Page 40 of Surrender Your Grace
Afterwards, mourners filed past the grand entrance of Sommerville Hall. Andrew stood beside his duchess, stoic but comforted by her nearness. Cici gripped Maggie’s hand, and his mother did the same on the other side—three women in a linkedfront, receiving condolences with grace. Each well-meaning word chipped away at their strength. Privately, they longed for solitude.
It wasn’t until early evening that the final guest departed. The turnout had been immense, filling every inn for miles. Cici’s parents and sister had made the journey and, like many estate guests, retreated to their rooms after the long day.
At last, the immediate family gathered in the salon for a quiet hour. Catherine sat on the settee beside Maggie, who hadn’t strayed far from her all day. Andrew sank into a nearby chair, exhaustion pressing hard.
“Please, my darlings,” his mother said, voice ragged from fatigue. “Be mindful of your safety. I don’t know that I could bear burying another child.” Her gaze shifted to Cici. “Cecilia, dear—would you send for Lady Conaway? I should like to go up now.”
“At once, Your Grace,” Cici replied, rising with enviable energy.
“We must remedy that,” Catherine sighed. “There’s enough ‘Your Grace’-ing in society. At home, I prefer simpler things.”
“I’m working on it, Mama,” Andrew replied. “But she’s either remarkably forgetful or adorably stubborn.”
Cici reappeared in the doorway and froze—clearly having caught his last remark. “I promise it’s forgetfulness. That, and I don’t know what I’m allowed to call you. Your Gra—my la—oh, fiddlesticks!”
A weary smile softened her features. “Just call me Catherine.”
“I couldn’t possibly!” Cici gasped.
“Then call me Mama, like Andrew and Maggie do. Now sit, relax.” She gestured toward a chair. “How are you not dead on your feet like the rest of us?”
Silence fell over the room at her unfortunate phrasing. With a sigh, she rose. “On that charming note, I bid you good night.”
Andrew watched his mother’s slow, hesitant steps—her pallor and the weight loss from the past fortnight fueling his concern. Lady Conaway, herself recently widowed, appeared in the doorway to offer a steadying arm.
Mama, once the beating heart of every gathering, had retreated inward after Papa’s passing—until James convinced her to accept a companion. Lady Conaway had coaxed her back into society, even into travel. Now Andrew feared James’ death might cast her into solitude once more. He could only hope, given time, her friend might work the same quiet magic.
When the older women left, Andrew’s gaze turned to Maggie. Having just emerged from mourning their father, she now faced another six months cloaked in black. He longed for her to find love, something healing—something joyful.
Then his eyes found Cici.
She had slipped into Catherine’s vacated seat and gently wrapped an arm around Maggie. His sister leaned into her, eyes closed, her distress easing under the balm of Cici’s quiet compassion.
With each passing day, his appreciation for her quiet strength grew. Her kindness revealed itself in the smallest acts, never in grand gestures. A concerned glance, a gentle word, the brush of her hand was enough.
He studied them, best friends yet so different. Maggie, dark and dramatic; Cici, fair and reserved. One thrived in society, the other cherished calm. Yet, here they were—folded together like sisters.
He caught Cici watching him, and something shifted in his chest. Though selfish in denying Maggie her company, he longed to be the one his wife held.
“Ladies,” he said gently, “I think it’s time for us to retire as well. It has been a trying twelve days.”
Together, they walked Maggie to her bedchamber then withdrew to their own rooms to prepare for bed. Not in the duke and duchess’ wing—Andrew wasn’t ready for that, not yet. Tonight, he needed comfort.
Her maid was just leaving as he arrived.
He didn’t knock when he stepped inside and opened his arms. Cici came to him without hesitation, folding into his embrace.
They stood in silence, holding on until, with a quiet murmur, she led him toward the bed. The mattress dipped as they lay down together, no words exchanged. Her warmth surrounded him—steady, soothing, grounding. He buried his face in her fragrant hair and exhaled, the tension of twelve long days leaking from his tired bones.
In the shelter of her arms, it seemed as soon as he closed his eyes, sleep claimed him.
***
The next morning, just as the sun crested on the horizon, Cici bid her family farewell. Her father, never one to linger once business was settled, insisted on an early departure. She kissed both parents goodbye.
Once they settled in the carriage, Elizabeth hissed through clenched teeth, her venom slicing through the still morning air. “You’ve done well for yourself, haven’t you? My awkward, pudgy little sister—now a duchess. It would be laughable, if it weren’t so deeply unfair.”
Cici gasped. “You started this! Or have you conveniently forgotten the drugged lemonade?”
