Page 36 of Unraveled by the Duke (Scandalous Duchesses #1)

“ C elia, welcome back to Cheverton. For much longer this time, I hope,” Hyacinth greeted.

Celia smiled gratefully at the warm welcome. “We shall see.”

Hyacinth was projecting an aura of stateliness, as though trying on the mantle usually adopted by her mother. The facade cracked in a moment, though, and she ran forward to hug Celia.

“I am so glad that you are here. My brother is such a stubborn man. I do not know why he insists on keeping you at Finsbury. Mama is wrapped up in her painting and would not notice the house burning down around her when she is in her studio. So, it has fallen to me to be the voice of reason and bring the Warren family together.”

She turned, lacing her arm through Celia’s, and led her into the house.

“I am grateful that you did, Hyacinth. I think that your brother has certain ideas that are difficult to dissuade him from.”

“He is as stubborn as an ox ploughing the same furrow that it has for years. He will not deviate or stop even if the ploughman tells him to.”

Celia could not help but admire Cheverton Hall. It was bright and new, compared to the brooding gloom of Finsbury House. At the same time, she felt a curious protectiveness for the neglected house in which she had been placed.

Tucked away, out of sight and out of mind. That is what I cannot say to the girl who obviously adores her brother. He is trying to forget me. But I will not be forgotten. I am owed recognition and ? —

“I do not know how you can be wife to my brother,” Hyacinth was saying as she led her through a grand hall with two magnificent chandeliers overhead. “He is so stony and grumpy. There, I have said it. He is cross more often than not.”

“We were thrown together somewhat, but I have come to…” Celia began, before the words died in her throat.

“Have come to…?” Hyacinth probed with twinkling eyes and a bright smile.

“Appreciate him.”

Hyacinth laughed aloud, and Celia could not help the beaming grin that spread across her face. The young woman’s demeanor was infectious.

Oh, how I wish she could be my sister. She, Aurelia, and I would have so much fun. Hyacinth would fit into my family like a hand into a glove. The twins would simply adore her.

That brought sadness, as any thought of the marriage continuing did. Alexander was her opponent in making their marriage a reality. He was actively pushing against her. When he wasn’t pulling her close.

How infuriating he is!

“ Appreciated is probably the finest compliment I have heard paid to him. Never was a man more misunderstood than my brother. Now, this is what I call the Ash Sitting room because of the lovely view of the old ash tree you get through the window.”

The sitting room was comfortable and strewn with neat reminders of its occupants.

An easel near the window, books in a pile on the table as though placed there and picked up frequently.

Above the fireplace hung the portrait of a man who looked strikingly like Alexander, though with a face that was rounder and warmer.

A woman stood beside him, and a boy in front of both, his arms wrapped around a great hound larger than himself.

Celia stepped closer, seeing Alexander’s eyes in the woman’s, and then gasped as she looked closer at the young boy.

“That is him,” Hyacinth said, “and the hound was, by all accounts, his only childhood friend. Henry.”

Celia stared, entranced. Seeing the savage, steel-faced man she had come to know as an innocent boy was remarkable. Her heart filled with love for the child staring back at her.

If only you knew what the future held for you, young Alexander. Would you change it?

She knew at that moment that she would not. Something in her shifted, broke free of the tight constraints within which it had been held.

Until now, she had acknowledged only her desire for Alexander, her physical need for him. She had told herself that she wished to remain by his side because it would make their strategy to beat the scandal easier to enact. That his handsomeness was a bonus.

Now, she saw her feelings for what they were.

Stripped away was the facade that she had maintained.

Stripped away was her belief that she would be able to walk away from Alexander if she so chose.

She now knew that leaving him or being left by him was simply impossible.

The former she could not do. The latter she could not stop, but would leave her bereft and brokenhearted.

Do I love this man? Is that why I fight so hard against his resistance? Why do I feel so happy when Hyacinth and Violet accept me?

“Celia, what is the matter? You are crying!”

Hyacinth’s concerned voice broke through her thoughts. She was holding Celia’s arm tightly.

Celia sniffed and dabbed at her eyes, which had become wet without her realizing. “I think I know what the matter is. I think I’m beginning to understand,” she murmured, not knowing how to explain the complexity of what seemed so simple to the young woman.

