Page 12 of His Scandalous Duchess (Icy Dukes #4)

“Oh no, Emma. I don’t need a deep conversation right now,” Cecilia cut in quickly, her smile faltering. “Please, Emma. I’ve cried enough for one day. Anything personal, and I’ll just start all over again.”

“A deep conversation?” Emma questioned. “Cecilia, that’s not what I meant. I’m talking about what happens between a man and a woman–”

“Excuse me.”

They both looked up at the same time to find Valentine standing by Cecilia’s side. “If we’re to avoid traveling by moonlight, we should begin the journey to the estate,” he said to Cecilia. “If we leave now, we can arrive by dinner time.”

Just then, Norman reappeared, carrying Abigail in his arms. The little girl had her face buried in his shoulder and her small arms looped tightly around his neck.

“Found her hiding behind the hedge,” Norman said cheerfully, approaching the group. “I suspect she was trying to avoid the adults.”

Emma chuckled softly while Cecilia smiled, her eyes briefly meeting Abigail’s, who still refused to look at her.

At that moment, Valentine’s gaze shifted to his brother. “You’re coming with us to the manor,” he told him. “You will ride with Abigail since she enjoys your company so much.”

Cecilia turned to him, startled. From what she knew about married life, typically, their doors wouldn’t be open to visitors until after the honeymoon.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, brother,” he said. “I couldn’t possibly interrupt your honeymoon.”

“We have business to discuss,” Valentine explained to him. “Business that cannot wait.”

“But it’s your honeymoon. I think it can wait,” he argued.

Cecilia looked from one brother to the other. There was something in Norman’s face, a faint crease of discomfort, as if he too found the timing inappropriate. Before things turned any more awkward, Cecilia stepped in, turning her attention to Norman.

“I’d be grateful for some good company, Lord Norman,” she said, smiling up at Norman. “A familiar face may make the adjustment easier.”

“A familiar face?” Valentine’s head snapped to her with a glare.

“Do come with us,” she added.

Norman still seemed reluctant, but he managed to force a polite smile and nod. “Well, in that case, I suppose I shall consider myself invited. I will ride with Abigail in the second carriage.”

“I shall also prepare to depart,” Cecilia said, curtsied and hurried away to prepare herself for the ride to the Ashbourne estate.

The farewells came in quick succession as the carriage was prepared and the footmen busied themselves with trunks. Cecilia reached the foot of the carriage and turned to Emma, holding her breath. She hoped that if she didn’t breathe too much, she could keep the tears at bay.

Emma stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. “I’ll write,” she whispered. “Cecilia, if you need anything at all, you know how to find me.”

Dorothy came next and threw her arms around Cecilia’s waist. “You’ll be a marvelous duchess,” she said and sighed loudly. “Also, if you change your mind, we can sneak you back home and pretend you were never married.”

Cecilia let out a shaky laugh. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

Phillip shook his head as he approached her with a crooked grin on his face. “Well. I’m glad you found a husband, Cecilia. I was beginning to worry we’d be stuck with you forever.”

She managed a smile. “How fortunate for all of you, then.”

“Come on now. She cannot keep the duke waiting,” Howard chimed in. He gave Cecilia a faint smile and said nothing else.

Cecilia turned and climbed into the carriage. Across from her, Valentine was already seated, looking out the window. She watched as the carriage door shut with a solid thud, and then the wheels began to turn.

“Bye, Cecilia,” Dorothy called out to her as the carriage rolled down the road. Her voice was shaky, and Cecilia could tell even without looking at her that she was on the verge of tears. “I’ll miss you.”

“She’s not dying,” Phillip said to Dorothy. “Wipe your tears, you’re embarrassing us.”

“Do be quiet!” Dorothy snapped at him.

Cecilia giggled as tears stung her eyes, but she didn’t turn to look at them, else she would cry. She was going to miss their endless bickering, even though it always got on her nerves.

She kept her gaze fixed on the passing trees outside the carriage window, forcing herself to breathe slowly and steadily. There was nothing else to do now but adapt to her new life and look forward to the home she was going to create. Her future was here, and it was time to face it.

Breathe, Cecilia. Just breathe.

“I sleep here tonight?”

Her chamber was beautiful, there was no doubt about it.

It was richly appointed in soft golds and creams, with velvet drapes drawn back to reveal tall windows overlooking the moonlit south gardens.

It was probably double the size of her own room back in the Lockhart residence.

There were roses on the dressing table, a fresh arrangement of soft pinks and whites.

She had been dressed for the night by a maid Valentine introduced to her when they had arrived at the gigantic Ashbourne manor.

“Where’s His Grace?” she turned and asked the maid who had earlier introduced herself as Gladis.

