Page 9 of His Scandalous Duchess (Icy Dukes #4)
They walked in silence at first. Her hands were clenched tightly at her sides, and though she had a dozen things to say, none of them formed properly in her mind. Not until they reached the front hall did she finally speak up.
“I want to know, Your Grace,” she said abruptly, without looking at him. “What is our marriage going to be like? If I may ask?”
Valentine didn’t stop walking, but there was a noticeable pause in his stride, just enough to suggest he hadn’t expected the question. He glanced at her, and a soft smile formed on his face.
“The same as it would have been with Lucy,” he replied calmly. “That arrangement was already in place.”
Cecilia’s steps slowed. “And what sort of arrangement was that?”
Valentine didn’t hesitate. “A marriage of convenience. One in which both parties understand the boundaries clearly.”
“Convenient for whom, exactly?”
“For both of us,” he said, still walking ahead, as if the conversation was nothing more than a passing thought.
Cecilia hurried to catch up. “What does that mean in your world of logic and titles?”
“It means boundaries. An agreement. No romantic nonsense. No demands.”
Cecilia squinted her eyes, trying to understand. “Wonderful. Just so I understand, I am to be your duchess, smile on command, bear the weight of society’s expectations, and receive nothing in return but your charming absence?”
“You’ll receive exactly what you need,” he said without blinking. “A title. Respectability. Freedom.”
“Freedom?” she repeated, incredulous. “Your Grace, you speak as though we do not live in the same society. There are expectations to be met.”
“You misunderstand,” he said, pausing now to look at her properly. “Miss Lockhart, I will never make any personal claims on you.”
Cecilia narrowed her eyes. “So, what? You mean we’ll never dance together at balls? Or sit beside each other at functions? You plan to live in some distant wing of the estate and only appear when company requires it?”
Valentine gave her a long look, as if he were waiting for her to say something else. “Miss Lockhart–”
“Pardon me asking, but if that is the kind of marriage you seek, then why get married at all?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re not the first person to pose that question.”
“I suspect I won’t be the last,” she snapped. “Because it doesn’t make any sense. You don’t want a companion. You don’t want love. You don’t even want to share space. So why go through all the trouble of acquiring a wife like one might acquire a new horse or a housekeeper?”
“I didn’t realize you saw yourself as either.”
Cecilia’s cheeks flushed. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“Then perhaps you should choose your analogies more carefully.”
Cecilia’s fists clenched at her sides. “You’re avoiding the question. Why do you even need a wife?”
He exhaled slowly, like a man calculating patience. “Because, Miss Lockhart, there are expectations of me. Social, legal, familial. You may not appreciate what it means to carry the title, but I assure you–”
“Oh, I assure you I do,” she interrupted. “My sister is a duchess, and I’ve seen firsthand what that title demands. The obligations. The scrutiny. The way people smile and gossip in the same breath. So don’t assume I’m some wide-eyed fool.”
Valentine tilted his head slightly, as if reconsidering her. “Then you should also know it isn’t personal. It’s survival. I need a wife. You were convenient. That’s all.”
Cecilia folded her arms. “How wonderfully romantic.”
“I told you I’m not offering romance.”
“Clearly,” she muttered. “What a pity. I had hoped to be swept off my feet, Your Grace.”
“I suspect you’re quite capable of keeping them firmly on the ground.”
“You know what? Maybe I did Lucy a favor,” she said and sighed as they reached his carriage. “If this is what marriage to you entails, then perhaps, this misfortune favored her after all.”
Valentine turned toward her with one foot already on the carriage step. “Do you always speak with such drama, Miss Lockhart, or is it just reserved for me?”
“I was hoping my dramatics would sway you,” she said with a feigned smile. “Surely, you would much rather prefer this arrangement to happen with someone–”
“No, you’ll do,” he said and got into the carriage fully. “See you at the altar, Miss Lockhart.”
She narrowed her eyes, frustration prickling beneath her skin. “Will I only be meeting your family then, Your Grace?”
He paused, turning slightly to look at her from the doorway. “Yes indeed,” he said. “My brother should be present. Oh, and if she wants to come, then Abigail will be there, too.”
The door shut behind him before she could ask anything else.
The name rang a bell.
Abigail .
Cecilia’s brows furrowed as he recalled that he had taken out time to write to Abigail during his stay at the Hemroad residence. Was that his mother? It would make sense. Her future mother-in-law, perhaps? Nothing to worry about.
Still, it struck her as odd that he would refer to her by name alone, without the usual formality.
A relative, then? His sister? That seemed more likely. Yes, that must be it.
He had mentioned his brother, so surely, if Abigail were his sister, he would have said so as easily.
So, who was Abigail?