Page 32 of His Scandalous Duchess (Icy Dukes #4)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

T hey had not spoken of the kiss. Not even once.

A week had passed since that night in the corridor, and for some reason, neither of them could bring themselves to speak of it.

The kiss lingered only in silence, tucked away like a fragile secret they both pretended not to notice.

Valentine had not mentioned it. Cecilia hadn’t dared.

Instead, they slipped back into the rhythm of civility, polite greetings, harmless banter, shared mealtimes with Abigail, and carefully measured distance.

Cecilia told herself it was for the best. Perhaps they were pretending it never happened. Perhaps it was easier this way.

But now, as she stood outside his study door with her hand poised just inches from the polished wood, she didn’t know how to even go about talking to him in private. The problem was that they hadn’t been alone together since that kiss. Not truly alone.

But what she needed to discuss with him was urgent, and it required privacy. She exhaled slowly, pressing her palm flat against the door as though it might steady her nerves. She drew in a breath, lifted her hand, and knocked.

Seconds passed before she heard his voice. “Come in.”

Cecilia pushed the door open. She stepped into the study, her hand tightening briefly on the door before she closed it behind her.

He was exactly where she expected him to be, seated behind his desk, coat discarded, sleeves rolled, a pen still poised in one hand.

But he wasn’t writing. He was looking at her.

She faltered for just a breath.

There was something unreadable in his gaze.

He seemed focused. Intently so. Her heart skipped as her eyes, quite against her will, flickered to his lips.

It happened before she could stop herself, and as quickly as it happened, she panicked.

Her stomach turned, heat rushed to her cheeks, and she looked away, anywhere but at him, frustrated with herself for recalling the way he had tasted, the way his breath had mingled with hers.

Not now, Cecilia. Not now.

She made her way forward and stood before his desk, her hands clasped primly in front of her. He hadn’t said a word, hadn’t moved, and that only made it worse.

“I am sorry to interrupt your work, Your Grace,” she said. “But I wish to call on my aunt.”

His brow lifted slightly. “Your aunt?”

She nodded.

At last, he stirred. Valentine set his pen down and rose from his seat slowly, watching her the entire time. “Is that” he paused, walking around the desk until he stood just before her, “a good idea?”

“I believe it is,” Cecilia said quietly, folding her hands before her. “A good idea, I mean.”

Valentine’s brows drew together in mild protest, but he said nothing at once.

She drew a breath, steadying herself. “Ever since the fair,” she began carefully, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what Mr. Rogers said about the rumors.”

Valentine’s jaw flexed. A shadow crossed his expression.

Cecilia pressed on before he could interrupt. “I know it was her. My aunt, she has always taken great pride in shaping the narratives that suit her best, and now that she no longer has control over this, I believe she’s trying to come after your image in hopes that it hurts me too.”

She paused, uncertain how much of what she was saying was coming out the way she intended. But there was no turning back now.

“I want to speak to her,” she said. “I want to ask her kindly, directly, to stop. Not for my sake. But for yours and Abigail’s.

All I want is peace. For everyone. So, I figured if I could extend an invitation, if she would come to dinner here, with the rest of the family, it might begin to mend what’s been broken.

Or at least soften whatever bitterness she carries. ”

Valentine exhaled slowly and looked away for a moment as if gathering his thoughts.

Cecilia’s voice softened. “I’m not expecting any miracles. Only a chance. A chance to be civil. To show her that we are willing to put her efforts past us and look to the future.”

“You want to go to her?” he said, incredulous. “To that woman? Alone?”

“Yes, Your Grace. I’ll be back by tomorrow if I leave now.”

“I object to the entire thing,” he said flatly, moving around the desk. “Why would you subject yourself to her venom? Or worse, pretend civility when she’s the one dragging your name through the mud?”

“Because someone must,” Cecilia said calmly. “Someone must act like the adult.”

He snorted. “That is not maturity, Cecilia. That is martyrdom.”

“I’m not trying to be a martyr,” she said. “I simply want peace. If that means I must extend the olive branch, then so be it.”

Valentine stopped in front of her, hands on his hips. “And what exactly do you imagine she’ll do? Accept your invitation, apologize for being an utter wretch, and vow to support you?”

