Page 66 of The Duke Who Loved Me (The Duke's Estates 1)

“It is only what one would expect for a prince,” Cecelia replied, aware that the old woman saw right through her evasions.

“But he has been acting as if he meant to marry you,” Sarah said. “Everyone thought so. They gossip about it.”

“Let that be a lesson to you,” replied Lady Wilton sharply. “One never knows what a man will do until he has actually proposed marriage. And sometimes not even then.”

“What do you mean not even then?” asked Sarah.

“Precisely what I said,” said Lady Wilton.

“But it wasn’t precise,” replied Sarah. “If a gentleman offers…”

“He might be hoping you will refuse,” said Harriet.

Everyone in the carriage turned to look at her.

“That would be nonsensical,” said Sarah.

“If someone was forcing him into the match, he might speak in a way that made it impossible to accept. In such terms that no female could agree.”

“Did someone—” began Sarah.

“As a purely hypothetical case,” Harriet interrupted. “In the spirit of rational analysis.”

“We will talk about this later,” declared Sarah, pinning Harriet with a stern gaze.

Lady Wilton gave a crack of laughter. “You girls are better than a play,” she said.

Cecelia shifted in her seat. Had James hoped she would refuse his first proposal? She didn’t think so. He was clumsy, not devious. She’d thought his regrets would come later. Now she dared hope she’d been wrong. When he’d kissed her…

She had scant experience of kisses. But James’s had been as different from Prince Karl’s acquisitive grab as anything could possibly be. Prince Karl was condescending and entitled. James was…not as she’d thought him?

A storm of emotion rose in her, bringing a strong desire to burst into tears. A small gasp, nearly a sob, escaped her. She struggled to suppress it, though she was fairly certain Sarah heard. Cecelia felt an irresistible urge to see James. To be with him, to discover what lay behind that searing kiss. Not to weep on his shoulder! Not again! She wanted to talk to him. She realized that she always wanted to talk to him. Even when they’d been at odds, over the years, she’d looked forward to their conversations. Was there anyone she knew better?

She would go to Tereford House in the morning and see him, taking advantage of herlaxchaperonage. The idea was so comforting that her tears receded. Prince Karl was nothing to her after all. Less than nothing. All might still be well.

Twelve

Cecelia slipped through the empty stables behind Tereford House and across the cobbled yard. The back door was unlocked today, so she went in without knocking. She found the kitchen empty, though a fire burned in the hearth, and there were signs of baking under way. Mrs. Gardener was clearly making up for her children’s previous deprivation with a steady supply of pastries. Cecelia was about to pass through to the corridor beyond when she felt a strong sense of being watched.

She looked around. There was no one here and no sound from the pantry. A vacant silence lay over the chamber. Yet Cecelia was convinced she was being observed. A flicker of movement led her to look up, and there she met the eyes that had alerted her. A very large brindled cat sat on top of a cupboard gazing down at her like a sentry at her post. The animal looked as if it had lived a hard life. It was thin and bore scars. But its steady stare held a marked aura of resolve, as if to say that this catwouldsucceed at this opportunity for a home. Cecelia nodded in acknowledgment as she started moving again. The cat’s ears swiveled to follow her progress through the kitchen.

Voices reached Cecelia as she edged along the cluttered corridor beyond. She headed for the room James had been clearing when she was last here, and found it vacant. The sounds came from the one beyond. She followed them and entered another half-emptied chamber.

James and the whole Gardener family stood around a number of open trunks. Fountains of fabric erupted from them, silks and satins and beautifully embroidered cloth, a cache of clothes from earlier centuries. A miasma of camphor permeated the air. James bent over one trunk, his back to the doorway.

Jen paraded about in a blue satin gown that was much too large for her. Its hem dragged across the dusty floor like a monarch’s train. “I’m Cinderella,” she said.

“No I’m Cinderella!” exclaimed Effie. A silken shawl in rainbow colors engulfed her small frame, and she had a feathered turban balanced on her head. It nearly hid her eyes. “You’re a wicked stepsister,” she added.

“I am not!” replied Jen. “You are!”

“You’re neither of you wicked,” said their older brother. “You’re princesses getting ready for the king’s ball.” Ned wore a dark-green velvet coat heavily embroidered with gilt flowers. Its full skirts fell to his ankles, and the sleeves hid his hands. He turned them back to free his fingers.

“You’re getting dirt all over them fine things,” said Mrs. Gardener, who stood a little apart looking anxious.

“No matter,” said James.

“The dust will brush out,” said Cecelia.

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