Page 89 of The Rogue’s Embrace

Cece's head throbbed when she awoke the next morning. It reminded her of the time, several Christmases ago, when she'd accidentally imbibed too much wine and had been utterly miserable in the morning. The difference this time was that her soul ached with regret as well as her head and her body.

Still, she managed to drag herself out of bed and dress with the help of Gemma, the upstairs maid on whom fell the unfortunate task of helping her, Bianca, and Natalia with bathing and dressing. Gemma was judiciously silent as she buttoned the back of Cece's morning gown, but Cece had no doubt that the sober maid had heard the entire story of the scandal she'd caused at the ball.

Her feet were like lead as she left her room and headed downstairs to breakfast. Not that her stomach felt up to the task of digestion. She dreaded running into Rupert in the hall and flinched at every creak of the floorboards and every opened door. She'd embarrassed him as much as she'd embarrassed herself, perhaps more so. His pride had to have been sorely wounded by her public outburst. Not that he didn't deserve it. But in the cool light of day, her heart withered more over the ass she'd made of herself and him than because of her anger.

Her family was all gathered around the breakfast table, Bianca and Natalia chattering away as her father read The Times and Lady Katya The Daily Telegraph. Because, of course, Lady Katya would never stoop to reading one of the journals designed specifically for women. Rupert was not there, though, and neither was Lord O'Shea.

As soon as she appeared in the doorway, Bianca spotted her. She cut short her conversation with Natalia and jumped to her feet, rushing to put her arm around Cece.

"Come in, dearest,"

she said as though speaking to a child or an elderly aunt. "Sit down and fortify yourself."

"I'll fix a plate for you,"

Natalia added, leaping up and charging toward the sideboard to load a plate with eggs and meat and all the things Cece knew she wouldn't be able to stomach.

"I'll pour you some tea."

Bianca continued to fuss over her as she pushed Cece into her usual place by her father's side at the head of the table. "You poor thing,"

she added with a sigh.

"I am not a poor thing,"

Cece said quietly, head bowed. "I am an embarrassment."

All at once, Bianca, Natalia, and even Lady Katya burst into protest.

"Of course, you're not,"

Lady Katya told her soothingly.

"We all make mistakes,"

Natalia agreed, though Cece was convinced she was too young to have had a chance to do more than step on a gentleman's foot while dancing.

"I've done far worse,"

Bianca added.

"You made an ass of yourself,"

her father said without glancing up from The Times. Everyone at the table went silent, staring disapprovingly at him. He glanced up and around at the ladies. "Well, she did,"

he said, then shrugged. "But you're beautiful and you're intelligent, and when beautiful, intelligent women put on a show in public, it only makes them more alluring."

He finished by sending a look across the table to Lady Katya that was entirely inappropriate for so early in the morning.

Lady Katya blushed and returned the look with one that reminded them all that age was not a barrier to passion.

It was not, however, the sentiment Cece wanted to see expressed in that moment.

She drew in a sullen breath as Bianca set a full cup of sweet, milky tea in front of her and Natalia slid a plate heaping with food into her place. "Where is Rupert?"

she asked, reaching for the tea.

Another, awkward silence followed. Cece's heart sank even before Lady Katya cleared her throat and said, "It was decided, after you went to bed last night, that perhaps Rupert would be better off residing at Campbell House for the moment."

Cece lowered her teacup without taking a sip. She swallowed the urge to weep, but managed to say, "We are fortunate to have two townhouses at our disposal."

"Yes, we are,"

her father said, turning a page in his paper. "But if he drinks my scotch or smokes any of my cigars, I'll hang him from the banister in the hall and have Mrs. Mellon beat him with a carpet-beater."

Cece managed a weak smile for her father's joke. At least, she thought it was a joke. Her father had a bit of a reputation for ruthlessness. It didn't matter either way. Rupert was gone and she'd driven him away. He'd deserved it, but she could have found a more dignified way to bring him to his senses.

"Think of it this way,"

Bianca started once she'd resumed her seat.

"No."

Cece sat straighter, holding up a warning hand. "Please. I cannot bear to talk about this anymore. Please just let me eat my breakfast in silence."

A heavy pause followed before Bianca let out the breath she'd taken for whatever speech she'd wanted to make. Cece reached for her teacup, staring at her over-laden plate and bolstering herself to take just a few bites.

The table was silent for two minutes before Bianca and Natalia resumed their previous conversation—something about how abominable Lady Claudia and her friends had behaved and how Natalia had pulled off a coup by convincing Lord Eakins to dance with her.

