Page 41 of His Scandalous Duchess (Icy Dukes #4)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“ H e told me to never come back.” Cecilia’s hand flew to her chest as though trying to keep her heart from splintering again. “How could he say that to me? After everything? What about Abigail? I’m supposed to just leave her? Forget the bond we have created?”

Cecilia did as Valentine asked. She left Ashbourne.

They had arrived at the Montclaire estate two days ago.

Solomon, Emma’s husband, had immediately gone on a business trip somewhere in Northern England, so Cecilia was left with Emma, her sister, Dorothy, and Phillip, who had insisted that they follow Cecilia to Emma’s home to keep her company.

Although she had left the Ashbourne residence with her head held high, the moment she had arrived at Montclaire, she collapsed.

Onto the bed, onto the floor, it hardly mattered.

The ache had no preference. It stretched inside her like a storm, wild and loud, until she curled into herself and cried harder than she had since her mother’s death.

She gave herself the night.

Just one night to grieve like that. To cry until her eyes ached and her pillow was dampened and her bones felt scraped hollow.

But the morning brought no clarity. Only silence, and a deeper sort of emptiness.

She didn’t pretend to be fine. Not this time.

There was no forced smile over breakfast, no breezy replies to her sister’s careful attempts at distraction.

She sat in the drawing room with her embroidery untouched on her lap, her tea gone cold beside her.

Even when Phillip tried to lure her into a game of cards, she declined with a half-smile that faded before it reached her eyes.

Nothing worked. Nothing cheered her up.

Emma took Cecilia’s hands into hers. “I’m sure you’ve been more of a mother to her than anyone has ever been, and I’m sure Abigail loves you dearly and somehow, you can still be a part of her life.”

“I am her mother. In every way but blood.” Cecilia’s voice shook. “But it’s as though none of that matters. He just...he decided. As he always does, and that’s that.”

She stood then, pacing in front of the hearth. “It wasn’t just Lucy, you know. It was just her revelation that caused this entire collapse, and yes, she did her part. But that wasn’t the start. Not really.”

Emma watched her sister carefully. “Then what was?”

Cecilia stopped. Her arms were folded tightly, like she needed them to hold herself together.

“There was a night when we were lying in bed together that I told him that I wanted children. I had taken time to reflect, and I was ready to welcome that part of my journey as a wife and as a woman. Maybe it was love, or just the vulnerability of that moment, but I blurted it to him.”

Emma stared at her. “I’m sorry,” she said slowly, setting down her tea. “Did you say love?”

Cecilia blinked. “What?”

“You just said maybe it was love.” Emma leaned forward, incredulous. “Cecilia. You said that.”

“I did not say that.”

Emma tilted her head. “Cecilia Price, are you in love with him?”

Cecilia looked away, but her silence was a louder admission than any words.

Emma let out a soft laugh of disbelief. “Good heavens.”

“I didn’t plan it,” Cecilia said quietly, walking back to where she had been seated.

“Also, I’m not proud of it, given the fact that he was so quick to abandon me.

I didn’t even know it was happening. There was no grand moment, no defining evidence, nothing.

Just…something shifting. Little by little.

I started to see him in a different light.

He can be tender, especially when he is with Abigail, and I guess seeing him in those fragile moments, softened my resolve about him. ”

Her voice trembled, but she pressed on. “I don’t even know when it happened. But it did. I fell in love with him. Now I can’t stop it. I’ve tried. I’m angry with him. I’m so hurt I can barely speak without trembling, but none of that changes the truth.”

Emma, for once, was quiet. She simply reached over and placed her hand over Cecilia’s.

“I’m in love with my husband...” Cecilia whispered. “...And he asked me to leave.”

Emma’s face softened, her earlier disbelief melting into quiet empathy. “What do you want to do? Do you want to go back there and fight for this? I mean, you are still married to him.”

Cecilia sighed and shook her head. “He was determined, Emma. Nothing I could possibly say would change or shake his resolve. I’m not even ready to talk to him again. I just—if we were to talk to each other, then it would have to be about Abigail. About seeing her again.”

A soft knock interrupted the quiet, followed by Phillip’s unmistakable voice. “Is this a good time? Can I come in and dramatically offer my sympathy like the wonderful brother I am?”

Cecilia rolled her eyes and sniffed. “It’s not that sort of tragedy, Phillip.”

