Knowing his cohorts, Montford suspected the last.
But Ashburn kept his own counsel throughout, merely casting his vote along with everyone else when necessary. The rest of the time, he sat in an elegant, insolent slouch, his chin sunk into the snow white folds of his cravat. Silently, he contemplated some undefined spot on the table before him, his thick black eyelashes shadowing those liquid amber eyes.
But when the chairman inquired if there were other business, Ashburn roused from his abstraction.
“Lady Cecily Westruther’s marriage to the Duke of Norland,” he said in his deep, drawling baritone. He looked up. “Has a date been set?”
“The wedding is less than a week away,” Montford answered evenly.
Ashburn sent a quick glance around the table. “I hereby exercise my right of veto to stop the match from proceeding.”
A gasp flew through the room; then a buzzing murmur broke out. Montford did his best to look shocked and angered, as if he hadn’t conspired with Ashburn to achieve this very result.
Each member of the Ministry of Marriage had one chance to veto an arranged alliance. Once exercised, the power of veto could never be used again by that family.
While it was true that this power existed, no one had possessed the gall to invoke it since the ministry was formed.
“Good God, Your Grace!” exclaimed Lady Arden. Despite her allegiance to Ashburn, this was too bold even for her. “Surely it is too late in the day for this. You ought to have raised your objections in the proper course of discussion, not waited until the eleventh hour.”
Ashburn shrugged. “I have the right. I’m exercising it.”
Pandemonium broke out then, all of it directed at Ashburn. Their slings and arrows glanced off the armor of his imperturbable calm. He even smiled—a faint, upward curl of the lips—when the noise rose to a din.
Lord Delmere banged his gavel for silence, bleating, “This is indeed most irregular! And, might I add, most ungentlemanly of you, Ashburn. Ungentlemanly in the extreme. Why, I—”
Ashburn turned his head to look at Delmere, who blanched and let his voice fade to nothing.
Everyone knew that for all his youth, Ashburn was not a man to be crossed.
Montford supposed he ought to make a show of opposing Ashburn’s gambit. “Might I suggest we adjourn the matter until we’ve all had the opportunity to consider the implications?”
“No, that won’t do.” Ashburn regarded Montford with a slight smile. “You want to stall the process until it’s too late. I’m exercising the right of veto against Lady Cecily’s marriage and I’m doing it here and I’m doing it now.”
Lady Arden’s eyes widened. “Are you in love with the chit yourself, dear boy? Is that what this is about?”
His eyes lit with amusement and a little challenge. “In love? I?”
“Then why?” demanded Lady Warrington. “What objection can you possibly have to the match?”
Instead of answering her, Ashburn gestured to the secretary, who had been scratching away, madly trying to keep up with the comments that flew around the room.
“Enter it in the minutes, will you, Mr. Wicks?” Ashburn scanned his audience, seemingly unconcerned at the furor he’d created. “If there’s nothing else to discuss, shall we adjourn?”
* * *
When no word or sign came from Rand for the next few days, Cecily concluded that he had abandoned the thought of winning her.
That was for the best, of course. She ought to count herself lucky to have escaped him so easily. If he truly meant to wage war on her marriage, she had little doubt he’d find a way to annihilate it.
The hollow feeling inside her had more to do with a series of sleepless nights than any sense of loss or … or longing. Or anything like that.
She spent the morning shopping with her maid, but without Rosamund or Jane, spending her pin money felt like an abominably flat way to pass the time. Even a new bonnet could not entirely lift her spirits.
She needed to get on with those schemes of hers, but she felt as if she hung in an odd state of suspension. Planning anything when she was about to be married seemed like tempting Fate in some strange way.
She no sooner set her foot in Montford House after her shopping expedition than the duke bade her attend him in his library. “Would you spare me a few moments, Cecily?” Montford said.
“Yes, of course,” she said, unpinning her hat and handing it to a footman.
It never rains but it pours, she thought, and turned on her heel to follow her guardian to his domain.