Things were beginning to feel almost settled and Cece's appetite had just begun to return when Mr. Stewart appeared in the breakfast room doorway with a letter on a silver salver. Cece only sent him a cursory look, until he cleared his throat and said, "Lady Cecelia, this letter has just come for you."

Instantly, Cece's fledgling appetite vanished and her stomach turned sour. The letter could only be from Rupert. He had likely written to her at length, scolding her for her behavior. She was both mortified and furious at the thought. What right had he to censure her when he was the one who had interrupted the ball, drawn attention to the both of them, and humiliated her with his shocking and entirely inappropriate assumptions?

But when Mr. Stewart brought her the letter, a whiff of rose tickled her nose. Not only that, the envelope he presented was a subtle shade of pink. Cece took it from him with a frown and a brief thank you.

A chill of absolute dread shook her at the sight of the embossed initials in one corner of the envelope, HH.

Natalia—who had leaned over her shoulder to get a look as soon as the envelope was in Cece's hands—exclaimed, "Good Lord. It's from Lady Tavistock."

Heat flooded Cece's face. Even more so when she opened the letter and read its brief contents. "Dear Cecelia. Please call on me at your soonest possible convenience this morning on a matter of great importance. Yours, Henrietta."

Cece tucked the letter back into the envelope with a gulp, pressing the whole thing to her stomach.

"Why does Lady Tavistock want you to call on her?"

Natalia asked. It didn't surprise Cece one bit that she'd read the private correspondence.

"No doubt to give me a thorough dressing down for dragging her into my personal troubles,"

Cece said in a rather sick voice. She stood, pushing back her chair. "I'd better go right away and get it over with."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

Bianca asked with a little too much enthusiasm, rising from her place across the table.

"No."

Cece shook her head. "The condemned always go the gallows alone."

"I'm certain everything will be fine,"

Lady Katya said as Cece rounded her end of the table. "Henrietta Hopewell has always been a sensible woman."

Cece could only reply with a nod as she stepped into the hall. Mr. Stewart had heard the entire conversation and offered to have the carriage prepared before Cece could reach the stairs. She plodded up to her room to change into something suitable for visiting, and by the time she plodded down again, the carriage was waiting.

Only a few minutes later, she arrived at Tavistock House and was escorted to Henrietta's fashionably-decorated morning parlor. Cece had resolved to take her punishment as a lady. She kept her chin up and her shoulders square, but she couldn't bring herself to manage even a slight smile. She was utterly unprepared when Henrietta smiled fondly and rose from her settee as she entered the room.

"Ah, Cecelia. How lovely to see you,"

she said, crossing the room to take Cece's hands and to kiss her cheek like a friend. "How are you holding up?"

she asked with what appeared to be genuine concern and sympathy.

Cece's jaw went slack, and for a moment all she could do was stare at Henrietta, still half expecting to get a tongue lashing. "I'm…."

She hesitated, but the well of emotion that suddenly bubbled up inside of her was too much to resist. "I'm shattered,"

she said with a burst of regret. "I'm so terribly sorry for embarrassing you the way I did last night. It was utterly unforgivable. I let my frustration get the better of me, and now I've caused a scandal that is affecting so many people."

Henrietta continued to surprise her by responding with a light laugh and, "You're new to causing a scandal, aren't you?"

She met her eyes with a mischievous glint.

Cece could only stare back at her in shock. "You don't hate me for it?"

"Heavens, no,"

Henrietta said, drawing Cece deeper into the room and gesturing for her to sit. "In fact, the passion of your speech and the way you stood up for yourself so boldly are exactly the qualities we need to further our cause. And I wouldn't mind having a string of lovers myself."

Cece perched on the edge of the chair she'd been offered as though she would be asked to jump up and leave at any moment. She blinked at Henrietta's words, too many thoughts jostling in her head. She latched on to the one that seemed safest. "I don't understand. Our cause?"

Henrietta's smile turned triumphant. "The May Flowers, of course. I suspected before, but now I am certain. You would be the perfect addition to our ranks."

Every other surprise Cece had had until that point was dwarfed by the shock of what she could barely comprehend Henrietta was asking. "Are you…are you saying you would like me to join the May Flowers?"

she squeaked.

"That is exactly what I'm saying."

Henrietta turned to the elaborate arrangement of lilies, tulips, and cherry blossom beside her. She took a small pair of scissors from behind the vase, clipped one of the pink tulips, and handed it to Cece. "It's pink tulips this week,"

she said. "We change weekly. A bouquet will be sent to you early each Monday morning with the week's flower, although you're welcome to procure your own if those begin to fade."

