“I want to find a love match, Your Grace. I know that is not something you want or value, and I cannot see myself married to someone who does not love me. I am sorry, but I do not believe we are well-suited.”
Cecil stared at her, utterly bewildered. This made no sense. She had been perfectly contented the night before – blushing at his compliments, smiling during their dance. What had changed in the span of a few hours?
“Miss Fenwell,” he began, making sure to tread as carefully as he could, “We have not been courting for very long. You cannot possibly know that love is out of the question. These things take time –”
“But I know that it is not what you seek,” Jane interrupted, her voice firmer now. “So, there is no guarantee that you will ever open your heart to me. I cannot enter into a marriage with such uncertainty.”
Cecil frowned, his confusion deepening. “How do you know that I will not open my heart to you? I never said as much. Why would you think so?”
Jane pressed her lips together, clearly reluctant to answer. But Cecil was not about to let this go. He needed to understand what had prompted this sudden change of heart.
He stepped closer, his voice insisted as he implored,
“Miss Fenwell, I must know. How did you come to this conclusion? What made you believe that I am incapable of caring for you?”
She remained silent, her gaze dropping to the ground.
Whoever her source was, she was quite intent on protecting them. It only made Cecil even more curious; after all, he had known Jane for a long time. Her relationship with his younger sister was one that had indirectly pulled him into the fold.
“Jane,” he pressed, using the familiarity between them in a deliberate attempt to soften her defences. “Please. Tell me what has happened. Last night, you seemed perfectly happy in my company. What changed?”
For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, with a sigh that sounded almost defeated, she stood straighter and raised her head.
“I received a letter this morning,” she said quietly. “From Athena.”
Cecil couldn’t help but frown in confusion, the name striking no chords of recognition within his mind. “Athena?”
“You have been away for some time, so it is not surprising that you would not have heard of them,” Jane explained, her voice steadier now. “Athena is a person – though no one knows who they truly are – who fights for women who are being wronged by the men they are romantically involved with. They have become quite popular among theton.”
“And how is this person relevant to our courtship?”
Jane sighed, looking as though every moment she spent in Cecil’s presence was stealing her strength. He began to feel guilty, wondering if he had called her while she was ill.
“In the letter, they told me that your search for a wife was simply to fulfil a sense of duty brought about by your new title. Is that the case?” Jane asked as her gaze met his, in search of the truth.
Cecil opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again. He could deny it, of course. He could lie and tell her that he was seeking love just as much as she was. But what would be the point? If he lied now, the truth would only come out later – and it would be far worse then.
So, he stayed silent, sparing them both the humiliation that would come with his admission.
Jane's expression softened, and she looked almost sad.
“My family will not be pleased with my decision. They believe a duke would make a great husband, regardless of the circumstances. But I must ask you to understand, Your Grace. I cannot marry someone who does not – whowillnot – love me.”
Cecil exhaled slowly, the anger in his chest giving way to resignation. There was no point in arguing. If she had made up her mind, nothing he said would change it.
“I understand,” he said quietly. “I will not call upon you again, Miss Fenwell.”
Relief flickered across her face, though it was tinged with regret. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“But... I need a favor before our separate ways. May I see the letter you received?”
Jane hesitated, then nodded. “Of course.”
Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, holding it out to him moments later. He took it from her, his frown deepening as he unfolded the crisp piece of paper, his eyes immediately scanning the elegant script as soon as itwas visible. The handwriting was neat and precise, the words carefully chosen. But the message itself was clear enough.
Miss Jane Fenwell,
It has come to my attention that you are being courted by the Duke of Westerdale. I write to you out of concern for your well-being, as I believe you deserve to know the truth about His Grace's intentions.
