“The thought occurs though that there will be others in our society that are entertaining similar thoughts,” Lionel murmured. “It does not sit well with me.”
“I do not care what they think,” Cecilia replied.
“I do. I will not have you thought ill of.”
“But how can you stop gossip and rumor?” she asked.
“By showing off our relationship. By showing ourselves off. Let them see how happy we are together,” he continued, “what do you imagine the Sinclairs are saying at their luncheons and dinners when asked about their niece the Duchess? I will not have them write the history of our marriage. It is time we took our rightful place in society with our heads held high. Side by side.”
Cecilia sat up suddenly.
“What is it?” he asked.
Falling lightly to her toes, she made for the sheets of paper Lionel had stowed away at his bedside table and a couple of pens. All the while, his bewildered gaze followed her about the room in confusion. Finally, she returned to the window seat and took her place once more, before replying, “Then we ought to make a schedule!”
CHAPTER 20
Lionel had risen before Cecilia, attending to the work that seemed to consume every moment that he wasn’t with her.
Today was supposed to be different, a break from the castle's confines as they had planned a promenade through Kensington Park in an effort to fend off the relentless gossip that swirled around them. Cecilia had looked forward to the fresh air, the chance to walk side by side with Lionel in public for the first time, appearing as the united front they so desperately needed to be. She had spent much of the previous evening into the night planning their activities for the week ahead, eager to make the most of their time together. They had talked late into the night, her excitement about attending balls and soirées palpable, and he had fallen asleep with her voice in his ears.
But the bad weather had put a stop to their plans, and instead, Lionel had gone missing, vanishing without a word since the morning. Cecilia felt a pang of disappointment mixed with a growing sense of unease. She had enjoyed their newfoundcloseness and now, with him nowhere to be found, a small voice in her head wondered if he had grown tired of her already.
The rain drummed incessantly on the rooftops and windows, confining her to the castle’s gloomy halls. She checked his study, expecting to find him buried in work, but it was empty. Her confusion deepened as she continued her search, her steps quickening with trepidation.
Drawn by the loud, echoing sound of falling water, she ventured down a hallway she had not explored before. Recognizing it for its neglected state, she assumed it to be the east wing that Lionel had spoken of. The castle, with its endless corridors and hidden nooks, seemed more like a labyrinth than ever. Turning a corner, she found herself walking along a colonnade overlooking a quadrangle at the heart of the castle. Tall walls and gabled rooftops loomed above, creating a sense of enclosure. The quadrangle was tiled, with a circular pond at its center. The surface of the pond was alive with crashing rainwater, dancing with each minute blow, though its surroundings were unnaturally sparse.
At the end of the colonnade, still beneath the shelter, was a rack of blades of various lengths and thicknesses. Intrigued, she approached them. According to her limited knowledge, they were well made.
Taking up one, she tried the weight, found it too heavy for her, and put it back, selecting another. This one suited her better, and she tried a few tentative thrusts.
“Toledo steel. The very finest in Europe,” Lionel’s voice came from behind, startling her.
Cecilia whirled with a gasp, her heart leaping. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you all afternoon!”
Lionel stood there, his head and shoulders wet; he had evidently crossed the quadrangle through the rain. He pointed to a window on the opposite side of the square, one floor up. “That is one of the castle libraries. I saw you through the window and wondered what you were about. I have not ventured to the east wing’s fencing square since… well, Arthur was the one I was fencing with at the time.”
Cecilia felt a rush of relief but couldn’t help the slight tremor in her voice. “I thought perhaps you’d tired of my company after last night… after we were together… after I talked your ear off about balls and soirées.”
Lionel chuckled as his eyes gleamed mischievously. “Tired of you? Never. But after last night, I did think a little escape was in order. You know, a man needs some time to recover his strength after such... vigorous activities.”
She blushed deeply, feeling both embarrassed and indignant. “You’re awful,” she murmured, lightly slapping his chest. “You know I worry.”
“Only a little,” he admitted, his grin widening.
Cecilia looked around, seeing the area with new eyes. “So…Fencing square? Is that what this is?”
Lionel followed her gaze with a partial shrug. “Whatever it was intended to be when it was built, Arthur and I put it to that use when I became Duke. Arthur seemed to think it was tailor-made. Quiet, spacey, good surface underfoot. I have not practiced in here since Arthur was taken from us. I did not have the heart.” His eyes finally rested on the saber in her hand. “You hold that like you know the use of it.”
Cecilia smiled, making to replace the blade. “You don’t recall when we first met and I told you how Arthur had forced me to practice sport with him? It wasn’t a jest. He taught me the rudiments. I am not exactly a swordmaster.”
“Ah. I do. And you had promised me a sparring match too, if I recall correctly,” Lionel put in. “So, would you care to show me your skills, madam?” he added with a graceful sweep of his hand and a distinctly roguish grin.
Cecilia eyed him, smiling. “It is not really ladylike as a hobby.”
“No, but it is intensely attractive, I must say,” Lionel finished, boldly.
Cecilia laughed, keeping hold of the rapier and looking up and down its length. Then, without warning, she lunged, intending to touch the point to Lionel’s chest. He did not move his feet but somehow pivoted and tilted his body so that the blade sang harmlessly past. Then he placed two fingers on Cecilia’s wristand pressed gently. Cecilia found herself unable to hang onto the blade as her fingers opened involuntarily.
