Page 36

“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 knowyoucan’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 frayednerves. 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.