Page 46 of The Duke Who Loved Me (The Duke's Estates 1)

Cecelia turned to stare at him. She looked around the abandoned room, and then back at him.

“Ah.” He shrugged, acknowledging the similarity. “But you think they would be willing to do tasks for money?”

“Just about anything, I would imagine.” She considered the family’s plight. “They certainly need it.” Perhaps James could aid them while helping himself.

“I have very little money with me.” He looked mournful.

“Oh, James.” She took all the funds from her reticule and put them onto the kitchen table.

“Splendid. If you come back, I will be in better trim.”

“I shall not come back.”

“I’ve found some very interesting objects in the muddle here. I’m setting to work, you see.”

He knew how to lure her. But she would not be enticed. She couldn’t afford to be. She’d let James coax her into supporting his schemes too many times. And this time was different. She couldn’t wager her life’s happiness on his caprices. No matter how tempting he still managed to be.

Cecelia reached home without encountering anyone she knew, but Aunt Valeria emerged from the drawing room as she was passing up the stairs. “I thought you had given away that old gown,” she said.

Tugging at the ribbons of her bonnet, Cecelia once again sighed over her aunt’s penchant for noticing things just when you wanted her to be oblivious. It was some sort of annoying instinct, she decided. Her aunt missed all manner of obvious cues, just not the ones you wished her to.

“You said it was hopelessly outmoded,” Aunt Valeria added. “You can’t have been making morning calls in it?”

“I had an errand,” Cecelia replied.

“Alone, carrying off a basket, which now appears to be missing.”

An infuriating instinct, Cecelia decided, and a sharp eye when she exerted herself. She tried to control her temper. “You don’t care in the least about a basket,” she pointed out.

Her aunt acknowledged the truth of this with a gesture. “Cook was complaining that the kitchen maid had lost it.”

“I’ll speak to her.” Cecelia started to walk on to her bedchamber.

“Lady Wilton has written to me about you,” said her aunt. “She seems to think I should do something about your marital prospects.”

“It’s too bad you can’t pretend to be illiterate as well as deaf,” said Cecelia.

This earned her a frown.

“I beg your pardon. That was impolite.”

“It was.” Aunt Valeria examined her. “You are out of sorts.”

Cecelia could not deny it.

“That isn’t like you.”

“No, I’m always good humored and gracious and accommodating, aren’t I?” And where had it gotten her?

Her aunt startled her by laughing. “You have been. In the main. If you are giving that up, I congratulate you.”

Cecelia gazed into her aunt’s clear blue eyes. She meant it. She was encouraging Cecelia to be as acerbic as she pleased. Cecelia had to smile at her. “Please don’t do anything about my marital prospects.”

“Of course not. You must know I have no such intention.”

She did. One could trust Aunt Valeria not to interfere in any matter that was not related to bees. Cecelia gave her a nod of thanks and went on up the stairs.

But she did not escape to her bedchamber unscathed. She found her father turning away from its door, a petulant expression on his round face.

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