Page 29 of Unraveled By the Duke
The cab he had hailed took him to the imposing edifice of the British Museum. As he ascended the steps, he was already anticipating the soothing quiet of the private reading room maintained exclusively for the Dukes of Cheverton since his grandfather’s day. An hour or two of seclusion would allow him to refocus his mind. Put thoughts of Celia aside.
He stopped before the entrance when a familiar figure rose from a bench to the side.
“Miss Dunnings,” he greeted warily.
Lavinia smiled tentatively and walked gracefully towards him.
“We were not always so formal with each other… May I still call you Alexander?” she asked.
“You may. I owe you that much,” he allowed.
Her smile became a touch more confident.
I did not treat her well, but there was nothing else to be done. Honor dictated that I marry Celia, at least in the eyes of the ton. I could not maintain my engagement to Lavinia.
“Let us not speak of debt, Alexander. I understand why you did what you did. I… find it harder to resign myself to how the situation arose.”
Alexander stiffened at the note of reproach in her voice. The hint of pain concealed bravely.
“An extraordinary occurrence that was misconstrued.”
“You were kissing her.”
Alexander looked around at the ladies and gentlemen entering and exiting the museum. None showed any sign of overhearing, but that was the nature of the games these people played. Gossip spread behind one’s back.
“Shall we step inside?” Lavinia suggested, following his gaze.
“I do not think there is anything else to discuss,” Alexander said coldly.
“Would you not grant me this boon? As recompense for how I have been treated?” Lavinia implored.
She had stepped closer, almost closer than propriety dictated, and pitched her voice lower. Lower but just about audible to someone passing by.
It irked Alexander. A woman whispering to a man could be misconstrued as one lover whispering to another. Or that the two had secrets. Either interpretation would harm his reputation and that of his wife.
I do not know that I can fully trust Celia yet, but she is my wife, even if in name only. That act becomes pointless if her reputation is still the subject of gossip.
“Very well,” Alexander relented testily. “I will hear you out, and you will do the same. Let us go inside.”
He did not offer his arm but simply turned and proceeded onward. Lavinia followed.
He kept his hands firmly clenched behind his back as they walked and spoke without looking at her. He led them into the museum and through a door that was opened for them by a steward, into a quiet and private corridor filled with crates and chests.
Alexander often enjoyed opening one at random as he passed, examining its contents for a moment. It might be an ancient stone relic from Greece or a psalter from the beginnings of Christianity in England. The corridor was a treasure trove that reminded him of his insignificance next to the grand scale of history.
“Ugh, they should clean out this corridor. These boxes smell musty, do you not think? I would not want that stale air clinging to my dress or my hair,” Lavinia complained.
“Some things never change,” Alexander muttered.
“They do not, but they should. The management should be more diligent,” Lavinia said, missing his meaning entirely.
Did Celia actually do me a favor? Life as a husband to this woman would have been intolerable. I would have had to spend my time thinking up ways to stay out of her company. Which she would not have allowed. I have been spared a life of purgatory.
They came to a door that looked no different from any others, and Alexander took a key out of his coat pocket and unlocked it.
Inside was dark. Alexander reached for a shelf beside the door, finding a tin of flint and tinder, and used it to light a lamp next to it.
A small room was revealed, with no windows but many books. They filled shelves that covered every wall except the one containing a stone fireplace. Two armchairs with cracked leather upholstery sat before the fireplace, a table between them, and a desk behind one of them.