She put her scissors down and brought out a long pin from behind the vase. As she handed that to Cece as well, she went on. "We wear our flowers above our hearts, bloom up. I don't need to tell you that the flower of the week is to remain a closely-guarded secret until such a time as we are seen in public. To avoid imitators, of course."

Cece was too astounded to pin the tulip to her bodice on her own. Henrietta must have seen her hesitation. She stood and took the tulip from her, doing the pinning herself.

"I need all the help I can get speaking up for the causes that matter within the group,"

she went on. "I regret to say that there have been divergent opinions about several issues within the May Flowers in the last few years, as there have been in the Liberal Party. And not all of our members consider themselves Liberals. I am in particular need of help with Irish Home Rule, and since you explained the issue so cleverly to Mr. Langley last night, I knew I could count on you."

"But I'm no expert,"

Cece said, finding her voice again at last as Henrietta resumed her seat. "I only know what I have heard my father and Lady Katya discussing and what I have read in the newspapers."

"Ah, but already you know more than most women, and I dare say most men in London,"

Henrietta said. "I can see you have an inquisitive nature, and that is what matters most. We have a rally in St. James's Park next week, but that gives us plenty of time to research the relevant issues and to come up with a strategy for your speech."

"My speech?"

Cece's voice rose to an impossible treble. She blew out a breath and shook her head. "I can't imagine you want me giving any sort of speech after the one I unwittingly gave last night. Everyone who means anything witnessed my horrible behavior. Why would they take a word I say seriously?"

"Because you stood out,"

Henrietta explained. "Because you spoke aloud thoughts that most women are condemned to keep locked inside of them. Do you know how many women wish they could express the things you did last night? How many ache to have a chance to tell the men in their lives, the men who neglect and belittle them, just what they think?"

Cece closed her mouth, pressing her lips into a line, before saying, "It was not my intention to speak for those who cannot speak."

"Perhaps not last night, but wouldn't you love to be their voice going forward?"

The question hit its mark and sank deep into Cece's heart, finding a wellspring of determination underneath her shame and regret. Once tapped, that spring flooded her with a world of new emotions.

"Yes,"

she said, bursting into a smile. "Yes, I would like to be that voice."

"Perfect,"

Henrietta said, a wicked grin settling on her lips. "Now, let's talk about those lovers we would like to have."

* * *

Rupert stomped from one end of the study in Campbell House to the other, his footfalls heavy and his brow knit in a dark scowl. His head throbbed after barely sleeping a wink the night before. It didn't matter how vast and comfortable Campbell House was, it wasn't his home. The expansive bed wasn't his own. Most annoyingly of all, Cece wasn't there with him.

"It's damnably unfair,"

he said, crossing back through the gauntlet of sofas that faced each other in the center of the room.

"Life is never fair,"

Reese said with a sullen look, his arms crossed.

"You can say that again,"

Freddy agreed from the other side of the same sofa.

His two friends exchanged a quick look before dragging their eyes away from each other and following the course of Rupert's pacing.

"What isn't fair about it?"

Fergus asked from the other sofa. Unlike Reese and Freddy, he seemed perfectly at ease, stretched out across the sofa with a cup of coffee in one hand. "You're the one who put your foot in it last night."

Rupert stopped just past the sofas and turned to glare at him. "I put my foot in it?"

he demanded, incredulous. "Cecelia was the one who broke off our engagement in front of hundreds of people in the most humiliating way possible."

Fergus's mouth twitched and his green eyes danced with Irish mirth. "Were the two of you actually engaged to begin with? From the way I understand it, the promise between you was only ever implied."

Heat rose up Rupert's neck and he resumed pacing. He only got as far as Malcolm's desk before turning back and marching to the sofas to defend himself. "So what if there wasn't a formally stated engagement. Cece knows that we were meant for each other. We've had an understanding for years. It was outrageous of her to contradict me the way she did."

His statement was met by silence from his friends. Silence and averted looks. Not one of them was willing to look him in the eye, nod, and agree with him. Instead, they peeked nervously at each other, appearing almost embarrassed.

"I am right to be furious, aren't I?"

he asked, his certainty slipping.

Reese cleared his throat. Freddy chewed his nails. Fergus chuckled and shook his head.

"Come on, gents,"

Rupert said. "Tell me I am the wronged party here."

At last, slowly, reluctantly, his friends glanced in his direction.

"You could have handled the situation differently,"

Reese said.

"After all, there really isn't a formal engagement between the two of you, only an informal understanding,"

Freddy agreed.

