“It seemed prudent to observe the man I’m to marry.”
“And his manner?” Anne persisted. “Is he truly as cold as they all say?”
Celine remembered the heat she’d glimpsed beneath his control, quickly suppressed but unmistakable. “He’s... contained. Every word, every gesture seems deliberate. As if he’s playing chess and thinking twelve moves ahead.”
“That sounds exhausting,” Lucy observed.
“Or exhilarating,” Celine murmured before she caught herself. “I only mean it would be interesting to understand such a mind.”
Their mother set down her fork with a decisive click. “If you’re determined to do this, we must ensure you’re prepared. Lucy, Anne—go to your rooms. I need a word with your sister.”
The younger girls exchanged a glance but obeyed, Lucy giving Celine’s shoulder a squeeze as she passed.
When they were alone, her mother rose and went to the sideboard, pouring a small measure of sherry with hands that trembled slightly. “There are things you should know. About marriage. About what will be expected of you.”
“Mama, I’m not entirely ignorant—”
“Ignorance may be a blessing in this case.” She took a fortifying sip. “The marriage bed is... well, with the rightman, it can be pleasant. Even enjoyable. But it requires trust, tenderness, a certain... consideration from the husband.”
Celine thought of the Duke’s precise movements, his controlled voice, the way he had looked at her as though she were a problem to be solved. Trust seemed unlikely. Tenderness even more so.
“And without those things?” she asked.
Her mother looked away. “You endure. You close your eyes and think of duty. Of the children who may come of it. Of anything except what’s happening.”
“You make it sound like torture.”
“For some women, it might as well be.” Her mother turned back, and Celine was startled to see tears on her cheeks. “I’ve failed you. A mother should arrange a good match for her daughter—ensure her happiness, her safety. Instead, I stood by while your father gambled away your future.”
“You couldn’t have stopped him.”
“Couldn’t I? I could have left him. Taken you girls to my sister’s. Sought counsel. Found… some other path.” She laughed bitterly. “But I was raised to be a good wife. To stand by my husband no matter what. And look where that’s led us.”
Celine crossed to her, drawing her into an embrace. “You did your best with an impossible situation.”
“My best wasn’t enough.” Her mother pulled back, gripping Celine’s shoulders. “Promise me something. If he hurts you—truly hurts you—you’ll leave. Come home. We’ll find another way, somehow.”
“And condemn you all to poverty?”
“Better poverty than watching my daughter destroyed by degrees.” Her mother’s fingers tightened. “Promise me.”
“I promise,” Celine said softly—lying, knowing she would never keep such a vow. She had made her choice, and she would see it through, whatever the cost.
Chapter Four
By seven o’clock, Celine had bathed, dressed in her best evening gown—a deep blue silk that had been fashionable two years earlier—and arranged her hair in a simple but elegant style. She sat in the drawing room, the contract the Duke had left spread before her on the writing desk, pen in hand.
The legal language was dense but unambiguous. Marriage within fourteen days. Her meagre dowry would become his property. In return, all her father’s debts would be cleared. There was a provision for pin money—surprisingly generous—and guarantees for her family’s continued security should anything befall the Duke.
She had expected harsh terms, perhaps even humiliating ones. Instead, the contract was almost mundanely fair.
“He’s early,” Lucy announced from the doorway, where she’d been keeping watch. “His carriage just pulled up.”
“The Duke of Rothwest is never early or late,” Celine said, glancing at the clock. “He arrives precisely when he intends to.”
“How terrifyingly efficient of him.”
Before Celine could reply, Marsh appeared. “The Duke of Rothwest,” he intoned with the same dignity he would have offered a monarch.