“As I said, I don’t expect miracles,” she snapped, temper beginning to fray. “But I would like to believe that people can be reasoned with. Even if only for appearances.”

He let out a quiet breath, the kind that barely passed through his nose. “There are other ways to handle this, Cecilia, if it bothers you so much. If your aunt won’t hold her tongue, I can–”

“No,” Cecilia said quickly, stepping closer. “This is my family, Your Grace. My burden. I would like to deal with it as such.”

His brows knit together. “You’re forgetting that you’re my family too.”

A quiet stillness settled between them. Cecilia’s fingers curled lightly against her skirts as she held his gaze.

He looked somewhat conflicted. Not angry, not dismissive, just torn between the part of him that wanted to shield her from any harm and the part of him learning to trust that she could hold her own.

Another beat of silence passed before he drew in a slow breath and exhaled through his nose.

“Very well,” he said at last. “You may go, if you wish it. I will make sure you have what you need. If anything—anything comes up, you’re to send for me. Immediately.”

She glanced up again, surprised by the tenderness threading through his tone.

There was a note of hesitation in his eyes, as though he wanted to say more but chose not to.

Still, she saw it. He didn’t like it. Didn’t like that she was walking into something that was probably going to get ugly.

But he was giving her the room to do it anyway.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Cecilia left the study with a fluttering in her chest. She climbed the stairs to prepare for the journey to the Hemroad residence. Once Gladis helped her dress for the day and pack a light box, she began her descent from the stairs.

By the time she stepped outside, a light breeze was tugging at her skirts and teased strands of hair loose from her pins. The carriage was waiting just as Valentine promised. Standing beside it was a tall, quiet-faced footman and a companion maid who dipped a curtsy the moment Cecilia appeared.

“Your Grace,” the maid said gently, offering a steadying hand as Cecilia approached the carriage.

She nodded her thanks and stepped inside. As the door shut behind her, she settled into the cushioned seat, staring out of the window as the carriage jolted into motion.

She did not care to see Aunt Marianne. Not truly. But there was one person she did wish to see.

Lucy . Her cousin. Her friend. Cecilia had not seen Lucy since the day of that engagement. The silence between them had stretched too thin. Perhaps if she saw her, there could be something like forgiveness. Or at least understanding.

The journey passed in silence, broken only by the rumble of wheels and the occasional snap of the driver’s whip. By the time the carriage rolled to a stop before Aunt Marianne’s residence, the sun was tucked well behind a veil of clouds and a slight chill had crept into the air.

Cecilia stepped inside slowly, glancing around the familiar house. It looked unchanged, and yet she felt entirely like a stranger within its walls. The butler announced that her Aunt Marianne was in the small drawing room, and since Cecilia was familiar with the terrain, she made her way there.

The drawing room door creaked open once Cecilia was announced to Aunt Marianne, with the familiar, deliberate slowness of a house that prided itself on appearances. Cecilia stepped in, shoulders square, though her heart beat like the hooves of the horses that had brought her here.

Aunt Marianne was seated by the fireplace. She did not rise, nor did she smile. Her teacup hovered in her hand, poised halfway to her lips as though Cecilia’s presence was a mild surprise.

Cecilia paused by the threshold and dipped a slight, proper curtsy. “Good afternoon, Aunt.”

Marianne set her cup down with a quiet clink. “Is it?” she asked coolly, then lifted one perfectly arched brow. “You’ve brought carriages and crests and fine Ashbourne manners to remind me that you married well, I see.”

Cecilia stepped further in, ignoring the bait. “I had hoped to see Lucy,” she said simply. “The maid said she wasn’t in.”

Marianne’s eyes gleamed faintly, not with warmth.

“Lucy has better sense than to loiter about for those who discarded her like so much tissue.” She reached again for her tea.

“Though I daresay her absence is doing you a kindness. It’s always awkward when the usurper tries to play at sisterly affection. ”

Cecilia blinked, though she did not flinch. Her spine straightened, and she folded her hands gently before her. “I came to speak with you civilly. For the sake of peace.”

“Peace?” Marianne chuckled. “My dear, I had no idea we were at war.”

