Page 70 of Wedded to the Scottish Duke

“Not now!” Celia waved a hand at the sheet. “Any suspicions they ever had about me were like smoke. This? This sets everything in stone. It says I have entertained the Duke of Hardbridge in private and intimates that I know… all of him.”

She covered her face, unsure what to say or feel.

She knew most of him, but notallof him, and how on earth had anyone even found that out? They must have somehow seen them at the theatre and the house, but who could have possibly known? Who would have seen such private actions when she had not been aware they were being watched?

“It may in time all blow over.” Grace tucked the scandal sheet under her arm and moved to Celia’s side.

She took her arm and started dragging her back through the park, only this time, they kept to the smaller and much more private paths.

“You would not be the first lady to have suffered scandal, would you?” Grace reminded her, arching her eyebrows. “So many of us have known it, but it blows over.”

“It blows over when the man in question marries you.” Celia pulled back her arm, and they came to a stumbling stop in a clearing between the trees. “The Duke of Hardbridge would never marry me, Grace. He wouldn’t even contemplate it. I am not the sort of woman he’s looking for. He wants the opposite of me—someone meek, mild, obliging, and obedient. Are any of those things me?”

Grace bit her lip. “I do not know the man,” she confessed. “But I know scandal, and I know the first thing we have to do is get you out of here, Celia. Before we can bump into anyone else. Already those ladies will be spreading gossip about you being so audacious as to show your face in public after such a scandal.”

“Well, they should hardly be surprised about that, should they? Knowing my reputation for boldness.” Celia waved her hands at herself frantically. Grace barely managed to catch one of them and dragged her away again. “I might as well stand naked in the middle of Covent Garden. I’m not sure my reputation could be damaged any further by it.”

“This is not the time for jesting.”

“I’m not sure I was entirely jesting.”

“Celia!”

Yet, Celia wasn’t paying attention. She was feeling increasingly wild and foolish.

Somehow, Grace got her out of there. They ended up back at the small carriage they had shared on their journey to the park, where Grace bundled her in the back and gave the orders for the carriage to head to Celia’s house at once.

The whole time, Celia was numb. She sat in the back of the carriage, staring at the ground and breathing heavily.

It is my doing.

She felt shame. She felt unbelievable shame, for the rumors were partly true. She knew how horrified her mother would be, how furious that her daughter would be so unladylike. Through all that shame and numbness, another gut-wrenching thought came to her mind.

He will not come. The Duke of Hardbridge is probably making arrangements to go back to Scotland right now, so he can be as far away from me as possible.

“So?” Elizabeth said, standing behind Keith’s shoulder as he sat at the head of the breakfast table, staring down at the scandal sheet that Frances had presented to him only a few minutes ago.

Frances stood behind his other shoulder, the two of them towering over him, as he was the only one seated.

“Yes, so what are you going to do?” Frances asked.

“I’m still reading,” Keith muttered sharply.

“Reading? What more is there to read about?” Elizabeth’s voice pitched so high that he looked up. He couldn’t remember the last time his mother had been so panicked. “You have compromised her.”

“I don’t remember admitting to that,” Keith whispered.

“And would you deny it?” Elizabeth asked. “Keith, listen to me.” She laid a hand on his shoulder. “You are the most honorable man I know.”

He grimaced—it was not what he thought of himself. He was a cold-blooded soldier who would one day turn into the brute his father had been. It was what he feared.

How many times as a child had he been told that he looked like his father? That he liked the same games his father liked? He was treading the same path—he was just a few years behind.

I won’t be like him. I refuse to let it happen.

“You are, Keith,” Frances seconded, as if she could somehow read his thoughts.

He looked at her, raising his eyebrows, but she only nodded in agreement.

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