Page 11 of Chaperoned By Her Enemy Duke
“Mr Jones speaks the truth,” he said finally, glancing at her for only a second before he turned his attention back to the solicitor, “but as I have stated, I am much too busy for silly errands.”
Silly?The word stuck in Cecelia's mind and made her nauseous. That truly was what he thought of her then.
She was a silly, frivolous young lady who had no business asking him for anything at all.
“Please,” her mother spoke up in a tone full of pleading, “let us not be so hasty about this.”
Cecelia's stomach twisted.
It was no secret that her dowry might very well be the last thing they had when all of this was over with.
“Please,” the dowager continued, “at least take a few days, three, to consider it.”
Cecelia turned back to Lord Cumberland, almost hopeful. It was only when he rose to his feet that she felt that hope dying like the last ember of a fire left too long in the hearth.
“I shall consider it, though I do not believe I shall change my mind,” he stated, and with that, he offered a dip of his head. “If you will excuse me, I have other business to attend to.”
“Of course, Your Grace, please do not let us keep you,” her mother insisted, rising to offer a curtsey.
Cecelia forced herself to her feet to do the same, following her sisters’ lead.
Only when the duke had left the drawing room did she dare to flee. Though her mother called her back, she could not stop her feet from carrying her swiftly up the stairs.
She could not hold anything back any longer. She needed to make it to her quarters quickly.
And as she slammed the door shut behind her, she finally allowed the tears to fall.
They swept down her face in a cascade so vast she thought they might never stop. Throwing herself onto her bed, she drowned her sobs with a pillow.
Nobody must hear her. Nobody must know the pain she kept buried deep inside her. It came to the surface often, but here in this bedroom was the only place she ever allowed it to consume her.
At the sound of knocking on the door, Cecelia managed to compose herself. Sucking back tears, she rose from the bed and straightened her dress before calling, “Come in.”
Her stomach twisted as she wondered who might be on the other side. Perhaps her mother had come to berate her for speaking in such an ill manner towards the duke.
She scoffed, imagining all the times she had done so when they were children, playfully mocking each other as they always had.
Maybe she had sent Catherine in her stead, too angry to come herself.
Yet, when the door opened, she was a little relieved to see Mary slip in and click it closed behind her.
“Cece, what was all that about downstairs?” Mary asked, folding her arms over her chest.
Cecelia bit the inside of her cheek. How was she to explain how she was feeling when truly she had no idea?
She dropped down onto the edge of the bed and threw up her arms. “He was being ridiculous.”
The way Mary pursed her lips suggested she didn't believe it was only the duke who was being ridiculous.
“Heisa very busy man,” Mary pointed out. She sat on the bed beside Cecelia and reached a hand out to take hers.
Cecelia slid her hand away, clasping both together on her lap before she started to play with a bit of lace on her sleeve. “He called me frivolous and silly!”
Mary seemed to struggle to hold back laughter.
“Can you truly blame him when Mama has us all acting like every other lady in theton?”
Cecelia grumbled, wishing Mary wasn't right about that.
