“Mother, I do not believe I have ever met such a hateful woman,” Cecilia said when she finished with her story. “Something happened with his father, something terrible I imagine, but he refuses to tell me. Whatever it was, his mother somehow blames him for it.”
Her mother scrunched her brow. “But did his father not die during his school years?”
“That is my understanding, but I know nothing more than that.” She looked down at her hands. “He told me he cared for me, but then I allowed his mother to anger me.” With a heavy sigh, she looked back at her own mother and fought against the tears that threatened to fall once again. “If I had not been so foolish and made all those purchases, we might have been able to salvage what we had. However, now, I do not see that happening.”
“You never know,” her mother replied. “Anything can happen.”
“I realize that,” Cecilia said, “but I cannot see how we can get back to that point where we once were. I feel like everything has fallen apart and there is nothing I can do about it. He refuses to discuss our situation, and his drinking has gotten so out of hand that I doubt he is thinking very clearly at all.”
“Well, there is nothing you can do at this precise moment,” her mother said firmly. “Perhaps in a couple of days, he will see how he erred and come to collect you.”
Cecilia sighed again. “I can only hope,” she said in reply. “I suppose we should tell Father what has happened.”
Her mother laughed. “Yes, I suppose we should. Who knows how far his imagination has taken him by this time.”
***
Cecilia’s parents had been surprised when the carriage bearing the crest of the Duke of Thornbrook rolled up before their house and their daughter alighted from the carriage. Cecilia felt a sadness that even they saw her predicament as sudden and unexpected. And quite unfair.
“What did you do to anger him so?” her mother asked as she poured the tea.
“I did nothing wrong,” Cecilia insisted. “The Dowager Duchess was hateful and said hurtful things, so I spoke my mind.”
Her mother nodded her head knowingly. “And you let your tongue get the best of you.” She glanced over at her husband. “She reminds me of myself sometimes.”
“No, I did not say anything to do her, though I wanted to. And what do you mean that I remind you of yourself?”
Her mother laughed. “Your father’s mother, your grandmother—God rest her soul—was not always the kindly old woman you might remember,” she explained. “When we first married, she said more than one unkind thing to me. It is what mothers-in-law tend to do, especially the mothers of the husband.”
Cecilia looked at her mother in surprise. “Grandmother? She was unkind to you?”
“When we were first married, yes. However, as time went on and she saw that I had not ensnared your father into marrying me to get his money—as if he had any at that time.” She said the last with a laugh. “Despite how angry she made me, I held my tongue and did what I could to prove that I was worthy of your father’s name. By the time she passed, we had grown quite close.”
Cecilia considered her mother’s words. “I highly doubt that the Dowager Duchess will change her tune anytime soon,” she said with a sigh. “And I cannot go against her when my husband feels she is right. I realize Benjamin and I know very little about one another, even after more than two months of marriage, but we were beginning to share with each other. I was seeing a side of him that I had not seen before, a caring side, one that I could grow to love. Then that woman showed up and everything we had begun to build crumbled in a single day. No, a single hour. And Benjamin? He became snappish and angry, and all because of her.”
Her father jumped up from his chair. “The man did not strike you, did he? For if he did, I will…”
Cecilia placed a hand on her father’s arm. “No, father, he did not lay a hand on me.”
“Sit down, husband,” her mother said in a stern but quiet tone. Then she turned to Cecilia. “You see, my dear,” her mother continued, “you did not marry the Dowager Duchess. You married the Duke, and although she might have some say in various matters, your husband has the final say in all that relates to his home. If you can earn his trust and admiration, he will support you against anyone. Perhaps not as strongly against his own mother as others, but he will still stand at your side there, as well.”
Cecilia sighed. “I do not know if I will have that chance again.” She walked over to the window and looked out into the garden. It still was overgrown with weeds and few flowers remained. “Will you be bringing on new gardeners soon?”
“We will,” her mother replied. “Walter has agreed to return next week. I am so glad for it, too, because I have little knowledge of growing plants. I must admit, I believe I have cut away more than weeds the few days I tried to bring the gardens under control.”
“I believe I will go for a walk,” Cecilia said. “If you do not mind.”
“But of course, my dear,” her mother replied with a kind smile. “The best way to think on one’s problems is best done alone.”
Cecilia hugged her mother and then her father, who was still bristling in his seat. “Do not worry, father, it will all work out in the end.” Then to herself she added. “Somehow.”
***
The lack of a gardener was terribly clear as Cecilia made her way past the overgrown flower beds. Her mother had tried to keep the weeds cleared and the path swept, but as she had said in the drawing room, many of the what had been flowers had been cut away with the weeds, and several beds held only soil.
Cecilia made her way to the back of the garden and was dismayed to see that the brambles she had attempted to eradicate had doubled in size, even so far as filling the space she had cleared before she had left to go live at Bantry Estate just over two months earlier.
