Page 38 of Unraveled by the Duke (Scandalous Duchesses #1)

“ O h, Celia, I remember this room. I have not been here since I was a young girl!” Aurelia exclaimed.

“This was my room when I stayed with Aunt Hilda and Uncle Cuthbert. And before that, it was our playroom when we all lived on this land. Mama and Papa stayed in Oak Cottage while Aunt Hilda and Uncle Cuthbert stayed here at the vicarage. I’m surprised you remember it so well.

Papa inherited Banfield when you were no more than five years old, I think,” Celia explained.

“I remember the cross on the wall and the pictures of Jesus everywhere. I remember being sent in here with a warning to play quietly while the grown-ups played bridge or drank tea,” Aurelia said.

The room was small, the bed that had been put in here for Celia taking up most of the space. A locked bookcase held volumes about theology, and a chest in one corner gathered dust. Locked and untouched.

“It was never formally a playroom. Just somewhere far enough away from the sitting room that children could not be heard,” Celia said.

“Is that your chest?” Aurelia asked, her voice suddenly brittle.

“And you have the key.”

“Would the two of you like some tea?” Aunt Hilda called up the stairs in a strident voice.

“Yes, please, Aunt Hilda!” they both answered in unison.

It reminded Celia of her girlhood, when both would have responded in a similar way to offers of lemonade or fruit cake, both of which Aunt Hilda excelled at making.

They laughed and then turned back to the chest. Aurelia had the little silver key, and her hand trembled.

“Is this so important to you?” Celia asked.

Aurelia nodded wordlessly.

“Then let us find the picture and be done with it once and for all.”

They knelt, and Aurelia unlocked and then opened the chest. Inside was a neat pile of papers bearing sketches made by an array of media. Some were made by pencil, some by ink, some by charcoal. Celia began shuffling them.

“I did not use ink when I was out on the streets. Only pencil or charcoal.” She pushed aside a handful of papers. “These were drawn south of the river. That is Vauxhall Gardens, see? These are of St Paul’s, and these are of Regent’s Park. Ah, here it is.”

She reached a picture halfway down the pile, drawn in pencil.

It depicted two people embracing. The woman’s face was clearly visible and clearly a depiction of Lavinia.

The face of the man was hidden, but another sketch on the next sheet did focus on him.

Celia recognized the depiction of Captain Greenwood, who claimed to be the Viscount Darnleigh.

She sat back, holding the picture and looking at Aurelia. “Now that I look at him in the picture, from the vantage point of time and space, he looks familiar to me. And not because I have met the rogue, but because I feel like I have met a member of his family.”

“Ugh! He reminds me of Phillip Grimaire. Handsome on the surface only,” Aurelia scoffed. “Of course, you could have conjured this scene from your imagination,” she said, sounding unconvinced.

“You know I did not. When have I ever drawn or painted anything that was not from real life?”

“Never,” Aurelia mumbled sadly.

“I’m sorry, Aurelia. I know she has been very kind to you, and I know it must be hard to hear this, but she was lying.”

Celia felt vindicated. It did her no good to her relationship with her husband—her so-called husband—but at least she would be exonerated with Aurelia and her family. She hoped they would believe this evidence. She hoped Aurelia would believe it.

“She said the most horrible things about you, and I had no proof to gainsay her. Only what my own eyes saw, and that did not look good,” Aurelia sighed. “In fact, your claims seemed unhinged. Particularly after what happened at the Duke of Larcher’s ball.”

She clutched the picture to her breast.

“I could gladly strangle Lavinia Dunnings. I would like to confront her with this.”

“That would not be wise, Aurelia. I would not want to give her the chance to destroy this and claim it never existed. I will keep it.”

For a moment, it seemed that Aurelia would not relinquish the paper. Then, she smiled and let Celia take it. In the chest was a leather envelope into which she slotted the paper to avoid creasing or folding it. She tucked it under her arm.

“I cannot tell you what a relief it is to finally have this confirmed. To have you see the proof!” Celia exhaled loudly.

Aurelia smiled in response, but she seemed hesitant.

Celia frowned as her sister hugged her tightly, as though trying to hide her expression behind the gesture.

“Come, let us go down for tea,” Celia said, “and forget about all of this with some mundane talk of village life.”

