After that, neither woman raised her eyes to look on the dark shape of Thorpe Manor, nor did it enter their conversation. After a comfortable repast, Cecilia found herself drowsy. She leaned back against the stone, which was warm from the sun and soft from the moss that grew upon it. Her seat was thick, long grass, and perfectly comfortable. Peggy was dangling her feet in the brook and lying back amongst the grass too, eyes closed.
The invitations were all written and handed to Blackwood to arrange for posting. By now, Cecilia supposed they would be on their way to the post office in Thornhill village. In a few days, the replies would come in and then she would be hostess, standing proudly alongside her husband as she welcomed guests to Thornhill.
“When was the last time the Duke hosted guests at the castle? Before the ball, I mean,” she asked.
“Not since the day of the hunt,” Peggy replied sleepily.
“Five years? Really? I knew he had become a recluse since Arthur’s passing but I assumed there would have been someone visiting, even if only close friends,” Cecilia continued.
“No. Not a single person. For the first years, the Duke was recovering from his injury. He couldn’t walk at all at first. Then, he just seemed to… withdraw. Mr. Blackwood and my mother were most concerned for him. It was just so unlike him to be asocial.”
Cecilia thought about what she knew of her husband’s past. Severely wounded by the gunshot that was intended to take his life. Left heart-broken by the betrayal of his fiancée. She supposed that would make a man angry at the world, unwilling to open himself to his peers or neighbors. He had not said as much, merely hinted. It said a lot for how much he loved her that he was now prepared to welcome people into his home, to expose himself once again. And all for her. So that the worldwould know that their marriage was true. At least that was what she firmly believed, despite him never voicing it.
After a few moments of silence, Cecilia became aware of the sounds of deep, steady breathing from Peggy which eventually became soft snores. She chuckled to herself, standing, and walking over to her, removing her own coat, and spreading it over her friend as a blanket. Then she returned to her own seat and closed her eyes. Just for a moment, she told herself. Sleep soon swept over her.
“My, my, what do we have here? Two sleeping beauties!”
The voice startled Cecilia from her doze. The sun was shaded beneath a bank of clouds and there was a chill in the air. The Tall Knight remained warm and strong at her back though. A man sat on horseback on the other side of the brook. He had brown hair, combed forward in the Roman style that was currently in fashion. His clothes were of a fine cut and his steed was a fiery-eyed stallion that tossed its head as though impatient at being stationary. She recognized him at once.
“Sir Gerald,” she started, getting to her feet.
Peggy slept soundly and she walked to her maid’s side, bending to shake her gently by the shoulder.
“Do not wake your friend on my account, Cecilia,” Sir Gerald began, smiling, “she looks very peaceful. And most beautiful in her repose. Who is she?”
“I am Duchess of Thornhill, as you have clearly forgotten,” Cecilia intoned with frost in her voice. “The correct term of address isYour Grace.”
Sir Gerald laughed. “How comical. You are no more a Duchess than I. Remember, I know the circumstances in which you wed your… Duke.”
He suddenly swung his horse to face the stream and dug his heels into its ribs. It lashed the earth with its hooves, leaping into a gallop and then over the brook in a powerful bound. Peggy came awake with a small cry, looking around wildly as the horseman circled them, still laughing. Cecilia realized that she was crouching beside Peggy, head whipping around to keep Sir Gerald in sight, almost cowering before him. She straightened, lifting her chin, and watching Sir Gerald. He slowed his horse and his laughter died. Eventually, he stood before the two women, still looking down on them from the height of his mount. Cecilia stepped forward, looking up but holding Sir Gerald’s gaze in what she hoped was an expression of fearless pride.
“That is an insult to me and to my husband, Sir Gerald. I am Duchess in the eyes of god and man. My marriage is as real as the stone behind us. I do not care how it began, only for what it is now.”
Sir Gerald glared at her, mouth tightening in anger. Cecilia did not know if it was her words that provoked his anger or just the way she spoke. He clearly took pleasure in intimidation and causing fear in those he judged to be weaker than himself.
“Is that so?” he muttered, mouth twisting now into scorn. “If I recall correctly, there was another lady before you who had tried to tame that Duke’s obsessions. And as I seem to recall, that did not end well for her either.”
Cecilia’s thoughts shifted to his words. Was he speaking of Arabella? Lionel had told her the reason they had ended their betrothal was the scandal that ignited upon her brother’s death, and the loss of his ability to walk properly. Was there something he had kept hidden from her? That it was his obsession with his revenge that cut them apart? Or perhaps he simply was so sheltered from reality at the time, he couldn’t see the truth.
Cecilia chose to ignore Sir Gerald’s words, deciding he was likely lying to incite a rift between her and her husband. “Come along, Peggy. Let us pack up the picnic and return to the castle,” Cecilia said, turning her back on Sir Gerald.
Peggy’s scream was the only warning Cecilia had. She whirled around to see that Sir Gerald had spurred his horse until it was almost on top of her. Resisting an almost overwhelming urge to back away, Cecilia stood her ground. She locked trembling knees and clenched her hands into fists at her sides. The horse halted so close that she could feel its hot breath against her face. Sir Gerald was an expert horseman, able to halt his charge instantly. If he expected to see fear in Cecilia’s face, she did not give it.
“I understand that you paid a visit to your aunt and uncle with your… husband,” he began.
“We did,” Cecilia replied, working hard to keep the quiver from her voice.
“Then you will know that Penrose is lost to you. I did say that you should speak to me on that subject.”
“A brag surely,” Cecilia remarked with as much disdain as she could muster, “what could Penrose be to you, after all?”
Sir Gerald smirked. “Not what itcouldbe. It is mine. My property.”
CHAPTER 22
Cecilia could only gape at this revelation. She remembered her first conversation with Sir Gerald, at Thornhill. When he had realized who she was, he had made a rather cryptic remark about Penrose. About how they must talk of it. At the time, events had transpired to wipe the remark from her mind. It had been the least of her concerns in the darkness that had followed. Now he had been explicit. He had wanted to discuss Penrose with her because either he was in the process of acquiring it or had already done so.
“What do you mean it is your property?” Cecilia demanded.