Would the brambles of her life not be cleared? she wondered as she gazed down at the thorny vines. Tears trickled down her cheeks, but they fell for more than the prickly weeds that had overtaken the flowerbed. They also fell for the brambles that had taken over her marriage, a life that had begun to show such budding promise but now only left her feeling empty and alone. At this moment, she wondered where her life would lead her. It was as if everything had collapsed around her and she would be choked by the thorns of the world, just as the flowers had been strangled by the brambles in the garden.
What she wanted to do was return to the task she had begun before being married off to Benjamin; however, when she glanced up at the house, she saw her father watching her. Although she could not see his face, she imagined that his anger still stirred, and not wishing to anger him more, she simply stood and stared at the chaos before her. One day, those brambles would be gone, both in the garden and in her life. But when, she did not know.
Chapter Seventeen
Benjamin sat staring at the fire in the large fireplace, the first in some time. It had been a week since he had sent Cecilia away, and somehow the house seemed empty without her. He stood and walked over to the liquor cart but did not pour himself a drink. The memory of waking with an aching head and tumbling stomach after three days of nothing but brandy stayed his hand. What a fool he had been allowing a woman to drive him to such a state.
It was not as if he did not drink on occasion, socially or when he was alone, but to drink to the point of such inebriation was not something he did often. As a matter of fact, the last time he had done so he was still at University, and his friends and he had stolen several bottles of wine from a professor’s study. Had they been caught, they all would have been expelled and he would have been sent home in shame. That was the reason he chose not to drink so much ever again; drinking in excess made a man do things he would not otherwise do. And to say things he typically would not say.
Yet, this last bout with drunkenness? Would he have done anything differently if he had been fully sober? In all probability, he would have done and said the same. Not that he could remember all from those three days
.
He went to his desk and sat down in the large chair, but even his ledgers could not relieve him of the feeling that he had made a mistake in sending Cecilia back to Brightstone Manor. He would not ask that the money he had given her parents be returned—he cared nothing for it. Everyone had filled their agreement and there had been no stipulation that Cecilia would remain his wife, only that she marry him.
Simply thinking of the woman brought on a sense of melancholy. He had to admit that he missed her—her strength, her humor, her scent. The latter was a surprise. Why had he not recognized he had come to know the smell of her whenever she entered a room? If only he had opened up to her more, explained more about his past, perhaps she would have better understood his mother and her harsh words and held her tongue.
Then a realization hit him. He should not have to explain himself to anyone, even his wife. He was a Duke, and as such, he had every right to make whatever decision he deemed necessary. And the decision to send Cecilia home to her parents had been a necessary one, even if doing so left him thinking of her. With time, she would disappear from his thoughts and he would be able to return to his life. Then he would find a woman more appropriate for the position of Duchess of Thornbrook, one who knew what was expected of her. One who knew her place.
No, he would not apologize for his words nor his actions. She had been completely out of line all too many times. His mother was right; the woman was not worthy of the title of Duchess and had proven time and time again that she never would be.
***
Cecilia shivered against the unseasonably cool air and pulled her wrap in tighter as she stood on the veranda that overlooked the gardens. The sun was setting on the horizon creating a lovely painted picture in the sky of pinks, reds, and oranges. Had she been gazing at it under different circumstances, she might have enjoyed it more, but the fact that she could not shake the downheartedness that weighed on her heart made it difficult for her to relish in what nature had to offer.
She wondered what her husband was doing at this very moment, and she pictured him sitting at his desk working in his ledger or meeting with one of his many business partners. What she hoped was that he had not continued with his drinking, for too many men had driven themselves to ruin when they succumbed to the influence of alcohol, and although he had treated her so poorly, she did not wish to see him hurt further.
An ache in her fingers made her realize that she was gripping the balustrade all too tightly and she removed her hand and worked the blood back into her fingers. The reality was that Benjamin was stubborn and mulish, or he had been in the beginning. However, he had changed significantly before his mother arrived. His laugh had become a treasured sound and she recalled how it lightened her heart as much as it caused it to race.
As she thought of his smile, she felt a shiver run through her, and not because of the chill in the air. She recalled his reaction when she gave him the handkerchief she had made him. Such a small gift, but he had reacted as if she had presented him with a gift of something much finer than a simple handkerchief.
A warmth now replaced the chill at the memory. His response to receiving something she, herself, had created had brought on new feelings she had not felt before, and she wished she had seen that man on more occasions. Cecilia had seen so much good in a man she had thought a scoundrel at first glance, and having seen how his mother treated him explained much.
Then realization fell on her like a stone that had fallen from a cliff. That day when she gave Benjamin the handkerchief was the moment when her feelings for him had begun to change. All of the worrying for him, the need to protect him, and wishing to defend him had all been for one simple reason.
She had fallen in love with him.
It was as if a weight had lifted from her shoulders, the realization was so clear. She cared for Benjamin very deeply, much more so than she would have ever imagined she could have, and the recognition of those feelings had not come in time.
