Page 20 of Wedded to the Scottish Duke

“Of course I can.” Celia raised her chin and looked Grace in the eye. “Yet, fury can take many forms.”

“You don’t deny it, then?” Eleanor asked.

Eleanor and Diana had arrived that morning with their own husbands. They sat on Celia’s other side, with Diana frequentlylooking at her husband, who was sitting with the other gentlemen. Eleanor was clearly much more fascinated with their conversation and pushed her glasses further up her nose to watch Celia more intently.

“No, I don’t deny it,” Celia muttered resentfully. “Well, at least I beat every gentleman here.”

“You didn’t beat the Duke of Hardbridge,” Eleanor reminded her.

“Oh, is he a gentleman?” Celia whispered.

Her friends laughed but teased her no more about the race.

“It’s curious,” Diana began, turning her attention back to the group. “From what Violet told me, you seem quite intrigued by the Duke of Hardbridge.”

“Intrigued?” Celia looked sharply at her sister, but Violet was now doing her very best to hide her face in a box of sandwiches, as if she could not find the flavor she wanted.

“In fact, I can’t remember hearing about you giving so much attention to any man,” Diana whispered, fidgeting shyly.

“Perhaps she likes him,” Eleanor concluded with too much finality for Celia’s liking.

“I reject the premise entirely,” Celia protested, putting down her sandwich, no longer interested in eating.

“Why?” Grace asked.

“Because no man can have control over my thoughts. That idea is ridiculous.”

“You think not?” The doubt in Violet’s expression was plain. She raised her eyebrows and looked between her sister and the Duke of Hardbridge.

Reluctantly, Celia let her eyes drift toward him. He was sitting with Xander, his deep voice reaching her ears even at this distance. They were talking about riding.

“Because I think the opposite seems to be true at the moment,” Violet said, her eyes gleaming. “You watched him all breakfast.”

“I did not!”

“Perhaps it is possible for a man to consume your thoughts, after all.” Violet giggled at the idea.

Her amusement only irritated Celia further. She sat forward, her hands clenching into fists.

“I will not…” She faltered, her fury tying her tongue.

“You will not what?” Violet prompted.

“I will not… end up like some women,” Celia argued.

“What? Married?” Eleanor suggested.

“No.” Celia stood up. She’d had enough of this conversation and wasn’t going to put up with it anymore. “Enjoy your picnic. I’m not hungry.”

With those final words, she turned away. She marched toward her mare and mounted, eager to escape as fast as she possibly could.

“Lady Celia?” Lord Porter’s voice called to her. “Are you leaving so soon?”

“I am not done riding yet, My Lord.” She didn’t even turn back to look at anyone in the group as she flicked the reins and rode away.

Determined to put as much distance between her and the suggestion of marriage as possible, she rode into the fields. She didn’t even pay much attention to where she was going, just so long as she got far away from there.

As she rode, hot tears pricked her eyes, though she refused to let them fall as she thought of her poor cousin.