The duke is not seeking a love match. He is merely looking for a wife to fulfill the duty that comes with his dukedom. He views marriage as an obligation, nothing more, and he likely desires a marriage of convenience. If you hope to find love and affection in your union, I fear you will be sorely disappointed.
I urge you to reconsider this courtship before it is too late.
Yours in solidarity,
Athena
Cecil's jaw tightened as he read the words, a slow, simmering anger building in his chest. Who was this person? And how had they known what he said to Lionel at the ball?
And the way the person spoke of his actions – with such disdain, such certainty – suggested that they did not like him. At all.
But there was something else. Something that nagged at the edges of his awareness, though he could not quite place it. Moments later, after he stared and stared at it, he finally realized what tugged at the edges of his subconscious.
The paper carried a piece of scented wax that bore a familiar scent. It was faint, barely noticeable, but it was there. A delicate, floral fragrance that clung to the paper. He had smelled it before, though he could not remember where, much to his frustration.
With a sigh of resignation, he folded the letter and handed it back to Jane, telling her earnestly,
“I am sorry, Miss Fenwell. It was not my intention to deceive you.”
Jane said nothing, simply plucking her letter out of his fingers and marching away.
With a frustrated sigh, he decided to return to his current boarding house, eager to down a few glasses of port and put the day behind him.
By the time Cecil returned to Lionel's home, he was still seething, because the longer he considered how ridiculous the situation was, the less he could believe that someone had directly interfered with his affairs. Without any fear of the consequences.
The audacity of this person – thisAthena– to meddle in his life without knowing the full circumstances was infuriating. And the fact that Jane had believed them so readily only made it worse.
He strode through the entrance hall, barely acknowledging the servants who greeted him, and made his way toward the staircase. His room was on the second floor, and all he wanted was to pour himself a drink.
But as he reached the top of the stairs, he caught a whiff of something that made him pause.
It was faint, almost imperceptible. But it was there.
That same floral scent that had been on Jane’s letter.
Cecil stopped in his tracks, his head turning slightly as he tried to pinpoint where it was coming from. He took a few steps down the hallway, following the scent until he found himself standing outside a door that was slightly ajar.
Penelope was eager to take off her shoes upon her arrival back home and perhaps crawl under her covers until dinner time, so she did not notice the man standing in her room at first. However, after she closed the door and turned to goin further, she finally noticed the figure standing near her window, her eyes widening in shock.
“You–” she gasped, stepping backwards as a hand came up to rest over her chest. “What are you doing in here? You are a guest, Your Grace. You cannot go waltzing into rooms however you like!”
Cecil said nothing. He simply shuffled closer to her, his dark gaze fixed on her in a way that sent shivers down her spine. Despite how he frustrated her with his casual flirtation, he had never looked at her like this.
And it was so unsettling, Penelope felt afraid.
He continued to advance towards her, finally speaking in a tone that was calm, but still bore an edge to it.
“I was headed to my room,” Cecil said quietly, as he came to a stop in front of her. “When I smelled something interesting outside your door. And when I followed it, I was able to track it all the way to your drawer.”
He waited, watching her carefully. But Penelope remained silent, her hands clenching at her sides.
“Why is there a pleasant scent coming from that drawer, Lady Penelope?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm.
“R-Regardless of what you thought, you had no right to enter my room like that. This is not your house and you cannot simply do as you –”
Her mouth snapped shut as he backed into a wall, his hands placed on either side of her head. Penelope suspected what had happened, and it was clear he was more intent on letting her confess rather than confronting her about it.
In a bid to preserve some idea of innocence, Penelope chose to stay silent. But it seemed that none of that mattered to Cecil, who seemed content to speak for both of them.