“Do not tell me that I am too young to understand, please,” Hyacinth said seriously. “I have heard that every day from Alexander, from the day I could understand English. I think he will always see me as an infant in a swaddling blanket.”

Celia patted her hand. “I will not say it, then. I have a younger sister, and I think she would say the same. I hope I have not treated her so.”

“Let us look away from Alexander’s cherubic face, then continue our tour. Perhaps you mourn for the angel he was and the brute he has become.”

Hyacinth guided her out of the room and further into the house.

“The library next, I think. Perhaps we will find the ogre in his lair. Alexander is fond of his library, though he had to reduce its size.”

“Why is that?” Celia asked.

“Money, of course. I do not understand it, and he has not explained. But I remember my father weeping over volumes before crating them up and sending them off to new homes. I don’t think Alexander finds it any easier.”

They entered the library, a vaulted ceiling of ancient beams overhead. The air smelled of varnish, leather, and old paper. Celia spotted the empty shelves immediately.

“Your father? That would be the former Duke? He was forced to sell parts of his library?”

“And pictures and vases and… oh, all sorts. But Mother said he had a better use for the money.”

“What was that?”

Hyacinth shrugged. “I am just the infant in a swaddling blanket. But one thing I do know. Many people think that Alexander is one of those men who spend days at a time in their club, carousing and gambling. I know that he has no club and does not gamble.”

“Nor does he drink. I can attest to that. We ended up falling into a pond at Finsbury because we had a wine glass or two too many,” Celia revealed.

Hyacinth’s eyes went wide.

Celia recounted the tale to the younger woman’s delight.

So, he is certainly not the rake the ton thinks he is. And it was his father who began selling prized possessions just to make ends meet. A problem that Alexander clearly inherited, hence his need for a dowry.

Why allow people to believe something so reprehensible about you?

Hyacinth led her through all the main rooms of the ground floor, then upstairs. Celia thoroughly enjoyed the young woman’s company.

“This is Xander’s study. We will be circumspect; he hates to be interrupted when conducting his business,” Hyacinth said seriously.

She tapped on the door, paused, and then tapped again. She opened it a crack, and Celia suddenly heard the soft snoring from within.

Hyacinth put her finger to her lips and opened the door wider. Celia looked inside and saw Alexander fast asleep behind an enormous desk of polished, dark wood. A ball of paper sat on the desk before him, atop an opened letter, which itself lay on a bed of ledgers and accounts.

The very image of a hardworking man driven to the limit of his stamina.

“We should probably leave,” Hyacinth whispered.

“In a moment. Do you think I could have a moment?” Celia asked.

“Of course. I will be down the hallway, in my rooms. Come and find me when you are done.”

Hyacinth left, and Celia stepped into the study, closing the door softly behind her. She stood for a moment with her back to it, hardly daring to breathe.

Alexander looked peaceful, with his mouth closed and his face soft in repose. She could see the boy from the portrait in that relaxed face. Sleep seemed to give him an innocence or restore an long-lost innocence.

The urge to capture this moment was overwhelming. She knew it of old and knew it was impossible to ignore.

She looked around the room, her gaze settling on the paper that had been crushed into a ball. A quill stood next to an inkwell to one side of the desk.

Taking the paper, she smoothed it out so that its blank side faced up on the desk.

Then, she began to draw, looking up at Alexander’s face as she did so.

Quick darting glances, but each one searing the image into her mind.

She did not think she would ever forget one line of his face.

It poured from her mind and onto the paper, the image growing under her hand, taking shape.

After an indeterminate amount of time, Celia stepped back. There was ink on her fingers and probably smudged on her face, too. She stared down at the picture.

My best work, I think.

The man in the picture was beautiful. His face was the epitome of masculinity. There was rigid stoniness on the surface, but with a gentleness that became more and more apparent the longer one looked.

Celia smiled, her heart racing with exhilaration. The muse had never seized her so firmly before, never set fire to her heart so completely.

Alexander’s eyes opened. Celia had been looking at him, comparing his face to her picture, when suddenly she was gazing into his eyes. He blinked slowly and straightened in his chair, stretching.

“You are here again. Or is this another dream?”

