Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

T he days following their intimate dinner passed in a blur for Ciara. She found herself engrossed in a myriad of tasks—supervising the household staff, attending to her correspondences, and making arrangements for social visits. She was yearning to speak to Adeline and tell her everything that had happened. Yet, despite her busy schedule, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss.

Jonathan had obviously been avoiding her. They already took their meals separately, but even when they did pass by each other, his conversation was polite but guarded. She couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment each time he made a hasty retreat back to his study, avoiding her gaze. There had been almost a week since their last lesson, and she was longing for more time with him.

That afternoon, she was in the middle of reviewing the household chores in the drawing room, when the steward entered the room, after having knocked. As always, his expression was respectfully neutral so she could never quite guess why he had come.

"Your Grace, I beg your pardon, but you have visitors," he announced.

Ciara's heart leapt with excitement. Perhaps it was Uncle Brendan or Adeline. She had been craving the comfort of familiar faces and light-hearted conversation. In fact, she felt as if she hadn't seen either of them in ages, and there was so much to talk about.

"Thank you, Arden," she replied cheerfully, her mind already a swirl of topics to engross in. "Please, show them into the parlor. I shall be there shortly myself."

"Yes, Your Grace," Arden nodded respectfully, disappearing behind closed doors a moment later.

She stood up, smoothing her skirts in anticipation. Of course, if it were Uncle Brendan, she wouldn't be sharing with him the details she wanted to tell Adeline, but seeing him would be enough to ease her mind.

She made her way to the parlor, her mind already buzzing with anticipation. But as she stepped through the door, her smile faltered, and all the blood drained from her face.

There, sitting primly on the settee, were her parents, Lord and Lady Hartfield.

She stood in the doorway, a part of her mind desperate for an escape before she even exchanged a single word with them, but she wanted to show them that they had no power over her any longer. Her courage was stronger than her fear.

She swallowed heavily before speaking. "Mother. Father," she greeted, her voice restrained. "To what do I owe… the pleasure?"

All three people knew that it was no pleasure, but Ciara wanted to retain at least the semblance of politeness. She wanted to prove to them that they couldn't upset her any longer, that she wasn't afraid of them.

Her mother rose gracefully, her eyes traversing Ciara from head to toe with a critical gaze, as if displeased with the way her daughter had dressed. "We decided it was time to visit our daughter and see how she is faring in her new role."

"Indeed," her father added, his tone cold and authoritative. "We want to ensure you are fulfilling your duties as a duchess and a wife."

Ciara felt a wave of dread wash over her. She took a deep breath, trying to maintain her composure. "I assure you, I am managing quite well. There was no need for you to trouble yourselves with a visit."

Her mother raised an eyebrow. "No need? Ciara, you must understand the importance of your position. As a duchess, you have responsibilities. We are here to ensure you are adhering to them."

Ciara clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. "I am well aware of my responsibilities, Mother."

"Are you?" her mother retorted, her tone sharp. "We have heard reports that you are not as attentive to your husband as you should be. A good wife knows her place and fulfills her duties without question."

Ciara's anger flared. "There is no one who could have provided you with that information because it is false. I am doing my best to be a good wife, but I will never again be dictated to and ordered around."

She remembered well what it was like living under their roof. It was a hell she would rather not speak of again, and even worse, she refused to go back to that dark place inside her mind that helped her survive her years at the nunnery. And her parents were the responsible ones for all of that.

As if sensing his daughter's disobedience again, her father's eyes narrowed. "You will do as you are told, Ciara. You may be a duchess now, and you might think that you are your own person, but never forget that your behavior reflects upon our family. You are still an extension of us, and we expect you to act with the decorum and obedience befitting your station."

Ciara felt a surge of defiance and rebellion at the notion that she was an extension of them. She never felt as if she were truly their child. She had never been loved by a mother and father as a child ought to be. "I am not a child, Father. I will not be treated as one. I am capable of making my own decisions and managing my own household."

