Page 38 of His Scandalous Duchess (Icy Dukes #4)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“ I would appreciate it if you stopped accusing me of things you’re not certain of, Howard,” Marianne snapped, adjusting her napkin with theatrical calm. “Truly, I don’t want to hear it tonight.”

Howard let out a sigh through his nose, the kind that suggested he very much did want to continue, but was aware enough of the audience not to push it. “I honestly do not understand you, Marianne.”

Cecilia pressed her fingertips to her brow and reminded herself, for the fifth time since dinner began that she had invited them. Willingly.

What she hadn’t quite anticipated was the scale of it all.

The house felt full in a way it never had before.

Her sister Emma had arrived, but with her little boy and husband in tow, even Valentine’s younger brother, Norman had made an appearance.

There were more people than she could account for, and while that did not necessarily bother her, it seemed as though it bothered Valentine.

She had noticed it the moment they’d stepped into the banquet room to receive guests.

The tightening of his jaw. The slight delay before he offered a greeting.

His smile was there, yes, but polished and automatic.

Now, seated at the head of the table, by her side, he looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else.

Cecilia leaned toward him slightly, keeping her voice low. “You seem disturbed, Valentine. Is something wrong?”

His fork paused briefly over the roast, but he didn’t look at her. “Nothing is wrong,” he said flatly. “Your aunt and your father have been at each other’s throats since they walked through the door.”

“I know.” She exhaled, trying not to let frustration color her voice. “I apologize, they usually try to be civil in public settings. I don’t know why tonight is so different.”

“I’m starting to rethink the idea of the dinner,” he said to her and shook his head. “Perhaps, it wasn’t a good idea. Have you even managed to talk to Lucy?”

Cecilia’s gaze slid down the table to where Lucy sat. She hadn’t looked at Cecilia once since she arrived. Not once. Cecilia had tried to get her attention every chance she got, to even offer a smile at her, but Lucy kept her head down.

“No,” she said quietly. “She’s barely looked at me. “I’m hoping she’ll talk to me before the night ends. I don’t want her to leave without us speaking. Properly. Not like the way it’s been.”

Cecilia turned to him again, studying the line of his jaw, the way his gaze remained fixed on his plate as though the roast held answers to the tension simmering between them.

“Valentine,” she said softly. “Are you all right?”

He gave a slight shrug, barely a motion, and said nothing.

It had been three days. Three days since that night they’d fallen asleep tangled up in each other, a rare kind of closeness she hadn’t expected, hadn’t dared hope for.

But ever since, something had changed. He’d turned inward.

Withdrawn. He was still polite, always, but there was a tightness in him now.

A caution. As though that one evening had breached a boundary he hadn’t meant to cross, and now he was rebuilding the walls, brick by careful brick.

She couldn’t bear it anymore.

“I think we should talk,” she said, her voice low so no one else could hear.

He glanced at her briefly, then returned to slicing his food. “Not now. Not at the table.”

“All right,” she replied, pressing her lips together.

But her heart thundered anyway, pushing her forward.

“Is it what I said about children? Is that what this is about, Valentine? Fine, I apologize, I may have crossed a boundary that I wasn’t supposed to cross.

If I had known that talking to you about my deepest thoughts was going to cause this rift between us, then I never would have. ”

“It is not about that,” he said quietly. “I do not want to talk about this now.”

“Valentine, you have been avoiding me like a plague since that night,” she continued. “I’m not a fool. Maybe I crossed the line, I’m sorry.”

His eyes met hers squarely. “You don’t have to be sorry,” he said. “It’s not that. It’s not you.”

A long beat passed. He didn’t blink.

“It’s me,” he whispered. “It’s my issue. I need to fix it. Stop worrying about it. You’ve been worrying for days now.”

Cecilia parted her lips, about to press him further, when Marianne’s voice suddenly cut through the table like a blade.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, will you stop it, Howard?” Marianne snapped, loud enough to draw a hush across half the room. “I’m not going to sit here while you rewrite the past just to make yourself feel noble.”

Cecilia closed her eyes briefly, so much for civility.

