Page 49 of Surrender Your Grace
Mortified that her mother-in-law had witnessed the unpleasant scene, Cici dropped into a curtsy. “Your Grace, my sincerest regrets—”
She raised a hand, cutting her off. “Do not apologize, child. You said what needed saying.” Her icy blue gaze—so like Andrew’s—shifted to Elizabeth. “You will not address my daughter-in-law with such insolence. In this house, guests are expected to behave with civility. If you can’t manage that, kindly remove yourself—and don’t return until you’ve learned some manners.”
Her sister’s face drained of color, leaving her ghostly pale. “I was merely—”
“No excuses. Go now,” the dowager ordered without raising her voice. She didn’t need to.
Elizabeth fled, her skirts swirling around her in a blur of red, nearly knocking over Maggie who stood in the doorway, stunned at what she was witnessing.
Cici murmured once the sound of her sister’s staccato footsteps had receded. “I’m partly to blame. I shouldn’t have raised my voice—or said those things to her.”
“Nonsense. I’m sure she’s said worse to you over the years—and never suffered the consequences.” The dowager removed her gloves with calm precision before turning to Lady Benton. “Have you anything to say? Or does the cat still have your tongue?”
Flustered, her mother bobbed a quick curtsy and departed without a word, trailing after her elder daughter.
Catherine crossed to the tea cart, pouring herself a cup. “Have they always been this…”
Several words sprang to Cici’s mind—catty, cruel, indulgent, a clapperclaw in kid gloves! But she swallowed them. She’d had enough ugliness for one day. “Mama has done my sister a disservice by spoiling her all her life. Again, I’m so sorry you had to witness that.”
“You didn’t throw the tea service at her head, so I daresay it wasn’t your worst moment,” her mother-in-law said, a spark of humor lighting her eyes. “You may be new to the title, but you’re no child. And jealous sisters or vapid debutantes who think a ring is the pinnacle of achievement have no business treating you as one.”
Cici’s breath caught in her throat. The whispering from the salon—so fresh—still stung. “How did you know?”
“A guess,” the dowager replied smoothly, settling on the settee with her teacup and a small plate of biscuits. “Andrew wrote that you might need a hand finding your footing. Lesson one: grow a backbone of tempered steel. You acquitted yourself well with your sister, but we’ll sharpen those instincts. I’ve no patience for milquetoast duchesses—and I won’t accept one as a daughter-in-law.”
Unsure how to respond, was that criticism or a compliment? Cici murmured, “Yes, ma’am,” unable to conceal her confusion.
Her mother-in-law chuckled, her expression softening. “You’re tougher than I thought, but you’ll need to be even tougher to survive this city and marriage to my son.”
“How so?” Cici asked. She didn’t clarify whether she meant the city or Andrew, but Catherine was shrewd enough to know.
“Andrew can be dictatorial, like his father, brother, and generations of Sommerville dukes before him. I suspect you’ve already figured that out. But he’s fiercely loyal, to family, those in his employ, and every last tenant, which makes his high-handedness easier to bear.”
An understanding began to form. “Was it difficult for you when you married?”
The older woman’s gaze drifted to the fire. “Harder than you can imagine. I was nineteen. He was thirty-seven and as unbending as a monarch. When I tried to go home to my mother, my father sent me straight back.”
“I heard yours was a love match—the romance of the century,” Cici remarked, gravely disappointed. Were none of the stories true? Was there no such thing as love in marriage?
“It was, eventually,” the dowager replied. “I cried every night for the first month. Then I stopped feeling sorry for myself and started learning.”
“Learning what?”
“I can answer that,” Maggie interjected, stepping in from the doorway. Her feet finally unfrozen after what she had witnessed. “Mama learned to be more frightening than Papa.”
“It seems I’ve told this story before,” she said, giving her daughter an affectionate pat on the arm as she sat next to her.
“Yes, but Cici needs to hear it,” Maggie urged.
A glimmer of amusement touched the Catherine’s lips. “She does indeed. I wouldn’t say I learned to be frightening—intimidating, maybe. Assertive, most definitely. I did then whatyou must do now, dear. Become duchess in truth, not just name.”
Cici recalled Andrew’s towering rage in the study the day of their marriage. “I’m not sure I can intimidate anyone, and I know I can’t out-frighten your son.”
“Both my boys have fiery tempers—” she stopped, closing her eyes at her slip.
Maggie gripped her mother’s hand, lending her support.
“It’s still very hard to believe James is gone.” Catherine cleared her throat before continuing. “I like to believe Andrew is how is because he is passionate in his beliefs. He respects those who stand up to him, particularly if he is in the wrong. Crow wasn’t Andrew’s father’s favorite dish, but he learned to choke it down once or twice before he came to respect me.”
