Page 24 of Surrender Your Grace (Impromptu Brides #1)

The promised morning discussion never happened. After a restless night, with sleep eluding her until the sky turned a dull gray, Cici didn’t come down until ten. By then, Andrew was already gone.

She wasn’t hungry. A pounding headache throbbed at her temples, making her queasy. Instead of breakfast, she flagged down a passing housemaid. “Could you bring tea to the salon, please?”

“We just delivered the tea cart for Lady Maggie,” Jeannette said with a polite bob. “It’s still hot, and there are lemon biscuits if you care to join her, Your Grace.”

Cici hesitated. Company was the last thing she wanted, but solitude was a luxury she seldom enjoyed in the bustling household. “Thank you. I shall.”

“You’re making a late start,” Maggie noted breezily when she entered. Then, with a dramatic wince, she added, “Gads, you look positively wrung out.”

Cici offered a weak smile. She didn’t feel like herself, and, apparently, she didn’t look it either. “That’s just what I needed to hear this morning. Thanks so much,” she murmured as she poured her tea.

“Sorry, but it’s obvious you didn’t sleep well.”

She joined her sister-in-law on the settee. “Andrew came home last night. We had a disagreement.”

Maggie reached for the nearby table and picked up a crumpled and smeared scrap of paper. “I found this on the music room floor. You confronted him about the widow, I take it?”

Cici set down her teacup and, leaning back, draped her arm over her eyes, blocking the annoyingly cheerful sunshine filling the room. “Must we talk about it? I replayed the ugly scene repeatedly in my head all night.”

“Let’s go for a ride in the park. You need a change of scenery.”

Cici let her arm drop. “I don’t know if I’m up to it.” She was weary—down to her bones.

“Nonsense. The storms swept away the heat, and it smells like September outside. You need fresh air.” Maggie stood, pulling her up with her. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“Are all Ashwicks so dictatorial?” she grumbled as she allowed herself to be dragged to the door.

“Yes, except you,” Maggie replied without missing a beat. “But I’m intent on fixing that. I’ll have you issuing orders and casting withering glances like a duchess in no time.”

Before she knew how it happened, Cici was seated in the back of the curricle, cool air brushing her cheeks as they turned onto Park Lane.

She sighed, tipping her face toward the sun. “It really is a beautiful day. Thank you for getting me out.”

“I needed it too,” Maggie admitted. “Being sequestered is starting to wear thin.” She smoothed a hand over her black skirts. “And James would have hated all this mourning.”

She looked down at her own lavender gown. Her bad mood would have been even more dour in mourning weeds. “I understand the honor behind it, but it seems to drag out the misery of those left behind.”

Beside her, Maggie sat up straighter. “You’re not going to believe it,” she said under her breath, “but Lady Angela Winslow has just entered The Ring. And she’s scanning for a target.”

With a flick of her fan, she indicated the direction.

Cici looked, eyes narrowing as she located the lady in question.

Though it wasn’t the fashionable hour, the carriages were out in force, the break in the weather bringing fresh-air seekers to Hyde Park.

Traffic in The Ring moved at a crawl, guaranteeing that the widow’s carriage would soon draw alongside theirs.

“We should go.” Cici said, leaning forward to call to their driver.

“Certainly not,” Maggie insisted, tugging her back. “You can’t run from the woman. Always remember, you are a duchess, and therefore the victor in this.”She smiled, adding, “I guess that makes Andrew the spoils. He’d be appalled to hear that.”

“It’s not funny, Maggie.You cannot imagine how awkward it is knowing that woman has been intimate with my husband. To have to make small talk with her would be unbearable.”

“That’s all in the past.”

When she didn’t respond, her friend glanced her way. Then her eyes widened. “Andrew is an honorable man. You don’t think he’d…”

“I don’t want to,” Cici confessed. “He was most convincing last night, but—”

“But?” Maggie pressed.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “There are things I can’t forget that give me doubts.”

“What doubts?” she asked, worry clouding her expression.

“He didn’t choose me. I was forced upon him,” Cici said, her eyes fixed on the widow’s approaching carriage. “And I’m not his style.”

Maggie turned toward her. “What does that mean?”

“Elizabeth and Lady Winslow are tall, elegant, and blonde. The sort men write sonnets about. I’m short, red-haired, freckled, and—”

“Enchanting. Vivid. Distinct,” Maggie interjected firmly. “Pale blondes fade like wallpaper in candlelight.”

Cici couldn’t help a small smile. Her friend was nothing if not loyal.

