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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“ A re you certain this becomes me?” Teresa asked, staring at herself in the mirror, turning this way and that.

It was a warm evening, not yet sunset, the light outside the chamber window like molten gold.

The heavenly glow caught the elaborate beading that adorned her gown, making it seem to glitter as she moved, and though it was not what she would have chosen for herself, she could not deny its beauty.

An exquisite creation of gold and cream, painstakingly sewn and embroidered and embellished; more expensive than anything she had ever worn in her life.

Why did he choose this for me? It is… too much.

No one had replied to her question, prompting her to turn toward the three sets of wide eyes that stared at her. Isolde hastily brushed a tear from her cheek, Beatrice wore a grin so wide that it veered toward madness, while Prudence gawped.

“What does that mean?” Teresa asked, panic rising up her throat. “Is it terrible? Should I choose something else?”

Cyrus would not like that, she imagined, but surely he would not argue with her decision if she looked ridiculous. He wanted to make an impression as the new Duke and Duchess of Darnley, after all.

And here I was, thinking I had married a like-minded recluse.

She groaned inwardly at the thought of the night to come, her mood tempered only by the presence of her sisters and her best friend.

At least she would be able to share the evening with Isolde and Beatrice, when her husband undoubtedly abandoned her.

Her heart fluttered strangely, remembering how they had parted ways in the Tea House. For a moment, she had thought he might kiss her… and, goodness, how she had wanted him to. Yet, it had turned into another disappointment, another thing to daydream about that would never become a reality.

“Well?” she urged, practically beside herself with nerves.

Prudence gave a low whistle. “Do you remember the chapter where Miss Savage attended the sultan’s ball, and the Captain sees her across the lake?”

Teresa nodded, unable to stop her mind from picturing herself as Miss Savage, with Cyrus across the lantern-lit lake, gazing at her.

Nor could she stop herself from continuing the scene, watching him wade toward her through the shallow water, sweeping aside the waterlilies and floating lanterns, emerging from the lake soaked through just to tell her how beautiful she looked.

And the kiss afterward, stolen beneath the moonlight as they danced together to the distant lilt of the music…

“You look twice as beautiful as that,” Prudence said, beaming from ear to ear.

“Indeed, I am quite furious that I am being forced to stay here while you are parading around like a queen in that gown. Mercy, how I wish I could see everyone’s faces when you enter!

They will not know you, Tessie. They will think a princess has arrived. ”

Beatrice nudged Prudence in the arm, the two women perched together on the edge of Teresa’s bed. “I could sneak you in, if you like?”

“You will not,” Isolde chided, offering a look of apology to Prudence. “Considering the recent scrutiny that has been placed upon our family, we must do everything according to the proper processes. You will debut next year. You will not ‘sneak in’ anywhere until then.”

Prudence pulled a face. “The moment they see Tessie, they will forget any ‘scrutiny.’ Indeed, it has been forgotten anyway; everyone is talking about Lady Juliet’s scandal now.”

“What?” It was Teresa’s turn to gawp. “What scandal?”

Beatrice flashed her best friend a sly smile.

“Well, it would appear that the oh-so perfect, oh-so infallible Lady Juliet was caught in a dalliance with the Viscount of Sherborne. The married Viscount of Sherborne. I would say I am surprised you have not heard, but this castle is in the middle of nowhere; I doubt there is a gossip mill nearby for you to receive your weekly sack of scandals.”

“You have been here for three days, and you did not think to mention that?” Teresa gasped, conflicted: on the one hand, she was delighted by the comeuppance but, on the other, the experience of being trapped in the net of public judgment was not something she would have wished on her worst enemy.

Beatrice shrugged. “It did not seem important, but I would wager you will hear plenty about it tonight. The poor thing has had to go into hiding and, for once, the gentleman has not emerged unscathed either.” Mischief gleamed in her eyes.

“I hear he has lost most of his business partners, for all of their wives are dear friends of the Viscountess. And, my goodness, she has some glorious wrath in her!”

“I do not like to be unkind,” Isolde interjected, “but after hearing some of the despicable things Lady Juliet said about you after the… incident, I should say she rather deserves it.”

A bothersome memory began to nag at the back of Teresa’s mind, sending her thoughts back to the night she had created her own scandal.

Lady Juliet had been tormenting Teresa, as usual, but Beatrice had not long come to the rescue.

Wearing her fox mask, Beatrice had said something to Lady Juliet, frightening enough to make the woman hurry off.

It took Teresa a second to remember Beatrice’s words: “I could mention where you were this past Sunday, when you were supposed to be at church, but feigned a headache.”

With a hand to her heart, Teresa glanced at her best friend, frowning. “Bea, did you… have something to do with this?”

“Me?” Beatrice pointed to herself. “I wish !”

“But you knew, did you not?”

A flicker of hurt replaced the mischief in Beatrice’s eyes.

“I did, but it was not me who revealed it. Do you think I would relinquish leverage like that on a whim, when it was the one thing guaranteed to protect you from her scorn?” She paused, her tone laced with sadness.

“The Viscountess discovered the affair herself. Witnessed it. She told me when I had tea with her last week.”

“Oh…”

“Tess, come now, you know me. You do not truly believe I would throw any woman—even a vicious weasel like that—into the dirt, do you?” Beatrice’s voice wavered, and, for an awful moment, she looked utterly defeated, her shoulders slumping.

“No,” Teresa hurried to say, cursing herself. “No, of course not. I… did not realize you were such good friends with the Viscountess, that is all.”

