Page 37 of His Forsaken Duchess
Cedric shot the boy a suspicious glance. “It should be promising,” he said gruffly, though he kept walking.
Peter suddenly produced a red rose, holding it out with a mischievous grin. “You’ll need this for the evening to truly go well.”
Cedric paused, staring at the flower before taking it reluctantly. “Thoughtful of you, Peter.”
Peter bowed theatrically. “I am certain the Duchess will appreciate it, Your Grace.”
“Have you met the Duchess?”
“Not yet, but I’ve heard plenty,” Peter said, still smiling. “Mrs. Potts says she’s lovely and elegant.”
Cedric’s lips curled into a half-smile. “That she is,” he murmured before adding to himself,A princess, really, though rather fierce and lovely.
He left Peter on the landing and continued toward the east wing, where the Duchess’s chambers were located. He paused briefly to inspect his reflection in a hallway mirror, adjusting his coat and ensuring every detail was immaculate. With the rose in hand, he approached her door and knocked firmly.
No response.
He knocked again, leaning closer. “It’s Cedric,” he called, his voice steady despite the uncertainty creeping in.
After a moment, her voice sounded faintly from the other side. “May I help you, Duke?”
Even in her unhappiness, she was polite, proper, and utterly infuriating.
“I came to ask if you would join me for supper,” he said.
There was a pause, and he swore he heard the soft rustle of fabric. Then, her voice came again, closer this time. “I have already eaten.”
The words struck him like a small blow, and he found himself asking, “How could you eat without me?”
Her response was sharp. “How could I not?”
Cedric closed his eyes briefly, inhaling deeply to collect himself. He opened his mouth to speak, to apologize perhaps, but she interrupted him.
“Good night,” she said, her tone final.
The door remained closed.
For a moment, Cedric stood frozen, the red rose hanging limply in his hand. His lips pressed into a thin line, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface.
Finally, he turned on his heel and strode back down the hall, his footsteps echoing loudly in the silence.
The evening, it seemed, was not promising.
Cedric stopped abruptly in the hall, the soft strains of music reaching his ears. He frowned, tilting his head. The melody was hauntingly beautiful, each note flowing into the next with a grace that demanded his attention.
Curiosity tugged at him, and he found himself following the sound to the music room. The door was slightly ajar, and he peered inside. The Duchess sat at the pianoforte, her back to him, utterly engrossed in her playing. Her head swayed slightly as if she were listening intently to the music. Her fingers glided effortlessly over the keys, her posture perfect. She seemed to breathe life into the melody.
She was the most elegant creature he had ever seen.
Cedric lingered in the doorway, captivated despite himself. Her expression, though he could only glimpse it from the side, was one of serene focus.
For a fleeting moment, he imagined her in his arms, dancing to the very tune she played, her laughter soft against his ear.
He scowled, shaking his head sharply as if to dislodge the thought.
Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.
The music stopped, and the Duchess’s hands lingered on the keys for a moment before she turned slightly. Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw him, and though her cheeks flushed, she remained composed. She turned her face away briefly, her hand resting lightly against her cheek before she returned her gaze to him.