Her mother's lips thinned in disapproval. "This defiance is unbecoming of you, Ciara. Will you prove yet again that you are unworthy of the family that tried its best to bring you up with propriety and obedience in mind? Will you prove yet again that you are unworthy to be anyone's wife?"

Ciara's vision blurred with unshed tears, her heart pounding with a mixture of anger and hurt.

However, before she could say anything else, the door burst open.

As Jonathan approached the parlor, he heard raised voices and recognized the familiar tone of Ciara's parents.

His pace quickened, concern etched on his face. When he entered the room, he was met with a tense scene: Ciara, standing rigidly with unshed tears in her eyes, and Lord and Lady Hartfield, who immediately adopted a fa?ade of pleasantness upon seeing him.

"Ciara," he said her name softly, walking over to her. He instinctively stood between her and her parents, a shield she could hide behind. "Lord and Lady Hartfield… is everything all right here?"

"Your Grace," Lady Hartfield cooed, a forced smile on her lips. He could immediately see it for what it was. "We came for a visit, and this is just a… little family discussion."

Jonathan's eyes flicked to Ciara, noticing her distress. Anger flared up inside of him at seeing her in such a state. A desire to protect her surged inside of him, wanting to shield her from all harm, especially the harm that came from those that were closest to her. That was the sort of betrayal he knew all too well.

He then turned back to her parents, his gaze hardening. "It seems more than just a little discussion to me," he said evenly. "What have you said to upset my wife?"

Lord Hartfield's smile faltered, and he drew himself up, his tone defensive. "Nothing, Your Grace, honestly. We were merely reminding Ciara of her duties. She has responsibilities as a duchess and as your wife. Her shame reflects upon us as a family, and that is the last thing we wished to have."

Jonathan stepped closer, his presence imposing. "Ciara is well aware of her responsibilities and duties which she has been undertaking with great detail and diligence, not that either she or I have to make excuses to you. That is why she needs no reminders from anyone, least of all in such a manner that would cause her distress."

Lady Hartfield bristled. "Your Grace, we are her parents. It is our duty to ensure that she behaves appropriately."

"Your duty?" Jonathan echoed, his voice calm but there was an unmistakable edge to it. "Your duty as her parents should be to love her unconditionally, to support and encourage her, not to undermine and belittle her at every chance you get, even in her own home."

Jonathan didn't feel like he was crossing the line. In fact, he felt as if it had already been crossed by those very same people who had the audacity to stand there in his own home and make his wife feel inadequate. He refused to stand for it.

Lord Hartfield's face reddened at his words. "How dare you speak to us in such a manner?" the man gasped in shock. "We are only looking out for her best interests."

"I am her husband," Jonathan replied, his tone steely. "I refuse to tolerate anyone causing her such distress. Even her parents." He wrapped a protective arm around his wife's waist, pulling her even closer to himself as he continued to speak. "You have overstayed your welcome, Lord and Lady Hartfield. I suggest you leave immediately."

Lady Hartfield opened her mouth to protest, but Jonathan raised a hand, silencing her.

"Now," he said firmly.

There was a moment of tense silence before Lord and Lady Hartfield, their expressions a mixture of shock and indignation, turned and left the room, their footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Jonathan turned to Ciara, his expression softening. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly.

Ciara nodded, her eyes glistening with gratitude. "Thank you, Jonathan. I… Even after all these years, I never know how to handle them."

Jonathan simply nodded, his emotions swirling. He felt a fierce protectiveness for Ciara, a need to shield her from any pain. The intensity of his feelings overwhelmed him, and he found himself at a loss for words.

"I… I'll leave you to compose yourself," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

He turned and left the room, his heart pounding.

The realization of how deeply he cared for her was terrifying. He tried to make sense of it all, reminding himself that it could have simply been a desire to protect a woman who was in distress, but he knew better than to be a fool and believe such a silly lie.

The truth was that he cared for his wife. Which was something he would never have anticipated.