She was never a person to let herself drink to excess or follow her impulses—but she had allowed both four nights ago, and now she had to pay for her choices.
And now I will be forced to marry Tressingham.
Shifting from her bed, she donned her robe and went to splash water over her face. “Can anything good come out of this? How will I ever live this down…” She almost set herself to tears once more.
“My lady,” a maid interjected from the doorway. “We will be filling the tub now.”
Cecilia scrubbed at her red eyes, “Go ahead.”
An hour later, seated in the blue drawing room, and paging through a book she was barely reading, Emma and Rosie swept in, worry painted on both faces.
“Oh god, Cecilia,” Rosie shook her head. “I cannot tell you how worried I am. How worriedweare.”
At Emma’s emphatic nod, Cecilia closed her book, “How bad is it out there?”
“You’d rather not know,” Rosie told her, her face falling in sorrow.
Shaking her head brokenly, Cecilia murmured, “I already know. Half of the ton ladies are celebrating my fall from grace, and the others are using me as a teaching moment to their girls. I am now a proverb.”
“That is… thegistof it,” Emma said as a footman came in with a tea tray. “They are crowing over your ruination. Before this, I never realized how cruel some of the ton women can be.”
“I would not expect any less of them,” Cecilia sighed. “People love to see others fall. Somehow it soothes their empty souls.”
“Have you spoken with or seen Duke Tressingham since that night?” Rosie asked. “At all? Anything?”
“No,” Cecilia murmured. “But I suppose he will contact me soon. He promised Papa to get the Special License, and it takes a few days, even for a Duke.”
While fixing her tea, Emma said, “Do you suppose something good can come from this? His Grace is a rakehell. Maybe matrimony can help him see not only the error of his ways, but perhaps even change him to an honorable man.”
Cecilia let out a short laugh. “That is a fairytale. A leopard never changes its spots, and neither does a rake.” She set her tea down and wrapped her shawl tighter around her.
“Tressingham…” she sighed. “—well, he is my betrothed, so I suppose it’s best to call him Cassian, or Fitzroy…” her nose scrunched, “None of those seem right.”
“You can still call him your eternal enemy,” Rosie suggested.
“Or the thorn in your side,” Emma added.
She pursed her lip, “I suppose I’ll just call him His Grace. It is not anything too personal, nor does it make me get closer to him.His Gracetold me that Gabriel was worse than a rake. With rakes, you know what you’re getting. No commitment, no pledges of love.
“Gabriel, on the other hand, held onto me like a fish on the line, feeding me crumbs of his affection while keeping the loaf for others. He said Whitmore would never marry me, and I am thinking he was right.”
She huffed. “I cannot believe I was so blinded by his good looks and impeccable reputation that I’d fooled myself into thinking he was a good man. When he’d asked me to marry him, I’d thought it would be a month or two before we’d walk down the aisle.
“The month or two turned into nearlytwo yearswith me still not only wearing the wool over my eyes but voluntarily pulling it further down,” Cecilia ranted on. “I do not know what I saw in that fob!”
“Maybe you should tell that to his face,” Emma nodded archly. “If he is only with you for the attention you bring to him, he is shallower than a dry pond in summer.”
Her eyes shifted between both Emma and Rosie. “Do you think that is a good thing to do?”
Tucking her feet to the side, Rosie said, “You are not a wallflower, Cecilia. Do you remember what the headmistress at Madame Rosenberry said about you?”
“That I am spirited, opinionated, and held a cutting wit sharper than a double-edged sword,” Cecilia smiled deprecatingly. “All the synonyms for ahoyden. Frankly, it would have been more straightforward if she had just said it.”
“You’ve muffled yourself for years, Cecilia,” Rosie put in. “For the sake of being a duke’s daughter and under the many propriety lessons you were forced to abide by. I think it’s time you shrug that blanket off and be the person you know you are.”
“And you’re being married off to Tressingham,” Emma encouraged. “A married woman has more freedom than a debutante.”
“So does a widow,” Cecilia muttered instantly. Her eyes clenched tightly in dismay. “I see what you mean.”
