Page 69 of His Forsaken Duchess
Grace’s expression softened. “Two young ladies—friends from her debut—have visited. They have spoken kindly about her, even when others have not. I believe Lilianna has earned herself a few true friends.”
Audrey glanced at her sister, who looked away, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.
“It is nothing,” Lilianna murmured. “They are only trying to be kind.”
“It is notnothing,” Grace said gently. “Miss Sarah Abbot and Lady Margaret McLeod seem honest and caring. It is proof that not all of the ton is as cruel as it seems.”
Audrey’s heart swelled slightly. It wasn’t much—certainly not enough to fix the situation—but it was something. And forLilianna, who had seemed so despondent moments ago, it was a glimmer of hope.
Audrey squeezed her stepmother’s hand, her voice soft but full of resolve. “We will fix this, Mother. I promise you.”
Grace gave her a faint smile. “I know you will.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Audrey caught Cedric turning toward them, his conversation with her father apparently over. His eyes met hers briefly from across the room, and despite herself, she stiffened. There was no anger in his gaze—no warmth either—only that unreadable, steady calm that she had come to find so maddening.
He approached her then, his dark eyes steady, though his expression betrayed nothing.
“Will you walk with me?” he asked, holding out his hand to her.
Audrey blinked. Of all the things she had expected him to do, this had not been one of them. He was rarely this direct in his intentions, especially when it came to her.
Her gaze darted briefly to her sisters and Grace, who were watching their exchange with thinly veiled curiosity. A hundred questions raced through her mind. What did he want? What was he playing at? But she pushed them away.
“Yes,” she said simply, placing her hand in his.
His grip was firm, warm even through the thin material of her glove, as he led her toward the garden.
She glanced at him, noting the faint crease in his brow, the way his jaw looked sharper when he wasn’t speaking. He was always so composed, but there was something more today—he looked slightly unsettled.
They walked down the gravel path in silence, and for a while, neither spoke. It wasn’t uncomfortable, not exactly. He had always preferred silence to unnecessary chatter, but there was something about her silence now that unsettled him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her glance at him—curious, watchful—as if he were a puzzle she could solve if only she studied the pieces long enough. He ignored it at first, kept his gaze fixed on the frost-tipped hedges ahead, but eventually, her silence became too much.
“You are angry with me,” he said at last, his voice low and matter-of-fact.
Audrey lifted her chin slightly, her gloved hands clenching at her sides. “Of course I am.”
He turned his head to look at her, his eyebrow rising in response to her biting tone. He supposed he deserved it—though he wasn’t inclined to admit as much just yet.
She stopped walking abruptly, turning to face him with a suddenness that forced him to stop as well. Her blue eyes, sharp and flashing, pinned him in place as her hands settled firmly on her hips.
“Shall I list your offenses,Your Grace,or do you remember them?”
He exhaled through his nose, suppressing the faint twitch of his lips. She was magnificent when she was cross—fiery, unrelenting.
“Indulge me,” he said mildly.
“Oh, gladly.” Audrey’s voice sharpened as she began counting on her fingers, each motion crisp and deliberate. “First, you stepped out of the carriage to sit with the coachman. I do not care if you were brooding—what gentleman abandons a lady like that? Second, you stayed out of the house most of the night and then refused to dine with me. Third,” she added, her voice rising slightly, “I didn’t see you this morning. Not a word. Not even a grunt.”
Cedric inclined his head slowly, as though considering her words. “A grunt?”
“It is more than you have given me at times,” she shot back, glaring at him. “And do not pretend you were blameless, Cedric. You know you were wrong.”
For once, he had no retort, because she was right—entirely, completely right. Hehadabandoned her. He had acted like a coward, too consumed by his loathing of Haremore House, of London, ofhimself,to consider how his actions might affect her. She had every right to be angry.
And yet, rather than defend himself—as he so often did—he found the words slipping out with surprising ease.
“I apologize,” he said simply.
