Page 17 of Unraveled by the Duke (Scandalous Duchesses #1)

A s she sat in the back of the cab, watching London pass by, she felt apprehension at what she was planning to do.

The Dowager Duchess must be used to being the sole mistress of Cheverton Estate—second only to Alexander, of course. It was unlikely that she would take kindly to a new duchess stepping in, particularly if she had reason to doubt the character and motives of that duchess.

Had Alexander confided in his stepmother about the reasons for their marriage? If so, she would question even the validity of Celia’s new title.

Stepping out of the cab, Celia instructed the driver to seek payment from the Duke of Cheverton, giving her identity as the Duchess. She half expected to be laughed at and asked for full payment. Instead, he bowed his head and said, “Your Grace.”

Peggy had done the same, but so caught up in the mystery of Alexander and obtaining answers to her questions had Celia been that she had barely registered the honorific. Now, it hit her with full force.

She was a duchess by virtue of her marriage to a duke. To the world, including the driver, she was a duchess, not the daughter of an earl. Not a young woman who had disguised herself as a man and blended with the common folk of London to experience their lives.

It gave her a measure of confidence, allowing her to see herself through his eyes.

She looked at Cheverton. It was certainly grander than Banfield. She could see the original sixteenth-century architecture at the core of the house and the wings that had been added later. It was a mixture of styles, sprawling across a large area, topped with a forest of chimneys.

She approached the front door, trying not to feel so much like a visitor, and knocked with the heavy brass knocker. It was answered promptly by a tall footman who looked down his nose at her.

“I am Lady Celia Warren, the Duchess of Cheverton. Formerly Lady Celia Frid,” Celia said, trying to keep her voice firm, and lifting her chin haughtily.

The footman blinked, looking startled.

“Surely you were expecting the new mistress of Cheverton? The Duke did tell you I would be here today, no?” Celia demanded.

“He did not, Your Grace. I…” the footman stammered.

Celia stepped into the doorway, and he stepped back.

“Kindly show me to the sitting room and announce my arrival to the Dowager Duchess. Now, please,” she said imperiously.

She believed that if she did not play the Duchess from the first moment and play it convincingly , the staff at Cheverton would doubt her, and she would be at a disadvantage with the Dowager Duchess.

I will show Alexander that I will not be discarded when he has no further use for me.

The footman turned and led her through a grand hallway with a tall ceiling and glittering crystal chandeliers. The floor was made of black and white marble squares, and the walls were white plaster. It was like stepping into a Renaissance palace.

She followed him to a sitting room, where he indicated that she should make herself comfortable.

Celia tried to do just that, though her nerves made it impossible for her to relax. It wasn’t long, however, before the door opened and the Dowager Duchess swept into the room.

Celia’s instinct was to rise, but she remembered her new title and her position in this house and stayed seated.

The Dowager Duchess stood before her, surely noting that Celia had not risen. She gave a tight smile and then bobbed a graceful curtsy.

“Duchess,” she greeted.

Celia smiled back. “Lady Violet.”

“I was not expecting you,” the Dowager Duchess said, sitting gracefully.

She picked up a small silver bell and rang it before replacing it. Moments later, a maid entered the room, and the Dowager Duchess ordered tea for herself before turning to Celia.

“Would you care for tea, Duchess?” she inquired frostily.

“Yes, thank you, Lady Violet,” Celia replied in a similar tone.

Once the maid left the room, an awkward silence fell over them.

Celia could sense the older woman’s dislike and wondered how to counter it when the door burst open and Hyacinth entered the room.

“At last, Celia! You are finally here! I have been looking forward to showing you around the house and the grounds. I do not know how you stood being cooped up at Finsbury House all this time!”

“Hyacinth, kindly address the new Duchess appropriately,” the Dowager Duchess chided.

“That is not necessary. If I may call you Hyacinth, I should very much like you to call me Celia,” Celia offered with a smile.

Hyacinth blushed and dropped into an elegant curtsy. She shot her mother a smile. “See, Mama? I pay attention to my lessons. I merely thought that Celia and I should be sisters, and sisters do not address each other by their titles.”

“But she is not your sister,” the Dowager Duchess pointed out.

“I would certainly like to be. I have been all alone at Finsbury, and while I understand Alexander’s caution about introducing me to you both, I simply could not stand the isolation any longer,” Celia said. “I enjoy being around people, you see.”

