She was certain of it. Yet, what she didn't know was what caused it: anger or some secret attraction.

"Ciara, my dear, please…" Her uncle gestured at the other chair, situated by the Duke's side. "Take a seat."

Reluctantly, she did as he bid her. A moment later, the Duke took a seat as well. It all reminded her of some business transaction that needed to take place, and she was at the center of it. She had never imagined her marriage proposal to look like that and even less, for the man in question to be a well-known rake. It all sounded like a bad dream, and she desperately wanted to wake up.

"You know, Your Grace, that although Ciara is living under my roof, I am not her guardian," Uncle Brendan explained. "Her hand is not mine to give."

Ciara tried her best to read his facial expressions. He obviously didn't approve of that man sitting there in front of him, asking for her hand. However, with everything that had happened, he knew, just like she did, that it was the only thing that could save her already crumbling reputation.

But what sort of a reputation would she have married to a rake? She felt helpless and desperate but most of all, enraged.

"I know that," the Duke nodded, taking his eyes off of Ciara only for short glimpses at her uncle, but his eyes always traveled back to her. "I have taken the liberty of visiting the Viscount of Hartfield. He and his lovely wife are more than happy to allow their daughter to marry me and become a duchess, so there is absolutely no objection on their part."

"What if there were an objection from me?" Ciara blurted out, but she immediately regretted it. Her past self had taken over for a moment, but clarity hit her immediately. She was being childish, not taking into account the bigger picture and the fact that this was the best solution to the predicament she had found herself in.

However, instead of the Duke, she heard her uncle respond curtly, behavior that he was not akin to often, "May I remind you, Ciara, that after what happened, this is the only way to stop the gossip that has been circling the ton and hold your head up high in public."

She knew what he was referring to. And worst of all, she knew that he was right. She didn't have any counterarguments, other than the mere fact that she didn't want to marry a rake, especially not one as arrogant and conceited as the Duke of Silverbrook.

She glanced at the Duke just once. That was all she needed to see the look of victory in his eyes as he tried to suppress a grin. For some reason, he was content with the situation, and she could not, for the life of her, understand why. However, she knew that she had no other way out. Going back to the nunnery was something she would never allow again. That place was the closest thing to hell she had experienced, and even marriage to this arrogant man was better than that.

"I apologize, Uncle. You are right," she addressed her uncle softly and turned to the Duke. "Very well then," she said through pursed lips, still finding it difficult to control her displeasure with the situation.

She forced herself to curtsy in the most polite manner possible although she could see gloating in the man's eyes as she did so.

"If you will excuse me," she said, her voice on the verge of breaking as she walked straight out of her uncle's study with her heart beating in her throat, making it increasingly more difficult to breathe.

She rushed out into the garden, hoping for some fresh air, but the world seemed to conspire against her, forcing her into a mold that demanded of her to be something else, something she was not.

"Ah, Becky!" Jonathan was caught slightly off guard upon seeing Rebecca in the main hallway of his townhouse upon his return. "What brings you here?"

She had obviously arrived only moments prior, her hand clutching several rolled pieces of paper which clearly, she intended to show him.

"This," she said annoyed, offering him the papers.

He frowned, accepting them. One glance assured him what they were. Just a scandal sheet, one that had featured him often in the past several years. Not that he blamed them. People loved reading about other people's misery and stupidity. That made them forget about their own. They also loved reading about other people's shame. That was their favorite.

"And?" he shrugged, handing it back to her. He allowed his valet, who appeared out of nowhere, to take his coat, turning to him. "The Countess and I shall be having tea in the drawing room, Parkinson. Please have some tea sent there."

"Yes, Your Grace," Parkinson bowed, disappearing with his master's coat and leaving Jonathan alone with his cousin.

"And?" Rebecca gasped, echoing his own question.

He ignored it, heading towards the drawing room. He didn't need to turn around to know that she was following him. He could hear her soft footsteps echoing on the floor.

As soon as they entered the drawing room, she hastily closed the door behind her. She locked eyes with him, looking both shocked and furious. It was a look he had seen many times. In fact, he had seen it so often that it had lost all of its power.

"What do you mean and?" she demanded to know. "Have you lost all humanity in your pursuit of Dionysian pleasures?"

"Dionysian?" he echoed, laughing. "I love it when you are so poetic, Becky."

