Page 29 of The Duke’s Rejected Mate

Honor.

Sacrifice.

Such things are the burden we bear as peerage. To some, it is a privilege. To me, it’s a noose that cinches tighter around my neck with each passing day. The wedding altar is the gallows, and each moment pulls me nearer.

As I walk down for breakfast, I scent the air, looking for any hint that Charles might be in attendance. Just as with the room, there is nothing. Just the scents of London and my friends.

They sit at the table, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. All I can do is fill my plate with a few morsels and join them. They smile at me, the excitement palpable in the air.

“Oh, Cynthia, that morning dress is just lovely,” Sophia says as she beams over at me. “I daresay it matches your eyes to perfection.”

“Truly,” Penelope agrees. “I must know your dressmaker. I wonder if she has these fabrics in blues instead of that perfect green.”

“Well, she must,” Georgiana, the ever-sensible one, murmurs over her buttered bread. “A modiste would soon find herself out of an occupation if she only carried a few fabrics.”

“You’re no fun,” Penelope fires back. “Always with facts and sense. Never any passion or heart.”

The sister in question merely raises an eyebrow before taking another bite. Unbidden, a soft chuckle slips from my lips. Trust the triplets to always make me feel better.

“There now,” the dowager duchess smiles. “I don’t think I’ve heard you laugh since you’ve been with us.”

“I must confess I’ve been quite out of sorts.”

“As I’m sure you are. What with the wedding approaching and all. If you wish to talk, I am here for you. Though I am not your mother by blood, I feel a kinship with you just as my daughters do.”

“Right,” Penelope laughs. “We all thought you’d be our sister by marriage. Now, you’ll just have to be a sister in spirit.”

“Pen,” Georgiana huffs as she jabs her elbow into her side. “That was very unkind and rude.”

Before she can open her mouth to make an apology, I hold up my hand. “There’s no need to go to war with your sister on my behalf. It’s not as if the whole of London didn’t thought the same. Now then. What do we have on the docket today?”

“Cynthia,” Penelope whispers as tears make her eyes shine. “I really didn’t mean it. I sometimes speak and don’t think.”

“I know. It’s one of the things I love about you. Now then. Diversions please. I have need of ridding myself of this gloom.”

“Then you shall have diversions aplenty,” Penelope says, doing her best to be upbeat and cheerful for me. “Augusta has requested our presence.”

“No doubt she’s bored and wishes to deprive us of our coin,” Georgiana murmurs under her breath.

“What is this?” the dowager duchess asks, her words trembling with barely concealed laughter. “Do you claim the young duchess is untoward?”

As I pick at my food, the three regale their mother with Augusta’s talent with cards. I, however, merely listen and allow the heartfelt chatter to soothe me. In some ways, it helps ease the ache under my breastbone. In others, it makes the pain all the worse, all the sharper.

How long had we four planned my marriage with Charles? How many times did they put us together in each other’s paths? How often had I sighed with happiness at the thought of the triplets truly becoming my sisters and the dowager duchess my mother?

Setting the fork down, I interject where I need to and laugh where it seems appropriate. I play a good guest and make them all think everything is well. Though, deep inside, I feel as if I’m falling into a deep, dark chasm with no hope of escaping.

As I trudge up the stairs to change, Penelope stops beside me and loops her arm through mine. “I truly am sorry, Cyn. I never, ever mean to hurt you.”

I give her as reassuring a smile as I can and pat her hand. “I know that, Pen. Now, let us go see if we four together can reclaim some of our honor, dignity, and coin.”

“I win again!” Augusta cries, earning a groan from us.

“How are you this good?” Georgiana asks.

“Must be the spite,” Sophia adds.

With a chuckle, I peer down at the table to see the “massive” winnings. “I think it must be practice makes perfect, though I’m glad it’s not my coin being swindled.”