Beatrice shrugged. “My mother arranged it. Thought it would be good for me to have a mentor. It has been—the Viscountess is wonderful, and I am just sorry she ended up married to such a pig, though her clever unraveling of his success and reputation has been sublime to witness. Her influence is enviable.” She stood up, her smile forced.

“You look extraordinary, Tess. But it is rather warm in here; I think I will go and take some fresh air.”

“Bea…”

“I will wait for you in the courtyard,” Beatrice replied firmly, walking out.

Another of Prudence’s low whistles pierced the air. “What was that about?”

“None of your business,” Isolde said gently, taking Prudence’s hand. “Go on, off with you—you should be having your dinner in your bedchamber instead of causing trouble in here. Tessie needs to finish preparing herself, and I need her to help me with my hair.”

Prudence muttered a few choice words under her breath as she stood up, wishing her two sisters a not-altogether-convincing “have a lovely evening” before she headed out of the bedchamber.

A moment later, Isolde was at Teresa’s side, putting her arm around her younger sister’s shoulders, smiling at her through the mirror’s reflection. “I think dear Beatrice has a softer heart than she would like people to think,” Isolde said quietly. “She will forgive you.”

“But I insulted her, and… I did not mean to,” Teresa whispered back, her heart sore.

“And she will forgive you,” Isolde repeated. “It is what people do when they care for one another.”

Staring into her own reflected eyes, a prickle of guilt crackled back and forth in her ribcage, the feeling twofold.

If she expected Beatrice’s forgiveness, perhaps Cyrus was deserving of hers.

He had seemed truly oblivious to why she had been so angry at him, and she kept forgetting that he had not been raised in an ordinary household, refusing to be lenient despite knowing his circumstances.

Moreover, she found she wanted to forgive him. Does that mean I care about him?

She had no way of knowing, when she still barely knew him at all.

Tonight, I will try, she vowed. Tonight, I will return here knowing at least one new thing about him.

With that promise fixed in her mind, she flashed a shy smile at Isolde. “Now, what else do you think I need?”

“A dress like this,” Isolde replied, smiling back, “it calls for jewels.”

This is ridiculous. She is my wife; what is the purpose of all this mystery?

Cyrus paced beside his carriage, his gaze continuously flitting back to the tall gates that marked the entrance to the driveway of Anthony’s country manor, Leighmoor Hall. Every crunch of carriage wheels on the white gravel made his head whip, but it was yet to be her.

He did not know whose idea it was for them to arrive in separate carriages, but the message had been delivered by Isolde.

Not wanting to provoke her dislike for him any more than he already had, he had consented and was now regretting it immensely.

People were staring, no doubt wondering why the Duke of Darnley had arrived without his Duchess, no doubt whispering fresh rumors about the state of their marriage.

A man’s reputation is all he has, a familiar, unpleasant voice hissed in his head. You should care what people think about you, you worthless, weak…

Another gravel crunch turned his head, his eyes widening as he saw his own crest on the side of the approaching carriage. He straightened up and took a moment to school his expression into a mask of cool indifference, his arms folded behind his back as he waited for his Duchess.

She was more than worth the wait.

The door opened to reveal a goddess in gold and cream silk, a glinting, teardrop diamond around her neck that sparkled as vividly as her eyes; her dark-honey hair pinned back in gentle waves, studded with pearls and small white roses; her cheeks flushed with a pretty dusting of pink, her beautiful lips curving into a smile as she saw him.

That smile took his breath away more than any gown could have, so stunned that he nearly forgot to step forward and offer his hand.

“Apologies, Your Grace,” she said, taking his hand. “We hit a rut and thought we had lost the wheel, but all was well.”

“Cyrus,” he rasped, putting her hand through the crook of his arm, subconsciously pulling her closer to his side.

She peered up at him. “Pardon?”

“My name,” he said. “You should use it.”

“Oh…”

He cleared his throat. “You look… remarkable.”

“Ah, well, I had nothing to do with the gown,” she replied, a twinkle in her eyes. “In truth, I feared it did not suit me.”

“You were made for it,” he said quickly, struggling to get his discipline under control.

Yet, faced with such divine beauty, gifted with her glorious smile and the blessing of her full attention, he found that his tongue kept wanting to tie itself into knots. Of course, he could not let her know that, but she was… breathtaking.

She smiled brightly at him, the way it lit her up from within sounding alarm bells in his head. That smile was glorious. That smile was dangerous, and it had him by the throat.

“Shall we?” he said, gesturing toward the entrance of Leighmoor Hall.

Teresa hesitated, turning back. “Perhaps, we should wait for?—”

From inside the carriage, Beatrice called out. “Go ahead! Do not wait for us. My shoe has come loose.”

Teresa’s throat bobbed, and she took a deep breath, gracing Cyrus with another perilous smile. “Very well. Lead the way.”

Cyrus did, keeping her close to his side as they ascended the porch steps and entered the manor, where music and chatter and laughter clashed together, sending a bristle of discomfort down his spine.

Perhaps he would never be at ease at social gatherings, but with Teresa beside him, he knew that no one would be looking at his scarred face.

How could they, when a heavenly creature walked among them?

As if to prove his point, the chatter in the entrance hall faded into shocked silence, every pair of eyes resting on the vision in gold.

“Is that…?” someone whispered.

Their companion nodded. “I think it is.”

Like a whip snapping, the astonished guests rushed forward, crying out exuberant greetings to the new Duchess of Darnley, vying to be the first to welcome her. As if there had never been a scandal at all.

Teresa, I think you just propelled yourself to the top of society’s list.

Gazing at her in secret as she valiantly responded to all of the greetings, all politeness and courtesy and shy smiles, he wondered how anyone with any sense whatsoever could have dared to put her last.