"Do not mock me," she flared up at him, her eyes wide and furious. "You know very well what I mean."

"Of course, I do," he nodded, taking a seat, and gesturing for her to do the same. "And I also know that you worry too much. But I suppose, mothers always do."

She frowned again. "Have you no mercy ruining a girl who is already under the scrutiny of the ton?"

He inhaled exasperatedly. "Both you and that thrill seeking scandal sheet know nothing. I have, in fact, proposed to the girl."

She didn't seem to have heard him, and she merely continued with her tirade as she had always done because his answer had always been the same. Only, not this time.

"Well, of course, you have because you are so selfish and egotistical that you think of no one else but you, and I honestly do not know when you will?—"

That was when her tirade ended. Her eyes widened, only then realizing what he had said. He could see that frown transform into a straight line on her face then her lips parted in a gasp. Finally, she grasped the full magnitude of his words.

"You… proposed to her?" she asked, her eyes wide with incredulity.

"Yes," he said simply, eyeing her reaction. He was quite amused although he knew that it must have been quite a shock to her. She probably never thought that she would be hearing something like that from him.

"To a girl who was in a convent?" she asked, obviously for clarification purposes.

"Yes," he nodded again. "Although for your information, she wasn't a nun. She was just an oblate which is?—"

"I know what an oblate is," she interrupted him, still with that incredulous look in her eyes. He doubted that she had heard anything even remotely shocking in her entire life.

"You know, Becky, despite what everyone thinks, I am not a monster," he said simply, realizing that although his cousin loved him, she shared the opinion the ton had of him.

After all, he was a rake. And that reputation came with quite a few unflattering epithets, but monster was not one of them.

"I never said you were," she was quick to correct him. "I am merely led by your behavior so far, but now… what happened with this girl… I am shocked."

"I know," he confirmed with a nod. "I can assure you that this came as a shock to me as well."

She hesitated for a moment then asked what was on her mind. "Why is this girl special? Are you… in love with her?"

Now, it was his turn for his eyes to widen in disbelief. He couldn't resist bursting into roaring laughter. The question was utterly ridiculous to even consider, and yet, she thought it possible. How utterly amusing!

Only once the onslaught of his laughter subsided was he able to provide her with an answer.

"In love? Don't be ridiculous, Becky." He tried to explain it in the simplest manner possible. "She was unlucky to get caught with me, and I was careless. And this is the consequence of being careless. It is as simple as that."

He omitted mentioning the kiss and the fact that he was madly attracted to her and that he yearned to make her his. He had to admit that he wasn't planning on making her officially his, in the marital sense of the word, but if bedding her had to entail marrying her, he was slowly coming to terms with it. After all, it would not be the first marriage of convenience in the world, nor would it certainly be the last.

"This is unlike you," she admitted, the shock subsiding but still present.

He chuckled. "You don't have a very good opinion of me, I see."

"No, it's not that," she shook her head, almost smiling at his comment. "I'm just… stunned that you would even consider marrying. You… of all people."

He shrugged. "Do not think I have changed my rakish ways, dear Becky. I am merely… adapting myself to the new situation. That is all."

"You are adapting very well, I must say," she confessed. "I never thought I would see the day."

He laughed melodiously, utterly amused by her shock and her genuine reaction to his words. "Yes, I also thought there was a better chance of a hailstorm in July than of me getting married, but here we are."

She pondered about it for a few more minutes then she smiled. She had suddenly come to terms with it; she had accepted the situation and realized that she loved it. "I think that is splendid news. It was high time you took your life and yourself more seriously."

"No, no, wait a minute." He shook his head, lifting his hands to the level of his chest in a mock surrender gesture. "I just told you, this doesn't mean I've changed. I am merely being a good man, not wanting to have someone else suffer for my own lack of judgment of a situation and how risky it was."

"Yes, yes," she smiled back at him. "You may claim that, but this is the first step of you maturing, and I am so glad to bear witness to it."

Without any warning, she jumped onto him, wrapping her arms around him and enveloping him into a loving embrace. "Congratulations, Jonathan! There is so much we need to discuss regarding your wedding!"

Jonathan's arms floated around his cousin's body then he wrapped them around her, returning the hug. He didn't say anything.

After all, what was there to be said other than I do ?