Page 13 of Her Lion of a Duke (Dukes & Beasts #3)
Leonard felt like a fool for bringing up children.
The subject had been on his mind, but broaching it while they were stuck in a small space together, after they had both shown more vulnerability than they would have liked, was not the best time.
The moment he mentioned it, he saw Cecilia withdraw into herself, unwilling to discuss it.
For the first time, he wondered what she was thinking.
He sat across from her at dinner that night and watched as she twirled a stray blonde strand around her finger.
He wanted to speak to her, to reassure her that there was no need for her to make a decision, not for a long time, but he could not form the words.
He was transfixed, unable to look away from her. All the while, she did not look at him once.
He pushed his chair back, clearing his throat. “I will be away this evening,” he announced. “We won’t be in London for much longer, and I have yet to visit my club.”
She nodded, then looked away again.
Leonard did not understand the sudden change in her demeanor, not entirely at least. But he did not wish to force her to speak before she was ready, and if there was one thing he knew about his wife, it was that she was more than capable of speaking her mind.
When he arrived at White’s, he was practically pounced on by well-wishers. The Duke of Lupton was not present, nor was the Duke of Urkinshire, and so he took a seat by himself and ordered his first drink.
He did not know what to do with himself for the night, but he knew he had to stay out of the house for at least one hour.
“Pridefield!” a loud voice rang out. “What a pleasant surprise!”
Leonard turned to see two gentlemen whom he, unfortunately, knew very well approaching.
They had all been friends once, when Henry was alive. When Leonard had inherited the duchy, they had grown distant. Leonard had never thought that it was a conscious decision on his part, but sometimes when he thought about them, he did have to wonder.
“Pendleton, Fenton,” he acknowledged. “How are you both?”
“We are well, especially now that we are in the presence of a duke.” Lord Fenton chuckled. “We were wondering if you had already returned to your manor.”
“I will very soon. For the moment, my wife and I are enjoying the city. It allows her to see some friends and chaperone her cousin. I believe you have heard of Lady Clara Punton?”
“Indeed, and what a treasure she is,” Lord Pendleton sighed. “If I were looking for a wife…”
“I shall refrain from telling Lady Pendleton that,” Leonard grumbled.
“Come now, Pridefield. You cannot act as though you do not look at other ladies. It is not as though we gentlemen can help ourselves, after all.”
“He is a newlywed, Pendleton,” Lord Fenton drawled. “Give him time, and he will soon understand.”
“I would argue the contrary. We choose a lady to marry, and we swear to honor her. I have every intention of keeping to that.”
The two gentlemen exchanged glances, and Leonard could swear he saw a smirk exchanged.
“It appears that the lion has been tamed.” Lord Fenton grinned. “I never would have expected that from you, Pridefield.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that once, we were bachelors. The younger brothers, the outcasts. We liked things that way. Us being married, and you having a title, does not change anything.”
“You also have a title,” Leonard pointed out. “Your brother, if I recall correctly, did not want to be the Viscount.”
“No, and more fool him for that. It is not difficult, but he insisted on falling in love with a commoner. He ought to thank me for funding his new lifestyle, but he never will. Love, Pridefield, is the death of men. I can see it now, with you.”
Leonard bristled. He was not in love with Cecilia; she was his friend. A beautiful lady, one he admired, but that was precisely why he could not allow himself to love her.
He could not, not when she was the very definition of loveliness, and he was a beast of a man. He thought back on the trouble that he, Lord Fenton, and Lord Pendleton had gotten into, and he wondered what divine being thought he was worthy of a match at all.
“Look at him.” Lord Pendleton grinned. “He is positively scarlet! Yes, Pridefield, we saw through it. Everyone does. You have fallen for your wife, and you will not convince me otherwise.”
“It is rather brave of you,” Lord Fenton chimed in, “for she is quite a formidable lady. I never thought that she would be tamed in equal measure.”
“Do not speak of my wife that way.”
“In what way, Your Grace? Come now, we all know that she was merely a frightening bluestocking. She took pride in that role. You need not be angry with us simply because she now has to pretend otherwise.”
“She is not pretending to be anything other than who she truly is.”
But Leonard knew that was a lie.
Cecilia had changed since their wedding.
She had softened around her edges, made herself smaller so that she could belong.
It was the one thing that he had never wanted her to do, but he had no control over it.
She wanted, for the first time, to bend to what Society wanted, and that had come at the cost of her sharp wit.
Simply put, Leonard missed that.