“So I have heard,” the Dowager Duchess uttered, motioning for Hyacinth to take a seat next to her, “including those without rank.”

“I do not believe that there are ‘lesser’ people. Merely people. My rank and title do not make me better than those without rank or title,” Celia opined.

“Oh, super!” Hyacinth cried. “What a refreshing perspective!”

“Revolutionary is the word,” the Dowager Duchess corrected. “Our society is made up of strata for a reason.”

Celia did not like the direction of the conversation. She had not intended to enter into a debate, particularly one that would put her at odds with the Dowager Duchess, whom she very much wanted to befriend.

“Yes, but in our modern age, we see merchants born of common stock elevated to sit alongside lords and ladies, do we not?” Celia reminded her.

“I found that I knew nothing about ordinary everyday life in London because I was sheltered on my father’s estate.

I wanted to see what life was like for others. ”

“I think that sounds marvelous,” Hyacinth said. “Perhaps you could teach me how to pass for a commoner.”

She said it with a smile that was distinctly mischievous and earned a sniff of disapproval from her mother.

Celia smiled but sighed inwardly. Hyacinth could not have said a worse thing to further prejudice her mother against her.

As she racked her brain for a response to reassure the Dowager Duchess that she was not about to help Hyacinth dress up as a man and venture out into the city, a voice rose outside.

“Hyacinth! Violet! Where are you?”

It was Alexander. His voice came from outside the sitting room but grew louder, accompanied by his brisk footsteps.

Celia’s heart fluttered, and her mouth suddenly ran dry.

Hyacinth grinned and jumped to her feet, running to the door. Alexander flung it open and caught her in his embrace, smiling and then spinning her around. She shrieked in delight, laughing.

Celia stood up, as did the Dowager Duchess. She watched Alexander curiously, never having seen him behave so informally. It was as though the walls she saw him erect between himself and the rest of the world, including her, were gone.

“Where have you been for the past three days?” Hyacinth demanded. “We thought you were spending time with your new wife, but she tells us that she has hardly seen you either!”

Alexander looked beyond her now, directly at Celia. His smile faded, and his expression darkened. Celia stared back boldly.

“I thought we had agreed that you would remain at Finsbury,” he said.

“ You decided. I was not consulted,” Celia pointed out.

“A husband has the right to decide for his wife. A duke doubly so,” the Dowager Duchess interjected.

“I am the Duchess of Cheverton, am I not?” Celia asked.

“Of course you are. You married my brother.” Hyacinth laughed, apparently oblivious to the rising tension.

“So, I wanted to see the place and meet my new family,” Celia added.

She felt the tremor that she tried to keep from her voice. Butterflies gamboled in her stomach, partly nerves at Alexander’s reaction, partly her reaction to his proximity. Even when he was treating her coldly, she could not help herself.

“It is such a wonderful day outside. Could we give Celia a tour of the grounds?” Hyacinth asked, her face bright with excitement.

The smile that Alexander turned on her was equally as bright. Celia saw the fondness of a brother for his sister. It warmed her heart to see it.

How can he be so bad when he clearly loves his sister deeply? What I would give for such fondness instead of his strict, smothering overprotectiveness.

“Of course,” Alexander replied, his smile still in place.

He offered his arm to his sister and turned to face the door.

Hyacinth stepped away from him, though, shaking her head.

“You must escort your new wife, Alexander, not me,” she chided. “Are you going to accompany us, Mama?”

The Dowager Duchess shook her head and gave a tight smile. “I think I will remain inside for now. Perhaps I will finally finish my painting of you, Hyacinth.”

“You are a painter, Lady Violet?” Celia asked, surprised.

“It is a hobby I have cultivated for a number of years,” the Dowager Duchess replied coolly.

“Mama is very modest. I will show you her work along the east corridor on the second floor. It is decorated with her landscapes.”

“That is fascinating, Lady Violet. I have never met a fellow artist,” Celia admitted.

“You praise me beyond my accomplishments,” the Dowager Duchess insisted. “I would not say that I am an artist, merely an enthusiastic amateur.”

“As am I. It is my passion. That is why I used to sneak out of Banfield House once a month—to draw what I witnessed,” Celia said, unable to keep the enthusiasm from her voice.

“Really? Landscape or portrait?” the Dowager Duchess asked, a hint of interest flickering in her eyes.

“Oh, always people!” Celia said. “I find faces and behaviors fascinating, far more than simply places.”