Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

T he grand hall of Lord and Lady Weatherly's manor house was resplendent with glittering chandeliers and opulent décor. As Ciara and Jonathan stepped inside, she tightened her grip on his arm, feeling the weight of the evening pressing down on her. She forced a polite smile as Jonathan led her to the hosts.

"Lord and Lady Weatherly, may I present my wife, Ciara," Jonathan said with a proud smile.

Lady Weatherly, a statuesque woman with an air of practiced elegance, inclined her head graciously. "A pleasure to meet you, Duchess. Welcome to our home."

Lord Weatherly, a distinguished man with a silver mane and a sharp gaze, offered a nod. "Indeed, welcome. We are delighted you could join us."

Ciara curtsied gracefully. "Thank you for having us, Lord and Lady Weatherly."

Jonathan then introduced her to the other married couples present, each introduction blending into the next as Ciara struggled to remember names and faces. Most of the guests exuded an air of superiority, their glances and whispers making her feel increasingly out of place. She could sense their scrutiny, a silent judgment that made her stomach churn.

Jonathan, caught by a group of lords discussing estate matters, reluctantly left her side. "I won't be long, my dear," he whispered, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze before stepping away.

Ciara found herself surrounded by a cluster of ladies, their curious eyes fixed on her. The leader of the group, Lady Worthington, a tall woman with sharp features, smiled thinly. "Your Grace, do tell us about your life before marriage. It must be fascinating."

Ciara's mind raced, trying to find the right words. "I… I spent much of my time at my family's estate and at a nunnery," she said, hoping to keep the details vague.

"Oh, a nunnery!" one of the ladies exclaimed. "How quaint. Was it terribly dull?"

Another chimed in, "Did you ever think you would become a duchess one day?"

Questions bombarded her from all sides, each one making her feel more exposed and out of place. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she could feel the heat rising to her cheeks.

"Did you take any vows?" one asked with a hint of mockery. "What sort of life did you lead there?"

"She could not have taken any vows; don't be silly!" another one replied. "Otherwise, she wouldn't be able to marry!"

"Goodness me, imagine being a nun," the fourth lady grimaced with disgust.

"Yes, yes, we all know you can't live without your gardener," the first one whispered, and they all burst into a chuckle. Ciara felt as if she were in a chicken coop.

"Whoever it is, I am certain that our lovely duchess also had someone to remind her that being a nun would be a dreadful bore," the first one pointed out, her sharp gaze aimed straight at Ciara.

"No, I… I changed my mind," Ciara managed to muster, glancing around desperately, waiting for Jonathan to return.

"A change of mind requires a reason, my dear," the second one reminded her. "Seeing you went to the nunnery, it meant you wished to live the life of a nun, but then you changed your mind. I wonder why."

"Oh, do tell!" another spoke. "Why did you change your mind?"

Ciara's throat tightened. The memories of the convent were private, sacred, and she had no desire to share them with these prying, judgmental eyes. She opened her mouth, struggling to find a response that would satisfy them without revealing too much.

Just as she was about to speak, their hosts called out, "Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served in the dining hall."

The announcement was a lifeline. Ciara let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and offered a polite smile to the ladies. "Shall we?" she suggested, gesturing toward the dining hall.

As they moved toward the grand dining room, Ciara felt a wave of relief wash over her. She had managed to escape the interrogation, but the evening was far from over. She glanced around for Jonathan, hoping he would rejoin her soon. For now, she steeled herself, determined to make it through the dinner with grace and composure.

The grand dining hall was as splendid as the rest of the mansion, with an elegantly set table that stretched nearly the length of the room. Golden candelabras cast a warm glow over the assembled guests. Ciara felt a wave of relief as she took her seat, grateful to find Jonathan positioned next to her. After all, he was one of the only two people she knew there. Sitting next to a complete stranger would add even more strain to her already frayed nerves. She smiled upon locking eyes with his, exhaling with relief.

The majority of the dinner passed pleasantly enough with polite conversation flowing around the table. Ciara did her best to follow the various topics, contributing when she could and remaining quiet when she felt out of her depth. Jonathan's occasional glances and encouraging smiles helped steady her.

However, as the meal progressed, the conversation took a turn that made Ciara uneasy. Lord Pembroke, a portly man with a penchant for boisterous humor, leaned forward and grinned. "So, Your Grace, how have you found married life? Have you and the Duke settled in well?"

Ciara hesitated, unsure of how to answer. The subtle undertones in Lord Pembroke's voice suggested more than just polite curiosity. She fumbled for a response, feeling the weight of everyone's attention. "We… we are very happy," she stammered, her cheeks flushing.

It was at that moment that Lady Worthington smirked. "Indeed, Madam? And has His Grace been a… patient teacher in all matters of marriage?"

A ripple of laughter went around the table, and Ciara's discomfort deepened. She glanced at Jonathan, who seemed equally displeased with the turn of the conversation. In her nervousness, her hand brushed against her fork, sending it clattering to the floor.

Instinctively, Ciara bent down to retrieve it, but Jonathan's hand on her thigh stopped her. She looked up, meeting his firm but gentle gaze. He shook his head slightly, indicating that it was improper for her to pick it up herself. Instead, he discreetly signaled a nearby servant, who swiftly retrieved the fallen fork.

Another servant stepped forward with a new fork, placing it beside Ciara's plate with a respectful nod. Despite the smooth handling of the situation, Ciara felt a surge of embarrassment for her clumsiness.