“You must know that we are not being unkind,” Lord Pendleton added. “It is a compliment that you have made her a more… functioning member of society, and that she has finally cracked that stone heart of yours.”
“There was nothing to crack,” Leonard protested. “Neither one of you knows the first thing about my marriage. I have not spoken to you in years.”
“No, but we all know why that is. You were afraid that anyone you spoke to could have been—”
Lord Fenton nudged Lord Pendleton sharply with his elbow, cutting him off.
Leonard arched an eyebrow. “Could have been what, Pendleton?” he asked in a low but firm voice.
“Well, could have been the one who hurt your brother.”
“Is that why you think I no longer wished to be around you?” he said, laughing incredulously as he rose from his seat. “Do you truly believe that I could ever think you capable of such an act?”
“The ton believed it of you, even though I knew that you could never. It was a difficult time for us all, you know. I admired the late Duke a good deal.”
“Oh, yes, everybody did. Everybody adored my brother, and they were all so devastated when he passed that they had to blame someone. You might like to know that I have never once accused anyone of killing him. You all believe you knew him, but none of you did. The only person who knew who Henry truly was was me, which means I am the only one who understands that it could have been anyone.”
“Steady, Pridefield. There is no need to be so angry.”
But the anger was already there, buried deep inside him. Leonard had spent years pushing it down, hoping that it would eventually disappear, but it had all become too much.
He hated that he, and therefore his wife, would always be subjected to such bitter hatred and speculation, and all because of something Henry had done years ago.
It did not matter that Leonard was innocent; the whole ton assumed the contrary, and there was no escaping that.
“Go home to your wives,” he snapped, walking away. “Let them believe that your marriages are as happy as mine.”
He stormed out of White’s, but he did not go home. Instead, he found an empty park bench and sat on it, looking out across the dark fields.
He did not know what to say to Cecilia when he returned home, so he decided to remain there until he had thought of something.
“It is good to see you again.”
He groaned upon hearing Henry’s voice. He glanced around to make sure that nobody would hear him.
“If you are going to haunt me, at least do it in my study.”
“I come when you need me. I must say, I am rather proud of you for what you did in there.”
“No, you are not. You are disappointed. You always were.”
“I would not say that. It is more a case of my being pleased that the real Leonard is still in there. The anger, the bitterness—I thought it had disappeared.”
“It had. It has.”
“You can keep telling yourself that, if it makes you happier.”
Leonard sighed, trying to ignore the meaning behind his brother’s words.
He had softened immeasurably since he had met Cecilia. He had been so angry back then, furious at the injustice he faced, and it had become better once he knew someone liked him for who he was.
But that was not the full truth. He was not himself around Cecilia, not with his hot temper and biting attitude. He had never been that way with her, but perhaps his old acquaintances had a point. Perhaps he simply was not showing her that side of him.
She would reject him if he did, he was certain.
When he eventually stumbled into his home, it was far later than was acceptable. The moon hung low in the sky, meaning the sun would soon rise, and he would have to operate on very little sleep, but he did not care. What mattered was that he had avoided his wife.
He hated himself for thinking that, but it was the truth. He could not face her. He did not know how, knowing that he was hiding his true self.
He took the stairs quietly, and when he reached his bedchambers, he fell onto his bed and drifted off in seconds.
He woke up to the sun streaming through his windows and Cecilia in the doorway, eyeing him with concern.
“Where were you?” she asked. “I waited for you.”
“You should not have. I was at White’s. Surely you know that men stay late at their gentlemen’s clubs?”
“Of course, I am not a fool. I thought that you would be home before three o’clock, though.”
He blinked. “You waited that long?”
“Of course. There was already one Duke of Pridefield who—” She broke off.
But he knew what she was going to say.
“I worry,” she sighed. “That is all.”
“Well, you do not need to. I am more than capable of handling matters.”
“I did not suggest otherwise,” she said, pulling away from the door. “Leonard, what has gotten into you?”
“Nothing,” he grumbled. “I have not slept well. That is all.”
“Very well, then.”
She disappeared, and for a moment, he considered following her and apologizing. Instead, he remained in his bed.
He wondered why she felt that she had the right to enter his room, but of course, he knew why. They were married, and thus she had every right.
He rolled onto his side and tried to sleep more, but it was not as easy as it had been mere hours ago. He thought of her again, and how he wanted to tell her the truth about where he had been and what he had been doing, but he couldn't.
It was better for her to assume that he had been indulging in brandy and lost track of time than for her to know that he had visions of a dead man and had been speaking to him until the early hours of the morning.
It was for her sake that he did not tell her too much.