Page 11 of His Scandalous Duchess (Icy Dukes #4)

CHAPTER SEVEN

“ H ow many letters did you send to the Hemroad residence in the last four days, Cecilia?”

The question came as Howard stood behind her, adjusting his cravat.

Cecilia didn’t turn around. Her gaze remained fixed on the window before her, watching the guests arrive. “Four,” she replied quietly. “No, five. I tried again last night.”

There was a pause before a deep breath came from her father. “You’ll become a bother at this point.”

Guilt still clung to Cecilia like a second skin.

It felt damp, uncomfortable, and impossible to peel off.

Every day since the announcement and since her engagement had been made public, Cecilia had written to Lucy.

Apologies. Explanations. Pleas. But none had been answered.

Not a word, not even from Marianne, to say Lucy refused them.

“You need to give Lucy time and space, Cecilia. She’ll be fine. You both will be. Right now, you need to concentrate on your wedding. It’s a beautiful day, wouldn’t you agree?” Howard said to her.

The only thing beautiful about the day was her wedding gown.

The dress, custom-made by Madame Dervaux herself, fit her with flawless precision, hugging her frame in a way that made her look like she belonged to this life of opulence.

But she didn’t feel like she belonged, not in this gown, not in this story.

It was clear that a great deal of thought had gone into creating the bodice.

It was embroidered to perfection. Tiny cap sleeves kissed her shoulders, and the lace overlay fell in sweeping patterns down her arms and across her neck like frost on glass.

The skirt was full but not heavy, layers of tulle and silk billowing softly around her feet, trimmed with whisper-thin lace.

Her hair was swept up and pinned with a few white blossoms that matched the ones in her bouquet.

The veil hadn’t been lowered yet, so it sat perched on her head like a crown of clouds, waiting.

She looked every bit the bride.

But inside, she felt like a ghost walking through someone else’s dream.

Cecilia’s head turned sharply then as her frustration reached the tipping point. “Please, Papa,” she said, her voice trembling. “I don’t need comforting. I didn’t object to this, but the least you can do is allow me to feel what I feel.”

A shaky breath left her lips. Her shoulders slumped, and her arms wrapped tightly around herself as though to keep the ache from spilling out.

“She was supposed to be here today,” she whispered. “On my wedding day. We used to talk about it all the time. She was there for Emma’s. Even when Aunt Marianne didn’t come, Lucy showed up. All on her own.”

Howard stepped toward her, but she turned back to the window, blinking fiercely. If she cried now, there would be no hiding it.

“Come. It’s time,” he said to her. “Compose yourself. In a matter of minutes, you will be walking down that aisle. What do you suppose people will say if the bride does so with tears in her eyes?”

Cecilia blinked rapidly, willing her tears away before they could fall. She nodded, stiffly at first, then more resolutely as she slid her hand into Howard’s waiting arm.

The heavy doors of the drawing room swung open, revealing a modest gathering.

Cecilia could count the number of familiar faces in that room on her fingers.

It was a small gathering of some of Howard’s friends, her siblings…

then about three other people in the room that she had not seen before.

Among them was a little girl, seated near the front.

She remained in a posture straight, with her hands folded neatly in her lap.

Unlike the others, she didn’t turn to look at Cecilia when she walked into the room. She just stared ahead.

Valentine stood at the end of the aisle. As composed as ever. He was dressed typically in a dark formal coat that fit him too well. He didn’t wear a smile on his face, or a frown. He wasn’t even looking directly at her.

He was staring past her. Through her, almost as if his body stood at the altar, but his mind was elsewhere, far removed from the moment. Detached. Unbothered.

Then, as though he had heard her unspoken thoughts, his gaze shifted and landed squarely on her.

His eyes didn’t merely settle, they assessed.

They trailed from the crown of her carefully styled hair, down the slope of her shoulders, the fitted bodice of her gown, and lower still, with a slowness that felt far too deliberate for her comfort.

Cecilia couldn’t tell what he was searching for in that moment, but the look on his face unnerved her.

For some inexplicable reason, her heart gave a jolt.

A quickened beat. Then another.

It had to be irritation. That had to be the reason her heart was suddenly pounding the closer she got to the altar. This man, with his inscrutable stare, infuriated her. She was angry at everything. Angry that this was it. She would be spending the rest of her life with this callous man.