"You pushed her into it,"

Fergus said, far more direct. "What was the poor woman supposed to do but assert herself? You dragged her up there and more or less announced to a crowd that you were the master and she the submissive female."

A cold slither of guilt curled its way through Rupert's gut. "But I am the master,"

he said. "The man is always the master of the house. It's always been that way and it always will be that way."

Fergus laughed, sitting straighter. "You know who you sound like? My father."

"What does your father have to do with anything?"

Rupert grumbled, moving to the table where the coffee service was set up, although he really needed something stronger.

"My father is merciless,"

Fergus said with surprising passion. "You should see the way he treats his tenants. They're poor farmers, in a vulnerable position. Famine wiped out their father's generation, and famine hit them all again in seventy-eight. But how did he handle it? Did he give them assistance and feed their starving children? Did he loosen the burdens on them and give so much as a thought to their plight? No. He idled away his time on his English estate, demanding more than they were capable of, and setting that bastard, Connolly, as overseer until every one of them was bled dry."

"What does Irish politics have to do with Rupert's female problems?"

Reese asked, clearing his throat.

"It's the same thing,"

Fergus went on, his passion towering. "We have been placed in a position of power, and we abuse it. At home and abroad."

"I'm not abusing a position of power where Cece is concerned,"

Rupert argued. "I love her and she loves me."

"And how do you show it?"

Freddy asked, his voice far quieter and softer than Fergus's.

"I…."

Rupert's mouth hung open. Come to think of it, what had he done to show Cece how much he loved her since returning home?

"Expressing love is the most difficult challenge any of us men face,"

Reese said in a circumspect voice, staring at a spot on the carpet. "The feeling is so nebulous to begin with. How does one let their beloved know that the sun doesn't truly rise until they enter the room? That it sets far too early when they leave and stay away? How does one convey the feeling that their heart is not truly alive within them except when they can be with their beloved? Especially when those feelings have been so inadequately expressed before."

Silence followed Reese's emotional speech.

At last, Freddy said, "That was beautiful."

Reese glanced to him, but turned quickly away, his face red.

Rupert resumed his pacing, telling himself he hadn't seen what he knew full well was right in front of his face where his friends were concerned. He had bigger things to worry about.

"So what if I did make a hash of things?"

he asked in a reticent voice, stroking his moustache—the feature Cece abhorred so much. "What if it was my fault?"

"It was your fault,"

Fergus said, leaning back against the sofa once more. "Make no mistake about it."

"So what do I do about it?"

he asked, turning to his friends and extending his arms as though appealing for answers.

"The same thing we did after being defeated by the Boers,"

Fergus said with a shrug. "You retreat, which you've already done by moving here. You regroup your forces, which you're doing, both by entertaining us and by conversing about the mess you made. And finally, you plan a new strategy and course of attack."

"Are you suggesting I start over where Cece is concerned?"

Rupert asked, both dreading the prospect of erasing the last five years of their relationship and wooing her all over again and knowing it was what he had to do.

"It seems fairly obvious,"

Freddy said. "First you have to apologize for what you put her through."

"What I put her through?"

Rupert's brow flew up.

"Then you have to show her that you truly do love her and that what you want more than anything is to make her happy,"

Fergus went on, ignoring his incredulity.

"Spend time with her,"

Reese suggested. "That's the best way I know of to express how much you care. Do the things she wants to do."

"How do I know what women like to do?"

Rupert asked in a huff.

"I'm beginning to understand why Lady Cecelia was so upset,"

Freddy said with a teasing grin.

Rupert frowned at him, but he knew what Freddy meant. He knew what all of his friends meant. He was being a prick, letting his pride get in the way of his good sense. But he'd spent years fighting for what he believed was right and noble, fancying himself a hero, nearly dying in the process. It was a rude homecoming not to be congratulated for his efforts, even if it was arrogant of him to expect nothing but praise for a job well done.

At last, he let out a breath and flopped onto the sofa beside Fergus.

"Fine,"

he said. "I'll start over. I'll pay more attention to Cece. If she'll see me. I'll try to find out what things she likes, and, heaven help me, I'll do them. But if I end up sitting beside a fire, holding yarn on my hands while she winds it into a ball, not one of you has the right to laugh at me for it."

"We won't need to,"

Fergus said. "We're already laughing at you for being a stubborn stick-in-the-mud."

"You might actually find that you like the same things she does,"

Reese said.

"You won't know until you try,"

Freddy said, summing everything up succinctly.

"I guess not,"

Rupert said. Though it was vastly uncomfortable to set out into the uncharted waters of the feminine world.