“He’s your brother, but you must know he has a past. A rake’s past. And he’s been seen with her twice since the wedding.”

“That was just Elizabeth talking.”

She shook her head. “It isn’t just her.” Cici’s gaze strayed to the blue-green waters of Round Pond. She blinked rapidly to hold back tears.

“Don’t cry!” Maggie hissed behind her fan. “If you’re seen weeping in the park, it will only fuel the gossip. Baxter,” she called to the driver, “take us home as fast as you can.”

“In this deadlock, quick is impossible, my lady. I will get us free and, on our way, as soon as I can.”

Unfortunately, they were already drawing closer to Lady Winslow’s carriage. The inevitable confrontation loomed.

Maggie’s fingers tightened around Cici’s gloved hand.“Chin up. She is a mere countess.Look down on her like the social climber she is.”

“Well, well,” Lady Winslow drawled, her false smile gleaming. “If it isn’t the duchess and her steadfast companion. Lady Maggie, isn’t it? Shouldn’t you children be in the schoolroom at this hour? Where are your governesses?”

She looked from side to side as if searching for them then laughed gaily at her own joke.

They both bristled, not least of all at her informal address, a deliberate breach in etiquette.

“We have escorts,” her friend replied smoothly. “Of course, if we were as ancient as you, they wouldn’t be necessary.”

The jab landed. Lady Winslow’s eyes narrowed as she glared daggers at Maggie.

“You have always been a brash child who needs her mouth washed out with soap.”The line of carriages moved forward another few feet, bringing them even closer together.

Her gaze locked on Cici. “I suppose being brash is better than being a mouse.Poor Andrew. He always preferred a little fire in the boudoir. No wonder he came crawling back to me so soon after the nuptials.”

Cici gasped. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” The widow’s lips curled. “Was your husband missing two nights ago, Duchess? Perhaps you should have checked my drawing room.”

“You’re making this up because Andrew rejected you,” Maggie snapped, just as the carriages began to move again.

Cici sat frozen, her pulse pounding. Lady Winslow’s laughter lingered like perfume—sickly sweet, impossible to shake.

Maggie gripped her hand, fuming quietly beside her, but neither spoke as the carriage cleared the congested park and traveled the few blocks home.

The moment the footman helped them down, Cici fled up the front steps. The under butler opened the door, just in time for her to barrel through. Unfortunately, the object of her wrath stood halfway down the hall.

“How dare you humiliate me!” she hissed, voice raw with betrayal.

Words were not enough to defuse her anger. She needed a physical release. Short of slapping her husband’s handsome, treacherous face, she hurled her reticule at him. It spun through the air, a blur of fury and beads, but he caught it mid-flight.

“What the devil is this about?”

Cici didn’t answer. She gathered her skirts and fled up the stairs.

“Maggie!” he barked. “Explain.”

“We just had a lovely chat in the park with Lady Winslow.”

“And?” he asked when she didn’t continue.

“She made quite the scene. Cici is mortified.”

She wished Maggie had waited until she’d gotten to her room and locked the door because quick as a cat, Andrew was up the stairs, cutting off her ascent. He wrapped his hand around her upper arm.

“Let go of me,” she demanded, twisting hard against his grip.

“We’re taking this somewhere private. My study.”

“I prefer not to be in the same house, let alone the same room with you.”

She jerked her arm to get free, but he leaned in, voice low. “Wait until the door is closed before you consign me to perdition.”

“Hell is exactly where you belong, Your Grace.”

“I won’t tolerate disrespect,” he snapped. “Or public tantrums.”

“Respect is earned,” she shot back. “As is trust. I think you said that one. You’ve earned neither.”

They had reached the foyer, and Cici stubbornly dug in her heels.

“I’ll carry you if I must,” Andrew said, voice cool.

Denied escape to grieve the dismal state of her sham of a marriage, Cici wanted to show him a real tantrum, but servants lingered, eyes down, ears open

“Fine. I’ll go. But I won’t suffer your touch another moment.”

“Too bad,” he said, marching her down the hall. “Margaret, join us.”

Inside the study, Cici tore away from his grip and took refuge in a distant chair. Maggie stood between them.

The door slammed shut. Andrew faced them, jaw clenched.

“Sister, since you seem the only one thinking clearly, what offense have I committed this time?”

Her friend’s gaze met hers. On the verge of breaking down, and incapable of rational speech, Cici nodded her silent consent.

“Lady Winslow claims you’ve resumed your association.”

“She’s lying.”