When she opened them, she saw Valentine, shoulders stiff, jaw clenched. He didn’t speak right away, but he was still in that moment, contemplating something. He pushed back his chair slowly, stood, and reached for his glass. The soft clink of silver against crystal was enough to quiet the room.

“I want to thank you all for coming,” he began, gaze sweeping across the table in a manner that managed to feel both gracious and unyielding. “It is not every day one finds family gathered under the same roof like this.”

Valentine held his glass just high enough to command attention.

“This evening, this dinner did not fall out of the sky. It was planned. Meticulously. My wife put in an extraordinary amount of effort to make tonight what it is. She met with the staff, oversaw the menu, and adjusted the seating multiple times. She spent the entire week making certain everything would be just right.”

His voice was even, but it carried an edge that made everyone sit a little straighter.

“She did this for a reason,” he continued. “Not because she enjoys hosting, and certainly not because she needed a diversion. She did it because there has been tension. Unspoken things. Gossip. Friction in the air so thick it could be cut with a knife.”

He paused, and Cecilia could feel the entire table shift under the weight of his words. His gaze lingered, purposefully, on Marianne, a little too long.

“She hoped, perhaps naively, that if we all sat together, if we ate and drank and behaved like civilized people, we might remember what it means to live in peace. To let things go. Whether you like it or not, whatever has happened has happened. It cannot be undone.”

He let out a sigh and dropped his glass with a thud.

“So I ask, no, I insist that we put it behind us. The past has already done what it came to do. The only thing left is how we choose to move forward. There is absolutely no need for rumors to continue circulating. They serve no one. They harm everyone. Frankly, I see no reason why any of us should still be dwelling on matters that are, by all accounts, resolved.”

“From this moment on, I want no more of it. No whispers. No horrid accusations thrown at anyone. If you have something to say, say it with your chest or not at all.”

He looked around again, this time slower, and though his gaze returned to Marianne for the briefest moment, it was unmistakable. He was speaking to her, and from the look on Marianne’s face, the message had been sent with all the cold finality of a judge passing sentence.

“Please don’t make me take matters into my own hands,” Valentine added. “I will trust that this arrangement by my wife is a success. Let us take this opportunity to bury it all and just move forward.”

He sat. The silence that followed was thick, uncomfortable, but complete.

Marianne’s fork hovered just above her plate.

Howard, for once, did not speak. No one did.

Cecilia kept her eyes down, her heart pounding not with fear, but with relief.

He had said what she could not, and he had said it like only Valentine could, with absolute, ruthless clarity.

As the dinner wore on, the clinking of cutlery and muted murmur of polite conversation gradually returned to the table, though nothing felt quite as it had before Valentine spoke.

The air had shifted, cleansed, in a way.

The tension hadn’t vanished, but it had been pinned down, named, and silenced.

For the first time in days, Cecilia allowed herself a quiet breath of relief.

She stole a glance at Valentine across the table.

He wasn’t looking at her, but he was done eating and was now talking to Norman.

Unexpectedly, something bloomed in her chest. Something warm.

Pride, certainly. Gratitude, undoubtedly.

He had drawn a line in the sand, not only for his own pride, but for her.

For their fragile alliance. For whatever shape of family they were now building together.

She swallowed against the unexpected lump in her throat and looked back at her plate.

As dinner drew to a close, the servants glided through the room, clearing plates and offering one last round of wine.

The conversation at the table had loosened, but only slightly.

Valentine stood and murmured something to the butler.

Moments later, guests began to rise and trail slowly toward the former drawing room, now refashioned for the evening into a more informal space, with softened seating, and a decanter of brandy waiting like a peace offering for the adults.

Cecilia lingered at Valentine’s side as they moved. She was conscious of Lucy still keeping her distance, but determined not to press, at least, not yet. They had the rest of the evening. There was still time.

But that fragile civility was soon tested. They had just begun to settle into chairs in the drawing room and sip from small glasses when Marianne’s voice lifted.

“Well,” she began, “I must say, Your Grace, you do know how to deliver a speech. But while I understand you feel these rumors may have gone too far...” She gave a delicate shrug, twirling the stem of her glass between her fingers. “One must admit, they weren’t conjured from thin air.”

The room went still.