Then she remembered her exile and the heaviness returned, only this time it felt more leadened. How could she have missed such an important detail, one that could have possibly changed the outcome of his mother’s visit? Yet, would it have? Would the Duke have still reacted to the Dowager Duchess in the same way if she, Cecilia, had realized her true feelings for him? Would she, herself, have reacted any differently?
With a sigh, Cecilia went inside and returned to the drawing room where her mother sat reading. When she entered the room, her mother looked up from her book and smiled.
“There you are, my dear,” her mother said as she placed the book on the table and patted the empty place on the couch beside her. “Come. Sit beside to me.” After Cecilia sat, she continued. “Now, tell me what is on your mind, for I can see you are greatly troubled.”
Cecilia placed her hands in her lap and fiddled with her thumbnail, a habit she had thought she had put a stop to long ago. “My life has become a knot of confusion, Mother,” she said with a deep sigh. “I have come to the realization that I have very deep feelings for Benjamin. I did not recognize that this was the case until only a few moments ago, and it makes me sad that it took so much time to reach this conclusion. Much too long, in all honesty. Had I been honest with myself earlier rather than ignoring my feelings, I might still be with my husband, and we would both be happy.”
A tear ran down her cheek and her mother wiped it away. “And why do you believe you ignored those feelings?”
Cecilia sighed. “I am unsure, but because I have never been in love before, I might not have been able to recognize when I am. Then, when his mother came to visit and acted so hatefully, I daresay that I was so focused on my anger that I paid no heed to what had happened before she arrived—I disregarded everything we had begun to build together. Now, it is too late to rectify the situation.”
“Oh, pish-posh,” her mother said with a finality that brooked no argument. “Why not write to the Duke and explain to him exactly how you feel and why you reacted as you did? If you have not had the opportunity to share with him how you feel, how is he to know?”
“I suppose it would not hurt,” she conceded, though doubt weighed heavily on her soul.
“No, it would not,” her mother replied firmly. “It certainly could not make matters worse in any case.”
Cecilia laughed. “No, I guess it could not at that. Very well, I will to write him this very moment.” And with a certainty in her step, she made her way to her room to pen a letter to the man who had won her heart and tell him exactly what she felt for him.
If only he felt the same for her, there could still be a chance for them to build a future together.
Chapter Eighteen
Rain fell over Bantry Estate for several hours, and when the sun returned, birds sang and flitted past the window that looked into the study. Benjamin sat listening to Patrick Courtstone, Duke of Whitingham, and his excitement for a new business venture that could be more than just a bit risky. Not that Benjamin did not enjoy a bit of risk from time to time, but his heart was not in it, and he suspected he knew why.
“So, you suggest a bit of speculation, then?” Benjamin asked when the man finished.
“I suppose you could look at it that way,” the man replied as he stroked his chin.
“Oh, I could definitely look at it that way,” Benjamin replied. “More than one man has lost everything on a venture such as this.”
Courtstone chortled. “You must admit that putting funds toward any new form of business could be considered speculation, would you not say so?”
“Yes, well, be that as it may, I worry that this sort of business has little prospect at the moment. That mine has been yielding nothing for quite a number of years now, and though Mr. Simmons believes he can somehow squeeze another load of copper from it, that remains to be seen.” He sighed. “But I will let you know when I have made a decision. The idea is certainly an interesting one, that much is certain, but I will need time to consider whether it is the right pla
ce to put my own funds.”
Benjamin stood and Courtstone followed suit. “Be sure to let me know what you decide soon; we have little time to spare before we must get started, and I have other investors who are also interested.”
“I will give it careful consideration,” Benjamin replied, though he doubted very highly he would invest. It was not that he had never put money toward such ventures before, but in his current state of mind, any decision he made could lead to all sorts of failure. No, he was better off waiting to take such chances when his life was back under control.
After the man left, Benjamin poured himself a glass of port. He had maintained his abstinence quite well over the past week, but somehow the liquor had called out to him. However, this time he only sipped at the crimson drink rather than gulping it down as he had done previously. His head and stomach would thank him later for this careful consideration, he was certain.
An image of Cecilia loomed before him, and he pushed it aside, just as he had all the other times it had appeared uninvited. He refused to admit that she had found a place in his heart, for he was sure he had no heart. What was important was his business ventures and the status of his title; nothing else mattered, especially not some woman who invaded his life from the gentry.
A knock came to the door and Daton entered, a silver tray balanced on an upturned hand. “A letter has arrived for you, Your Grace,” the man said with a bow.
Benjamin gestured the man over and he removed the letter from the tray and stared at it, not noticing when Daton left the room. Sliding his finger under the wax, he unfolded the paper and began to read aloud. “Dearest Benjamin, I am writing this letter to explain why I acted as I did while the Dowager Duchess came to stay at Bantry Estate.”
He continued to read the rest of the letter in silence, his eyes scanning the words across the page. So, she was sorry for the way she reacted to his mother’s words, was she? And she felt the need to protect him?
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