Cecilia blinked, unsure she’d heard correctly. “I beg your pardon?”

“His Grace sleeps in the East Wing. This wing has been prepared for your use, Your Grace.”

“I see,” Cecilia answered slowly, though she didn’t. Not really.

“Do you need anything else for the night, Your Grace?” the maid asked. “Or shall I leave you to rest? You must be exhausted from the long journey.”

Cecilia crossed to the bed but didn’t sit.

It wasn’t as though she had longed for this night, but still, it was supposed to mean something.

She had understood what it signified. From everything she'd ever heard, the wedding night was important.

A formal beginning. The sealing of the pact, as it were.

Even in a marriage of convenience, they were expected to share a room. To do something, at least, that acknowledged they were no longer strangers. It had to be some sort of obligation. Expected of them as Duke and Duchess.

Or am I wrong?

“Your Grace?” the maid called out to her.

“Can you take me to His Grace?” Cecilia asked, straightening her back. “No matter how much I think about this, I don’t think it’s right. I need to see the duke at once.”

The girl blinked, clearly startled by the request, but then gave a small nod. “Of course, Your Grace.”

They walked in silence to the east wing.

She wasn’t even sure what she intended to say or do.

All she knew was that she had not come all this way to start off her marriage on the wrong foot.

It was best that she did everything right—the way it was supposed to be done.

The last thing she wanted was a rumor about her being an incompetent duchess.

But when they got to Valentine’s chambers, and the maid pushed the door open, the room was empty. The fire burned low, casting flickering shadows against the walls, but there was no sign of Valentine.

“He isn’t here,” Cecilia murmured, more to herself than the maid.

Gladis hesitated. “He may be in the study, Your Grace. Shall I–”

“Yes please,” Cecilia said quickly. “Lead the way.”

Cecilia had grown accustomed to the rhythm her heart kept these days, so it hardly startled her when she could all but hear it echo in the silence.

The closer they got to the study, the faster her heartbeat.

Once they reached the study, Cecilia gestured for Gladis to leave.

She stood in front of the day, gathering herself to knock.

She took a breath, knocked once, and then let herself in.

She found him there, seated behind a large mahogany desk with half a glass of brandy in his hand, a stack of papers before him. His head turned sharply at her entrance, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Miss Lockhart,” he said slowly. “Is something wrong? Are you having trouble settling in?”

Cecilia scanned the room. “Has Norman retreated for the night?”

“He has,” Valentine answered. “Abigail, too. You should be resting. It’ll be a long day for you tomorrow, getting to know the lay of the land.”

Cecilia lifted her chin and folded her arms across her chest. “It’s our wedding night, Your Grace.”

He blinked. For a moment, he looked as if the words hadn’t quite landed. “So it is.”

She forced a small, dry laugh. “Forgive me if I’m confused. I was under the impression that, well at the very least, we were to acknowledge it. But to my surprise, I find that I am to spend the night alone.”

Valentine forehead furrowed in response and the corners of his mouth twitched. “Is that what you expected of me tonight? A formal acknowledgment?” He rose to his feet with his hands clasped loosely behind his back.

Cecilia straightened. “No. I mean, yes. I mean…” Her throat tightened. “It’s simply what’s done, is it not?”

A smile crossed his lips as he stopped in front of her and leaned on the edge of the table. “Tell me, Duchess, what exactly do you think happens on the wedding night?”

“We are to consummate the marriage,” she answered.

He squinted his eyes. “And what exactly do you think that means?”

Cecilia opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Her hands dropped to her sides and she tilted her head, thinking. In that moment, she realized that she should have taken Emma’s offer for the talk.

“Well, you should know,” she answered. “You’ve been married before. All I know is that marriage must be consummated. That’s what happens on the wedding night.”

“It is,” he said and rose to his feet, slowly approaching here. “But this isn’t a typical marriage, is it, Duchess?”

“Your Grace, I don’t understand.”

Valentine pressed his hand against his forehead and sighed. “Miss Lockhart, I told you clearly that I wouldn’t touch you. Or do you not recall?”

Cecilia looked away for a moment to think then looked back at him. “I thought when you said you wouldn’t touch me, you meant in public.”

“I didn’t.”

Her brow furrowed. “You meant in private, too?”

“Yes,” he said simply, his gaze unflinching. “Especially in private.”

“But what about producing an heir?” she stuttered. “How could we possibly manage that?”

He looked at her then, genuinely confused, as if she’d said something absurd. “Who said I wanted an heir?”

Cecilia’s brow furrowed. She took a step back, unsure whether it was his words or the way he said them that unsettled her more.

“What?” was all she could manage to say.