“What am I looking at, Violet?” Alexander asked.

“A foundling home. Built by your father,” Violet replied.

He stared at her.

They had traveled to the east end of London and were now sitting in Violet’s carriage, looking out at a tall brick building erected on the edge of marshes.

Beyond it was the forest of masts, which was the docks.

Children played and danced in a large, fenced yard in front of the building, supervised by several matrons in black.

“My father did not build anything in his life.”

Violet smiled sadly. “He spent his entire fortune building this place. Then, he started borrowing money. I know that you now bear the burden of those debts, but your father felt that he, as a duke, was in a unique position to be able to obtain funds from banks and financiers all across Europe. Something most people cannot do. He could raise the funds to build this place, another in Bristol, and a third in Liverpool.”

“Three? And with loans from the Grimaire Bank?” Alexander exclaimed.

“He saw it as his duty to use his wealth to help those who could not help themselves. To use his birthright, too, his title, his position. Hundreds of children are helped this way. Possibly thousands by now.”

Alexander shook his head, reeling from the news. It changed his entire worldview.

For the longest time, he had viewed his father as a weak man, one who had allowed the wrong people to get close to him and had been taken advantage of. A man devastated by lost love, rendered vulnerable.

He had vowed never to be so vulnerable. Now, he discovered that his father was not weak at all, but a philanthropist. A brave man who had risked everything with no hope of return, simply to help others.

“Why did you never tell me?” Alexander demanded.

“Because, as a youth, you did not care. You were a callow youth whose only interest was carousing. After your father’s death, you changed, and I did not think it necessary to tell you.

Besides, I promised your father to keep it a secret.

He did not agree with the label philanthropist .

He did not want statues or buildings named after him.

He saw it as his duty, and that was reason enough to do what he did. ”

Alexander could not process it. He kept looking at the brick edifice of the foundling home, a manifestation of his father’s generosity. Of his honor and sacrifice.

And I have spent my adult life cursing him, believing that I had to cover up for him. It was an oath I never had to swear, and I have let it shape my life. Have I wasted all this time?

“So, now you know,” Violet said. “I have broken my word to your father, but I believe the moment called for it, and he would forgive it.”

Alexander considered his actions towards Celia. The afternoon they had spent in the shepherd’s hut, when she had asked him about his father, he had closed the gates and left her outside in the cold.

“My father was not a weak man. I have been a weak man.”

Violet thumped the roof of the carriage and gave orders for Cheverton.

“You are not weak…” she began.

“I beg to differ. My father had the strength of character to give everything to a noble cause. I have lacked the strength to give my heart to one woman. I feared that it would make me weak, as I thought my father had been. He was not weak. He was resolute and strong.”

Violet nodded, smiling sympathetically. “He was the strongest man I had ever met. When your mother died, there were many eligible women of suitable rank to marry him I was the daughter of a marquess, and most didn’t deem me suitable for the wife of a Duke.

Your father married me anyway. He actually told me that he would rather give up the Dukedom and milk cows for the rest of his life than be married to a woman he did not love. ”

Alexandr shook his head in wonder. He felt foolish. For so long, he had mistaken strength for weakness. Now, the example of his father showed him what true strength was. He felt the paper in his pocket and took out the promissory note Lavinia had given him.

“What is that?” Violet asked.

“A fork in the road,” Alexander replied, “and I know what path to take from this point on.”

He tore the note and tossed the pieces out of the carriage window, where they fluttered and flew in the breeze.

Alexander was seized with a sudden and inescapable urge. To make things right. To win back the woman he had driven away. To find Celia.

He thumped the roof and bellowed, “Driver! To Banfield House!”

“Your Grace? We have arrived at your father’s house. Your Grace?”

Celia stirred awake, lifting her head and blinking. The carriage driver had opened the door and stood beside it, ready to assist her down. She stretched.

“Banfield House? It hasn’t taken long. Well done on a very quick journey. Has my sister already gone in?”

“Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but no. She instructed me to divert to Alvey Hall before bringing you to Banfield. Actually, we made good time despite the diversion.”

“She is not here?” Celia asked, confused.

“No, Your Grace. She went to visit with Miss Dunnings,” the driver explained.

Something made Celia look in the small box attached to the floor of the carriage, where she had placed the leather envelope containing her drawing of Lavinia.