The rest of the ceremony passed in a complete blur.

She remembered the words being spoken, vows and blessings, and the applause as the guests rose to their feet, but they did not quite register in her mind.

Somehow, it all felt distant, muffled, as though she were watching her own wedding from a glass pane.

Her responses were mechanical, her smile practiced.

In no time, the officiant had declared them husband and wife. She did not look at Valentine as they turned to face the small crowd; instead, she focused on the sound of her heartbeat thudding in her ears and the ache forming behind her temples.

Cecilia took her seat by Emma’s side, despite the obvious expectation for her to sit by her new husband.

But Valentine hadn’t made any move to suggest he wanted her by his side, and she was in no rush to share a chair with someone whose presence still made her pulse stumble for all the wrong reasons.

“Your Grace,” came a voice behind her.

Cecilia turned, thinking the man was speaking to Emma, but when she saw his eyes on her, she let out a small gasp and nodded. “Oh, that’s me now.”

She rose from her seat, only to find herself looking at a man who bore enough resemblance to Valentine that the relation was unmistakable.

“I hope I’m not too late to offer congratulations,” he said with a half-bow that bordered on theatrical. “Norman Price. Brother of the brooding one.”

Cecilia let out an instinctive giggle. “The brooding one?”

Norman nodded. “You don’t agree?” he questioned, tilting his head sideways. “Tall? Scowling? Believes silence is a virtue and smiles are a scandal?”

Her eyes sparkled. “That does sound familiar. But if he’s the brooding one, then what are you, Lord Norman?”

“I thought it was obvious,” he answered and took a step back. “The handsome one.”

Cecilia laughed, almost too loudly, and nodded. “I won’t argue with you on that,” she said and curtsied. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Norman.”

It was truly a pleasure. More like a breath of fresh air.

Cecilia had been worried that Valentine’s family would be just as cold and dismissive as he was.

But Norman seemed warm, disarming, and so completely at ease.

It was a relief, however small, to know that not every corner of her new life would feel like a drawn curtain or a locked door.

“It’s mutual, Your Grace,” he said with a grin. “Might I say, I had my doubts when I heard Valentine was remarrying. But seeing you now…I’m starting to think the man might actually have some taste.”

Cecilia shook her head, her smile lingering. “You flatter too easily, My Lord.”

By his side, a small figure peeked out, a little girl, clearly uncomfortable in her frilled gown and far more interested in her shoes than the conversation.

“And this,” Norman said, placing a hand on the little girl’s shoulder. “This is Miss Abigail Price. My niece, and Valentine’s precious daughter.”

Cecilia smiled and knelt slightly. “Good day, Abigail. It’s lovely to finally meet you.”

The first thing Cecilia noticed was how strikingly beautiful the child was, not in the way of cherubs or dolls, but with a delicate, almost ethereal kind of grace.

Though Valentine was undeniably a handsome man, Abigail looked nothing like him.

Her features were finer, her eyes darker, more contemplative.

Without a word, Abigail turned on her heel and darted off, disappearing between two trimmed hedges bordering the rose garden. Cecilia blinked in surprise, unsure whether she had said or done something wrong.

Norman, on the other hand, merely chuckled, already stepping back. “That’s her being polite, I assure you,” he said with a grin. “Excuse me while I go retrieve my little shadow before she takes off for the stables or climbs a tree.”

He bowed lightly and followed after the child, leaving Cecilia half-amused, half-bewildered. She returned to her seat beside Emma, smoothing down her skirts with a thoughtful frown.

“He’s quite the charmer,” Emma murmured as she passed Cecilia a glass of cordial. “Even Dorothy and Phillip have taken a liking to him.”

“He is,” she answered with a nod. “Very unlike his brother.”

“Absolutely,” Emma agreed to Cecilia’s surprise. “Dorothy and Phillip have not been able to even go near His Grace, but they had no problem chatting with Lord Norman.”

Cecilia gave a small smile, watching as Norman disappeared in the direction Abigail had fled. But before she could settle too deeply into her thoughts, Emma nudged her gently.

“Right. Cecilia, we must talk.”

Cecilia turned to her with arched eyebrows. “About what?”

Emma hesitated, then lowered her voice. “Do you…do you know what happens on the wedding night? I mean properly. There are things you should expect, and it would be best if someone explained–”