Page 9

CHAPTER 9

“ A war ?” Fiona gasped, her eyes flying across the page Hester had thrust into her hands.

The drawing room had been filled with the quiet clink of teacups and the soft murmur of conversation when her friends arrived. But the moment she read the bold, scandalous headline, all pretense at gentility vanished.

“Oh yes,” Hester replied, eyes wide with delight. “An actual war—well, not with cannons and swords, but something quite nearly as thrilling.”

Fiona stared at the page. She had purposefully avoided the gossip columns these past weeks, determined not to subject herself to their constant speculation. But she was grateful now that her friends still read them. This—this was something she could not have imagined.

The sheet declared, with theatrical flair, a growing duel of affections between the Duke of Craton and the Earl of Canterlack. A ‘war over the diamond,’ it said. She was, apparently, the diamond.

She nearly dropped the paper in dismay.

“They saw me walking with Canterlack at Hyde Park,” she murmured, mostly to herself. “And then Craton came and took me home. They even noted the Earl’s… mood.”

How do they know so much? The fine details—right down to Canterlack’s “unpleasant countenance”—were far too precise.

She felt suddenly watched. Hunted, almost.

“What happened?” Hester leaned forward eagerly. “Is it true? Are we witnessing the start of a grand feud?”

“You ache for scandal, Hester,” Nancy said, clicking her tongue and shaking her head with mock severity.

“As if you are not itching for the same details,” Hester shot back, rolling her eyes. “You’re as curious as a cat with a locked door.”

Fiona couldn’t help it—she laughed. The whole thing was absurd.

“But truly,” Nancy said more softly, tilting her head, “is the Duke truly interested in you, Fiona?”

Fiona lowered the paper and set it aside with care, smoothing her skirts. “We have crossed paths more frequently since the dance,” she said carefully.

Not a lie. But not the truth either.

Hester clapped her hands. “I knew it. I knew something had begun since that evening. He never dances, Fiona. Never. You must have captured his notice.”

Fiona gave a little shrug, though she felt the warmth climb up her neck at the memory of Isaac—of the way he had watched her, the way he had pulled her from Canterlack’s grasp with a calm ferocity.

Nancy, however, did not join in Hester’s glee. She glanced down into her teacup, then up at Fiona with measured calm. “But I thought Canterlack already had a strong suit.”

Fiona’s heart gave a subtle lurch.

Before she could fashion a reply, Hester interjected. “Oh, rubbish. If she does not prefer Canterlack, she is not beholden to him. It is not as though she has been signed over in contract.”

If only you knew.

Her friends had no idea of the engagement. Only Anna knew. As far as society was concerned, Canterlack was still merely a suitor.

“Oh, of course I did not mean it so,” Nancy said at once, her expression contrite. “Forgive me, Fiona.”

Fiona gave a small chuckle and waved her hand gently. “I understand entirely, Nancy. Truly.”

“I was merely wondering about this so-called war,” Nancy added, eyes flicking to the paper again. “It is quite dramatic.”

“We must not expect the Earl to retreat without resistance,” Hester said with a sage nod. “But the real question is—whom do you prefer?”

“Indeed,” Nancy echoed, sitting forward slightly. “If there is a contest for your affections, Fiona, you must have a leaning.”

Fiona drew in a quiet breath and managed a polite smile. “I do not know the Duke well enough to offer a fair comparison.”

Nancy’s gaze softened. “Well, I do hope he wins your heart.”

Fiona laughed, a sheepish sound. “Oh, do not be absurd, Nancy.”

But her cheeks were warm.

Hester, however, was watching her closely. “Can we trust the Duke for our dear friend, though?” she asked. Her voice was cautious, concerned. “His reputation…”

“Is likely little more than foolish rumor,” Nancy interrupted. “We know so little of him. And in truth, that is what a courtship is for, is it not?”

For Fiona to get to know him. Surely you do not presume she would marry the man blindly?” Nancy said with raised brows, a hint of laughter behind her words.

“Of course not,” Hester answered with a sheepish chuckle. The sound of it sent the room into quiet, familiar laughter.

Fiona remained in good spirits even after her friends took their leave, the drawing room quiet once more. The scent of lavender still lingered from the sachet Nancy had brought, and the sunlight lay soft across the carpet. She poured herself another cup of tea, her hands steady, her mind—if not light—at least clear.

But the moment shattered with sudden violence. Raised voices erupted in the hall.

“Where is she? Where is that ungrateful girl?”

The crash of a door against the wall followed, then her mother’s breathless voice, trying—and failing—to calm the storm.

“Oh, George, do calm yourself. It is not nearly as bad as you think.”

Fiona set her cup down with care, though her fingers had turned stiff. Her spine straightened. Her pulse quickened.

They burst into the room a moment later. Her father looked exactly as he sounded—flushed with anger, his mouth drawn in a hard line. Her mother trailed behind him, hands twisting together.

“What is the meaning of this rubbish , girl?” the Marquess barked, thrusting a crumpled sheet beneath her nose.

The headline leapt out at her. A Diamond at the Center of a Duel: Craton and Canterlack—A Rivalry Reignited?

“I cannot even enjoy a moment’s peace at White’s without someone shoving this in my face,” he thundered. “My daughter—paraded in the papers like some actress on a tawdry stage!”

Fiona rose slowly, drawing herself upright. She smoothed the front of her gown, the act giving her the strength she needed.

“I have already told you, Father. My heart is engaged elsewhere.”

His voice dropped, no less dangerous for its quiet. “What game are you playing now, child?”

“Fiona, dear—” her mother began, but Fiona stepped forward.

“I am not playing anything, Father. I am simply being truthful. I love another.”

“With that beast ?” the Marquess spat. “That reclusive wretch whose own father left him barely enough to maintain a stable roof?”

“I am in love with Craton,” she said, meeting his gaze without flinching. “Not his fortune. Not his rank. Him.”

Say it again, she thought. Say it until it becomes real.

The Marquess sneered. “You promenade with the Earl and then return on the arm of another man—what are we to believe? Did I raise you to be a harlot, woman?”

He turned on her mother now.

“Oh, George, please —” her mother began, her voice trembling.

“Silence!” he roared. “You have no excuses to cover this disgrace. Canterlack will be livid. And rightly so. We shall be ruined if he withdraws!”

Fiona watched her mother recoil, her shoulders curling inward. The familiar sight of her mother’s submission, her silence, was a deeper wound than her father’s words.

*She never fights. She never speaks. And look what it has cost her. *Fiona would not live such a life. Not under Canterlack. Not under anyone.

Her father stepped forward, finger raised. “You will make this right. You will marry Canterlack, and you will do so without further delay. You will attend the Holloway ball and find him. You will apologize and set matters straight.”

With that, he turned and stormed out of the room, boots thudding heavily across the marble. Her mother lingered a moment longer, face pale.

“I warned you not to provoke him,” she said quietly. “You must tread carefully, Fiona. There is no telling what your father might do in anger.”

She turned, her skirts whispering as she hurried after her husband, calling his name in low, desperate tones.

The room fell silent again. Fiona sat down slowly, her limbs trembling now that the confrontation was over. Her tea had gone cold. She stared at it, unseeing.

Her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. Her father’s words rang in her ears, cruel and heavy.

Beneath the sting, the humiliation, and the fear, her heart raged. If she had been determined before, she was positively immovable now.

She would find her way out.

And this time, no one—not her father, not Canterlack, not even Society itself would stop her.