Cecilia didn’t sit. She remained just a few steps from the hearth, where the flicker of firelight could not soften the sharpness in her eyes.

“I know about the rumors,” she said plainly.

Marianne’s fingers paused against the rim of her teacup. “Rumors?” she repeated with a smile that never touched her eyes. “My dear, you’ll need to be far more specific. London thrives on them.”

“I’m speaking of the ones that paint the Duke of Ashbourne as a man who might have had something to do with his late wife’s death.

” Cecilia’s chin lifted. “The ones that began not long after Lucy’s engagement with him ended, and curiously, only began to circulate about me after I married him instead. ”

Marianne leaned back into her chair, the edge of her mouth lifting just slightly. “You think I had something to do with that?”

“I know you did, Aunty.” Cecilia’s voice didn’t waver.

“You’re too smart not to have known what words would spread, and where they would settle.

You wanted Lucy’s rejection of the duke to seem.

..just. You wanted the story rewritten so people would say that Lucy spared herself, and that I, foolishly, walked into danger. ”

Marianne let out a soft, dismissive laugh, setting her teacup down with a more deliberate clink. “You give me too much credit. Or perhaps, you simply regret the marriage more than you expected.”

“I don’t regret it,” Cecilia said swiftly. “But I do regret the hurt you’ve caused. Not to me…I’ve endured that since childhood. But to him. To Abigail, his daughter. To a man who has done nothing but try to live quietly after a loss. You weaponized grief, Aunt. That’s not clever. That’s cruel.”

A glint of something cold flashed in Marianne’s gaze, but she said nothing. The silence was louder than words.

Cecilia breathed in slowly. “The reason I came here today was not to fight with you, or try to make sense of all the things you have done, and all the worry you have caused. We are hosting a dinner at the Ashbourne manor. For family. You are invited.”

Marianne blinked, obviously not expecting an invite.

“I will not beg,” Cecilia added. “Nor pretend this is easy for either of us. But you will come. For Lucy’s sake, if not your own.

For once, I ask that you bring only civility to the table.

Leave the knives in the kitchen. I am not saying you don’t have the right to be upset.

You do. I will not take that away from you.

But what can we do about all that has happened now? It’s already happened!”

Marianne sat stiffly, her fingers tightening around the arms of her chair, her lips pressed into a line. Her gaze trailed after Cecilia as she moved toward the door, and for a moment, it seemed she would let her go without another word. But pride, or perhaps something bitterer, rose first.

“You think this makes you noble,” she said. “But all it makes you is foolish.”

Cecilia stifled a frustrated sigh. “Are you going to attend, or not, Aunt Marianne?”

“I will come,” Marianne added, grudgingly. “How could I possibly turn down an invitation from the Duchess of all of Ashbourne?”

“That is good to hear. His Grace expects you,” she said, ignoring Marianne's snide remark. “Where did Lucy go, if I may ask?” she questioned softly. “I had hoped to see her today.”

Marianne exhaled through her nose and rose to her feet. “She’s unwell,” she said at last. “So, I sent her over to a relative’s. I figured a change of scenery would be good for her. Her dearest cousin betrayed her in that very room she sleeps.”

Cecilia ignored the pang in her heart. “She’s unwell?”

Marianne’s voice sharpened. “Ever since that night, she’s been joyless. Dull-eyed. She smiles when I press her, but only out of politeness. So if you were hoping to find her triumphant and untouched by all this, you’ll be disappointed. She’s been miserable.”

Cecilia’s breath caught. She had not expected that. Yet, the moment the words left her aunt’s mouth, a fresh ache bloomed in her chest. It was as if every hurt from that dreadful night had returned in full force, pressing against her ribs with renewed purpose.

Lucy, quiet and joyless? She couldn’t even imagine it.

“Will she be back by tomorrow?” Cecilia asked quietly.

“Perhaps,” Marianne answered, strolling out of the room. “Perhaps not.”

Cecilia swallowed hard, her throat thick.

She waited until Marianne was out of the room before she slumped on the chair.

The image of Lucy, once so bright and full of light, now reduced to a shadow, stirred a pang of grief so deep it stunned her.

She had thought the worst of it was behind them.

But hearing it aloud, hearing how Lucy suffered, still made it all feel freshly broken.