Her first instinct was to order her driver to head to Hyde Park so she could walk this feeling away, but she knew that she would only achieve making a spectacle of herself.
“Home, Mr. Tully,” she told the carriage driver before the spare footman helped her in.
All the way home, the only things she could think of were if her father had sent for her brother Marcus to return home from his and his friend’s jaunt in Manchester… and marrying Tressingham.
Her stomach clenched. That was the issue. The man did not—would not—love her, and she was not sure she would ever feel anything but contempt for the man.
It would be a cold marriage. A marriage of obligation. She couldn’t do that to him. None of this was his fault; he should not be forced to sacrifice his happiness for her. It wasn’t right.
Besides, she doubted he expected to follow through with this. Surely, he had some plan to extricate himself from this scandal. He had to. She was sure Tressingham wanted his freedom as much as she wanted hers.
Horror and shame collided inside her chest.Why did I… with Tressingham of all people?God, what have I done? What must he think of me?
She didn’t even like him.
Stalled in traffic, she made the mistake of looking out of the window only to see more than one hand pointing at her. Hastily, she dropped the shades and drew back in the seat, her heart pounding.
“Oh God…” she covered her face with both hands. “This shame will never go away, will it?”
Gadz, she’d made a hash of things, hadn’t she?
She kept her head down while the carriage meandered through the streets of London, finally cantering to her home.
The carriage rounded the circular drive, which had a grand fountain featuring Neptune commanding a marble spray of water that made the fountain’s rim. The imposing Palladian entrance of the main building sported four Roman columns that held up a pediment worthy of a Roman temple. The wings subtlycurved out of the main house while expansive lands surged at the back.
With the footman’s help, she stepped down and headed into the foyer while envisioning a good cup of tea and a nap.
“My lady,” the butler, Mr. Wessely, bowed. “Your father would like to see you in his study.”
She sighed and pulled her coat away. “Can’t this be another time? I’d like to get some rest now.”
“I am sorry, my lady, but His Grace is insisting that you join him and Duke Tressingham.”
Cecilia jolted. “Cas—Duke Tressingham is here?”
“Yes, my lady,” the butler nodded somberly. “Please, come with me.”
She brushed down her dress, a prim promenade gown of dove grey silk, as she took the stairs and came to her father’s study.
Entering, she noted her father in his position behind a large mahogany desk, which dominated one end of the room. Her father, Henry Hartwick, Duke of Ashford, while being in his sixties, did not show the signs of sedentary life.
His body was ruthlessly fit while his wire-rimmed spectacles and brown hair, greying at the temples, flaunted his station.
Tressingham was standing with a cup of coffee in hand, with an arm up against the windowsill. With any other gentleman, the posture would be impolite, yet, he was a duke as well, so he and her father were on equal footing.
“Father,” she curtsied politely, mostly because it was ingrained in her than anything else. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes.” Her father took his spectacles off to clean them, then plopped them back onto his nose. “Tressingham and I were talking about the matters at hand, as unfortunate as they are.”
From the corner of her eye, Cecilia saw Cassian straighten, and while, to an untrained eye, he looked at ease, she noted the taut ridges of his shoulders straining against his tailored jacket and waistcoat.
The afternoon light, just like the gas lamps at the ball, seemed to vanish in his hair, but it illuminated the sculpted angles of his face. It was a shame that the man was as handsome as an angel, for he certainly had the deportment of a devil.
He is as uneasy as I am.
“Tressingham here has offered a fitting marriage contract,” her father said at last. “A more than a generous monthly allowance, enough to purchase a season’s wardrobe every day.”
Her brows furrowed. To Cassian, she asked, “You think I’d want to buy clothes every day, Your Grace?”