“Every tragedy deserves flair.” He pushed the door open anyway, holding a small plate of biscuits like it was a peace offering. Dorothy trailed behind him with a folded blanket over one arm and her brows knit in gentle concern.

“You’ve been crying again,” Dorothy said, stepping in and setting the blanket down beside Cecilia. “I know I’m stating the obvious, but I do not like seeing you cry, Cecilia, even though you are a pretty crier. It just breaks my heart.”

“She’s allowed to cry,” Phillip said, placing the plate on the nearest table. “Pardon me, but the duke is clearly an idiot. How is any of this Cecilia’s fault?”

“Don’t call him an idiot, Phillip,” Cecilia cautioned him.

Phillip raised his eyebrows in disbelief, as though Cecilia had betrayed him. “Are you defending him now?”

Dorothy shot him a look. “Be serious, he is still her husband.”

“I am, but I will refrain from the insults,” He turned to Cecilia, suddenly gentler. “Are you all right?”

“No,” Cecilia said, a bit hoarsely. “But I’m trying.”

Phillip sat beside her on the edge of the divan, nudging her knee with his own. “Everything will turn out fine. You always have a home at the Lockhart estate.”

Dorothy tucked herself into the chair opposite, her legs crossed neatly, though her expression was far less composed. “If we’re being honest, and I don’t say that often, our family is, well, chaos.”

“Absolutely feral,” Phillip added with a dramatic sigh. “It’s all Aunt Marianne’s fault. She makes us chaotic. We were fine when she was ignoring us all these years. Now that we are better off, thanks to Emma’s husband, she has thrown our world into chaos.”

Cecilia gave a soft laugh through her tear-thick voice. “You’re not wrong.”

Dorothy smiled. “So, how can we blame the poor duke for being overwhelmed? We arrive like a storm, cause more drama than the theater, and expect him to just nod and go along with it.”

Phillip tilted his head, thoughtful. “To be fair, we are excellent theater. But still. The man clearly bit off more than he could chew.”

“Which is why he choked,” Cecilia said bitterly, but the edges of her mouth curled anyway.

Phillip brightened. “I still think he made the most ridiculous mistake of his life. You are quite nearly tolerable now, and he let you go? Barbaric. Where is he going to find a woman half as pretty as you in all of London?”

Dorothy rolled her eyes. “Oh do hush, Phillip. You’re not auditioning for a poetry society.”

“I should,” he retorted with a wink at Cecilia. “I’m rather inspired by our sister’s tragic tale. Betrayed duchess flees to the countryside.”

Cecilia gave a watery laugh, surprised by how good it felt to laugh at all. Her eyes still stung and her chest still ached, but her brother’s ridiculousness and Dorothy’s predictable exasperation filled the room with something that almost resembled peace.

They were growing up, these two. Not just older, but softer.

Less selfish. Dorothy had sat with her the previous night, brushing her hair in silence even though they both knew Cecilia was moments away from sobbing again.

Phillip, though he still could not resist a teasing word, had been gentler than she’d ever seen him.

He hadn’t tried to fix anything. He had simply stayed.

She looked at them both, the absurd pair who still bickered about everything from breakfast choices to who had inherited the better cheekbones from their mother. Yet somehow, they had become her anchor. Her stormy little siblings had steadied in a way she hadn’t noticed until now.

Cecilia wiped under her eyes. “Thank you. Both of you. You’re ridiculous, but you’re mine.”

Dorothy sniffed. “Obviously.”

Phillip leaned back in his chair with the sort of smug smile only a younger brother could manage. “If you ever get too lonely, or if His Grace is adamant on ending the marriage, I could always introduce you to a viscount or two. I hear they adore moody duchesses.”

Cecilia tossed a cushion at him.

But even as laughter bubbled in her throat again, she felt the grief settling under it like a tide. The mere thought that Valentine had sent her away, cast her aside with cold words that echoed through every moment, still lingered in her heart.

Thankfully, she was not entirely alone. Her heart might be breaking, but her family was here. Her siblings. Their presence. Support. Love. For that moment, at least, it would be enough to help her get through.

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but I thought you said the only reason you married her was for Abigail. This is not helpful to Abigail.”

Valentine had not properly slept in three days.

The papers on his desk were untouched, he barely ate, and he could swear that Abigail was purposely throwing tantrums to antagonize him.

She had taken to hurling her books. The day before, it had been a cup of blackberry cordial, flung with surprising precision at the footman who dared suggest she join her governess.

He could not even bring himself to scold her.