Page 84 of Surrender Your Grace
Andrew turned her to face him and kissed her lips lightly. “You forget. Tonight, I’ll be at your side to remind them who you are.”
He offered his arm. “Shall we show Mayfair what it means to be united and invincible?”
She smiled. “Let’s.”
Together, they descended the wide main staircase dressed as royalty.
***
Like the Lansdowne, Devonshire, and Sommerville residences, Staffordshire House was one of the few palatial homes in Mayfair large enough to host a ball on such a grand scale. It was ablaze with candlelight, chandeliers glittering over rich brocade and polished marble. The musicians, tucked beneath the grand staircase, filled the space with the swelling romance of Verdi’sLa Forza del Destino.London’s elite, fresh from winter’s lull, swirled in pastels of silk and velvet, eager to see and be seen
Their entrance caused an immediate hush.
Her gloved hand rested lightly on Andrew’s arm—at first. Then her fingers tightened, digging into the muscle as they descended the stairs. All eyes were on them.
As if on cue, the music faltered. Conversation died.
Cici felt the shift in the air. The subtle recoil. Tight-lipped smiles that didn’t reach the eyes.
“Something has happened,” she whispered.
“I feel it too,” Andrew murmured. “I don’t see Maggie and Duncan, but I know who will know what’s being said.” He leaned closer. “Chin up and smile, Duchess.”
He led her across the floor with unshakable poise until they reached Lady Tavistock, one of the grand dames of the ton and a close friend of both the dowager duchess and her own mama.
“Your Graces,” she greeted, with a slight bow rather than a curtsy in deference to her age. “I assume you’re here for answers.”
Andrew offered her his free arm and guided both ladies to a quiet corner.
“There’s talk the Duchess of Sommerville isn’t…” the lady began in a whisper. Then she stopped, fanning herself vigorously. “How do I put this delicately?”
“That I’m not what?” Cici asked. “Please, we need to know.”
“An old letter has surfaced and is circulating. It alleges you aren’t Lord Benton’s”—her voice lowered to a whisper—“legitimate daughter.
Cici blanched.
“Her red hair, her figure,” the woman went on. “So unlike her blonde, willowy mother and sister. And Lord Benton’s coloring is dark. It’s been whispered before—but now, with a document, it’s quite scandalous.”
Cici’s throat had dried. She croaked when she exclaimed, “That would mean my mother had strayed.”
“Utter nonsense,” the lady concluded. “But such rumors can be devastating with inheritance and titles at stake.” Her gaze shifted to Andrew. “I do hope you have competent legal counsel for the distant relations who will be coming out of the woodwork, Your Grace.”
In the span of a few seconds, Cici went from stunned to speechless to furious and then despondent. First it was her appearance and personality, then her husband losing interest and turning to another, and now her questionable parentage. She simply couldn’t win.
Andrew must have sensed the emotional carousel she was riding. His arm tightened around her, and he proceeded to remove Cici from the conversation.
“Thank you, Lady Tavistock. Your insight has been invaluable,” she heard him say.
“Always happy to help out a dear friend. Please send my regards to the dowager duchess. I do so miss seeing her. She would have nipped this ridiculous tale in the bud if she were out of her mourning.”
“I’ll do that,” he said with a slight bow. “Enjoy your evening.”
He found a small alcove with a bench. Cici sat, numb. “I went from an overlooked, inconsequential nobody to a social pariah. What did I do?”
He sank down beside her and took her hands in his. “You married me, I’m afraid. The higher you rise, the more others want to see you fall.”
“You were right. I shouldn’t have come. And you were right about Arendale too,” she breathed, the fight seeping out of her with every word. “It would be better if it was my primary residence.”
