Page 9 of Surrender Your Grace
Both her sister and her mother gasped at the threat.
For the first time, the viscount looked mildly amused. “Don’t let us stop you, my lord. If it were up to me, your daughter would be over your desk getting what she deserves. It’s plain you’ve one very spoiled young lady in your household.”
Benton ignored the cutting but accurate remark. Determined to end the debacle, he slammed his palm onto the desk with a crack that made the inkwell jump. “Own up to your role in this fiasco—or I send for it now!”
For once looking genuinely rattled, her eyes darted toward the duke then the viscount. “You can’t punish me in front of guests! What will His Grace think?”
“He’ll think Arendale is right,” her father said coldly. “That I spared the rod and spoiled the child.”
Her chin lifted, but she owned up to nothing.
“Very well.” The earl turned toward the door, voice booming. “Reynolds! Fetch my cane.”
She bolted upright. “Fine! I did it! I used Cook’s tincture, but just a few drops.”
Face ruddy with fury, her father looked as though he might explode. “You risked your sister’s life over a suitor? What in God’s name is wrong with you?”
Elizabeth went rigid, nose in the air as if the mere suggestion of wrongdoing were a slur upon her perfection. “Dr. Arnaud wasjust across the square,” she said dismissively, her tone implying her calculated risk merited praise, not reprimand.
“If he hadn’t arrived when he did,” her father said, with barely leashed rage, “she could have died.”
“But she didn’t,” she snapped. “And frankly, this is your fault, Father. A viscount was beneath me. You forced my hand!”
Her father’s face darkened with a mix of fury and humiliation. “I apologize, Your Grace. And to you, Lord Arendale. I am astounded that any daughter of mine could behave in so shameful a fashion. Her punishment will be immediate and severe. Regrettably, the damage to Cici’s reputation cannot be undone.” He appealed to the viscount as a gentleman. “I trust you are still prepared to do the honorable thing—despite Elizabeth’s disgrace.”
Andrew gave a tight nod. “I’ll marry her. Not only to shield her from scandal, but to remove her from such a… contaminating presence.”
“Are you referring to me?” Elizabeth shrieked in outrage. “Mama! He said I was contaminating—like a disease!”
“Enough, girl,” her exasperated father snapped.
“We’ll leave you to tend to your family matters,” the duke said coolly, casting a disdainful glance at Elizabeth, who was now sniffling into her mother’s lace handkerchief. As he passed his brother, he murmured something too low for Cici to catch, though it sounded suspiciously like, “You’ve sidestepped disaster here, Brother.”
The gentlemen gathered at the desk to sign the betrothal contract binding Lady Cecilia Edwards to Viscount Arendale.
Before leaving, the duke offered her a formal bow. “My apologies for misjudging you, my lady. I hope, in time, you might forgive my error.”
Cici believed she returned his bow with a curtsy, though she couldn’t quite recall. Elizabeth’s betrayal—so cold and premeditated—had left her numb.
Andrew stepped in front of her and took her hand. “Lady Cecilia, I too judged you in error. For that, I am genuinely sorry. We’ll speak further when I return for the ceremony—at three o’clock.”
He bowed, brushing his lips over her knuckles in a gesture so whisper light, she questioned if it had actually happened. But then, nothing about this felt real. It was as if she were watching her life unfold from the audience, her role scripted by others, the ending sealed before she ever stepped onto the stage.
Chapter 4
West Sussex, Five days later…
The carriage stopped its persistent rocking and, a moment later, the steps fell with a clatter. She took the footman’s hand and descended, her limbs stiff from the long ride. Before her loomed Arendale Manor—grand, imposing, and more magnificent than she’d imagined. She took it in with quiet awe, the scale and elegance of it stirring something uncertain in her chest.
A rider approached, hooves ringing sharp against the stone drive. As he drew closer, she recognized him—Andrew. Mounted atop a bay stallion, he cut a noble silhouette against the fading light. His tousled hair and flushed cheeks made him look every inch the gentleman rogue. Butterflies stirred in her stomach, a mix of nerves and reluctant admiration.
It had been days since their wedding, and she hadn’t seen him for more than a few fleeting moments. She’d remained at her parents’ home while he attended to business—necessary tasks, given how hastily the ceremony had been arranged. She didn’t blame him. The marriage had been thrust upon him, a solution to her ruin, not a choice made freely. But knowing that didn’t dull the sting of rejection. She felt confused, hurt, and quietly adrift.
Now, in the country, they were two strangers bound by duty. And she wasn’t sure what came next.
Andrew pulled up behind the carriage, dismounted in one smooth motion, and tossed the reins to a waiting stable hand before striding toward her with easy confidence. Reaching her, he inclined his head. “I trust your ride wasn’t too tedious.”
She managed a polite smile, though her thoughts were anything but calm. “It was short and tolerable, my lord. But lonely,” she added, her voice laced with pointedness. She didn’t even have a made to accompany her, and her new husband, evidently, couldn’t be bothered to keep her company.