“I think it is a dream. Reality could not be this perfect,” Celia said wistfully, her eyes flicking to the picture once more.

Alexander followed her gaze, and his eyes widened. He gently picked up the picture and held it before him. “This is not me.”

“It is.”

“This is a prince. An angel. I am not so… fair.”

“You are.”

She could see there were words on the reverse side of the page. She had drawn on the back of a letter.

Alexander’s eyes seemed to be drinking in the image before him, unable to comprehend it. Celia felt immensely flattered by the sheer wonder on his face.

“I do not know what to say. You have paid me a great compliment, I think.”

“I simply drew what I saw.”

“You did not see this when you walked into the study. You saw me sleeping behind this desk and conjured this from your imagination,” Alexander insisted.

Celia shook her head and bit her lip, wanting him to see the truth behind the art. “I did not conjure something that was not there before me, waiting to be seen. My eyes saw, and my hands drew.”

“Through the filter of a romantic view. A rose-tinted world,” Alexander said, sitting back in his chair, still holding up the paper.

“Through the filter of… my heart,” Celia admitted, her voice breaking at the end.

“There, you have it. My finest work because it was my greatest inspiration. You hold it and my heart in your hands. Once, you suspected me. Now, you seem to want to be rid of me. If that is how you feel, know that you are disposing of someone who loves you.”

Alexander’s eyes rose from the drawing, and Celia’s heart surged as she saw the wonder in them. She had been dreading the crashing down of the portcullis behind his eyes. Watching for the hard, coldness of steel to freeze his countenance. She did not see it.

He opened his mouth to reply. It was then, by a cruel twist of fate, that Celia’s eye was drawn to the paper just before he let it fall to the desk. Drawn to a familiar shape. Frid . Her name. Aurelia’s name.

Those patterns suddenly jumped out at her. As did another, less familiar in writing, but recognizable. A large, bold signature at the bottom of the page. Grimaire .

“Celia…” Alexander began, standing up.

“What is that paper?” Celia asked. “Why does it have mine and Aurelia’s names on it? From Grimaire.”

While her heart had been bursting before, a cold was settling over it now. She felt the betrayal looming like a shadow over her.

What had he done?

“A letter from Sir Nathaniel Grimaire, my chief creditor,” Alexander replied. “He wants to marry you to his son, Phillip, in exchange for the forgiveness of all my debts.”

Celia could not see for a moment. It had nothing to do with the tears in her eyes.

The words Alexander had spoken so softly to her were violent. They stabbed at her, blinded her with their obscenity, and the fact that they were spoken in such a reasonable tone.

“That would be a neat solution to all your woes, would it not? Dear Hyacinth would have her debut.”

“She would, and it would,” Alexander said.

“Be honest—are you considering it?” Celia managed to ask, her voice wavering.

“I am never anything but honest. Yes, I cannot deny that the instant solution to the problems that have weighed me down since I became Duke is attractive?—”

“Well, it seems my sense of timing is quite appalling. Just as I discover that I have inconveniently fallen in love with my husband, he decides to trade me like a prize cow.”

“Celia, let me finish. I did not?—”

“You need say no more, Your Grace. I would have thrown such an obscene letter into the fire or torn it into a thousand pieces. You did not.”

“I crumpled it in my fist. That shows you?—”

“That you did not like the message but were unwilling to destroy it. You wanted to leave yourself the option of taking up Grimaire’s offer.

Perhaps your American friend has had a different job than I was led to believe.

Perhaps the scandals are engineered by him in order to give you the pretext. Perhaps this was intended all along!”

Alexander abruptly tore the paper in two, then in four. Then in eight. He kept tearing it until nothing remained but snowflakes that softly fell to the floor.

“Are you happy now?” he snapped. “Am I to be allowed to speak in my own home? In my own study?”

Celia watched the snowflakes fall with utter horror on her face. Her greatest accomplishment as an artist. Gone. Irrevocably destroyed. She did not think she would ever be able to recreate it.

The obscenity that had occupied its back was forgotten. She looked at Alexander with naked pain on her face, her thoughts in disarray, her emotions skeins of wool toyed with by a thoughtless kitten.

Realization dawned on Alexander. He looked down and stooped to gather the pieces. Celia turned and ran.