Page 171 of The Dueling Duchess

“You’ll become accustomed to it,” Marianne had whispered as they’d sat in an exclusive dress shop and watched while models paraded gorgeous clothing for the Duchess de La Fontaine’s viewing pleasure.

They’d been shopping for Cecile’s wedding trousseau—the first time in her life she’d been able to buy whatever she wanted without worrying about the cost—and the experience had left her feeling uncomfortable rather than happy.

Cecile had given a disbelieving laugh at her friend’s words. “I now know why you were so adamant about just giving me the Fayre and the house,” she’d admitted.

“I was furious with you when you insisted on purchasing it from me,” Marianne had reminded her.

“Yes, I feel the same way about Helen and Blade.”

Cecile had tried to split the property between the two women and leave them equal partners. They’d reacted the very same way Cecile had done with Marianne.

And so she’d sold them the business, feeling like a greedy toad about the payments they’d be making to her for years.

“They are proud women, Cecile,” Guy had pointed out when they’d discussed the matter the night before their wedding.

They’d been lying in bed—Cecile’s, not Guy’s narrow cot—both unable to sleep.

“Yes,” she’d admitted, “they are foolishly proud.”

“Not to mention stubborn, rather like another woman I know, who won’t admit that she’s been dreaming of a St. George’s wedding.”

It had amused Cecile that Guy believed she’d wanted a grand society wedding.

“Don’t you wish to read about yourself in the gossip columns the next day?” he’d teased.

“I suspect that experience is far less entertaining when it is one’s own business one is forced to read about.”

He’d laughed. “You can take my word that it is much less entertaining when one is the subject under scrutiny. Especially if one’s mother reads those same papers,” he’d muttered beneath his breath. “Oh, go ahead and laugh, madam. Unfortunately, you’ll discover exactly what I mean once the invitations begin pouring in.”

“Nobody will invite me to anything.”

But Guy hadn’t been the only one to assure her she was wrong about that.

“Everyone will want to have you at their dinner or party,” Marianne had said when Cecile had expressed her thoughts on the subject. “You can take my word on that. By next Season I will be an old hand at navigating the dangerous shoals, and Aunt Julia and I shall be thrilled to help you.”

Cecile still wasn’t sure just how much of the Season she’d want to navigate, but it was there waiting for her once she made her decision.

She was huffing and puffing by the time she reached the double doors that opened to the duke’s private study, where a familiar curly brown head was bent over something on the desk.

“Guy? ”

He didn’t even move.

“Guy,” she repeated, louder.

He jolted and wrenched his gaze from the letter on the desk with visible effort, blinking at her. “Oh. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I know you didn’t.” She gestured to the piece of paper. “What is that?”

“This? Well, er . . .” He looked back at the paper and again seemed transfixed.

“Guy? ”

“Yes, er, it’s a letter from Elliot,” he said when she came to stand beside him. “You should read it.”

He shoved it into her hand and then stood and went to the collection of bottles on the mirror-encrusted trolley.

Everything in the duke and duchess’s chambers was very Versailles in style and was either gilded, mirrored, or encrusted with semiprecious stones. It was a trifle overdone to her way of thinking, but there was no denying that it was the most luxurious place she had ever stayed.