"Yes, those pesky forks do tend to have a habit of running away, don't they?" Lord Pembroke seemed to have noticed a part of the commotion, now directly pointing everyone's attention to it.

Ciara blushed fervently, smiling but it was a weak effort. She felt more out of place than ever before. She reminded herself that she had to endure it.

"Well, not everyone has your impeccable manners, Lord Pembroke," Jonathan suddenly pointed out, "because we all know that you are impeccable at everything you do." He said it in such a dramatic manner that it made everyone chuckle at his words.

Ciara appreciated Jonathan's words although she still felt as awkward as before if not even more. She straightened in her seat, her hands trembling slightly as she took the new fork. Fortunately, she realized that the conversation at the dinner party had slowly taken a different turn, leaving her and her marriage out of it.

"Speaking of impeccable, have you all heard that Lady Olivia Donnahue was caught having an affair with her gardener of all people?" a lady down at the end of the table asked loudly, and all eyes and ears were upon her. "Apparently, she had written love letters to the man, and he wrote back, but Lord Donnahue found them…"

"The letters?" someone else asked.

"No, his wife and the gardener together!" The words were followed by a collective gasp and then, the continuation of the sordid affair that everyone had to know about as if it were their own business.

Ciara was flabbergasted. She didn't know the woman, nor did she know the circumstances in which she had acted, but she felt sorry for Lady Donnahue, having no right to privacy at a moment such as that one.

However, what shocked her even more was the fact that Jonathan did not remove his hand from her thigh. Instead, he began to stroke her gently, making it appear as if he were not doing anything at all. She turned to him, her cheeks a fervent red, her eyes wide at what he was doing.

Seeing her in such a state, he leaned closer to her, whispering in her ear. "Should I stop?"

Without a second thought, she shook her head. That was the last thing she wanted him to do. He smirked at her, his eyes deep and unfathomable, as heat unfurled in the secret place between her thighs, the place that always seemed to be on fire when she thought of him and his smile.

"I knew you had a wild side in you, my siren," he murmured right into her ear, making her body explode in gooseflesh.

She couldn't say what she was thinking aloud. But her eyes spoke more than words ever could. This is highly improper, they were telling him, and he understood more than well, the scoundrel.

"Shhh," he whispered again without anyone noticing. "Stay still. They won't know."

His hand then proceeded to ride up slowly between her legs, her entire body trembling. She fought the sensation, but it was impossible. Her mind was a blank. She couldn't hear anyone speaking. All she could do was feel his hand between her thighs. His strokes were light through her gown, but she could feel them as if he were touching her bare skin. Everything about her was mad with desire at this most inopportune moment.

Why is he doing this? She thought to herself.

She wanted to close her eyes, to get lost in the pleasure of the moment, but she knew she couldn't. She had to stay focused on what was happening around her, but she couldn't banish the thought of Jonathan's hand between her thighs, driving her mad. She felt the rising of that familiar heat, her thighs clenching to keep his hand in place. She swallowed heavily, feeling her throat becoming parched, but she dared not pick up a wine glass for fear of dropping it.

Just then, Lord Weatherly rose. "Gentlemen, we are to retire to the drawing room for after-dinner drinks. As for you, dear ladies, you are to enjoy your… drinks in the parlor," he said, words which were followed by an amused chuckle.

Ciara didn't laugh. Jonathan pulled his hand away from her, and the act left her gasping silently. Also, the thought of being left alone with vultures such as Lady Worthington made her petrified. But she knew that she had to survive that evening, with or without Jonathan by her side.

Just as the ladies were settling in the parlor, huddled into a small, intimate circle, Lady Worthington took the lead words. "Now, Your Grace, I think all of us here would like to know, given your husband's… infamous reputation, what is he like in bed?"

Ciara turned pale. "In… bed?"

"Why, of course, my dear," Lady Worthington chuckled, and the rest of them joined in. "You have been married for over a week now. Don't tell me you have not consummated the marriage?"

Ciara could see the look of shock on the ladies who surrounded her. "Of course… not. I mean, we have consummated it, of course."

"And?" another lady asked eagerly, leaning closer, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"Does he do the tongue thing?" a third one asked in a whisper. "A friend of mine told me about it, and I nearly died upon hearing it!" she giggled, and a few other ladies joined her.

"Well, one has to use one's tongue under such circumstances, no?" Ciara said awkwardly, and it was evident that they didn't like her answer.

"And does he really have a looking glass over his bed?" another lady inquired timidly.

"A looking glass!" a voice exclaimed, impressed.

Once again, all eyes were on Ciara. How on earth could she tell them that she had no idea what her husband's bedchamber looked like?

"A lady doesn't speak of such things," Ciara said clumsily, much to the chagrin of everyone around her.

"All right, all right," Lady Worthington continued, calming down the chicken coop. "You forget, my dears, that the Duchess of Silverbrook spent much of her lifetime in a nunnery. This all new to her… or is it?"

Ciara blushed fervently, wanting to tell her that she had no right to speak to her in such a manner, but Lady Worthington continued.

"After all, nuns do change their minds as we've had the opportunity of seeing," she added then turned to the lady to her right. "Now, Lizzie, do tell us about that gardener of yours. I might need my garden… freshened up a bit as well."

Ciara wanted to leave, but she knew that it would have been considered highly inappropriate. So, she stayed there, listening, realizing that she knew nothing of the experiences they had spoken, whether those experiences were with or without their husbands.

With the thoughts of Jonathan's hand between her thighs and the fire he riled up inside of her, she realized how painfully insecure and inexperienced she was.

And how could such a girl ever entertain the likes of her husband?