“Sit down, Cecily.” His Grace indicated a chair on the other side of his desk. Cecily searched her memory, but she could not think what she might have done. Certainly nothing Montford might have discovered, at all events. Nothing worthy of the duke’s famous Speech.
Now that she observed him, Montford’s patrician features appeared grave. Grimmer than usual, she thought, as if he had some terrible news to impart.
“Oh, Good God, Tibby’s sister!” Cecily said, sitting abruptly. “Has she taken a turn for the worse?”
“Not that I have heard,” said Montford. “However, I fear Miss Tibbs will not be at liberty to return to London for some time.”
“That is a shame, of course. But I scarcely expected her to do so,” said Cecily. “I think her sister must be gravely ill, don’t you?”
“I fear so. This has nothing to do with Miss Tibbs.”
A worse prospect occurred to her. A clutch of fear. “Not Jane. The—the baby?” Her voice cracked as she said the last word. She had tried not to let her concern for Jane show, but everyone knew of the high mortality rate of women in childbirth. She gripped the edge of the desk. “For pity’s sake, Your Grace, tell me!”
“Calm yourself, Cecily. It is nothing like that. Jane is in perfect health.”
Relief swept over her. She drew a long, unsteady breath. “But then what is it, Your Grace? If it is something unpleasant, do not keep me in suspense.”
“It has nothing to do with Tibby or any of your cousins, Cecily.” He paused. “It has to do with you.”
She didn’t like the sound of that. From the time he’d taken charge of her, Cecily had prided herself on being a handful. Yet, she’d be the first to admit that the consequences of disobedience could be mighty unpleasant if Montford chose.
This time, he surprised her by saying, “Your situation troubles me, Cecily.”
“Does it?” So she wasn’t in for a dressing-down after all. “In what way?”
His brows knit. “That is part of what troubles me. There is no logical reason for my concern. Norland is highborn, titled, wealthy, genteel, amiable. He would not beat you or abuse you; if he had affaires, he would be discreet. We negotiated the most favorable marriage settlements possible on your behalf.”
“What more could any lady ask?” Cecily agreed with an inexplicably sinking feeling. She wished to get this interview over with. It was exceedingly awkward to discuss what sort of husband Norland might be.
“And yet…” Montford used a fingertip to push his papers into line. “And yet for you, Cecily, that is not nearly enough.”
She flushed with embarrassment, pride, but mostly denial of this unprecedented statement. “But, Your Grace—”
He held up a hand to silence her. “I have urged you before to reconsider, have I not? Then, there was no other worthier candidate for your hand. Now, however…”
“Ashburn,” whispered Cecily. “He has spoken to you, hasn’t he?”
“He would make you an excellent husband, Cecily,” said Montford.
“Why?” she demanded, panic rising in her throat. “He is no better born or wealthier or—or in any way superior to Norland!” In fact he was one hundred times more dangerous to her happiness than Norland could ever be.
“And yet, the difference between the two men is quite vast, wouldn’t you agree?” said Montford.
She did not make the obvious answer to that. Instead, she said, “I
am persuaded that I’ll be happy with the Duke of Norland. I have made the right choice and I shall stick to it. You—you should be glad of that, Your Grace. Imagine the talk if I cried off now.”
“Jane and Rosamund seem content in their marriages,” Montford said in a musing tone. “I confess, I am surprised.”
“Their cases are different from mine,” Cecily argued. “Surely you do not mean to forbid my marriage to Norland at this late stage!”
He shrugged. “It would be improper for me as your guardian to prevent your marrying a man who is demonstrably eligible. But mark my words, Cecily. If it were in my power, that is what I would do.”
As she digested this, he steepled his fingers together. “However. It is incumbent on me to inform you that an impediment to your marriage to Norland has arisen.”
“An—an impediment?” She swallowed. The letter. They’d found it. She was finished. Utterly ruined. Oh, but poor, poor Norland!
Stomach churning, she managed not to blurt out her wretchedness. “W-what sort of impediment?”
Montford’s dark eyes seemed to penetrate her thoughts. She braced herself for an inquisition.
He said, “Did you know that the Duke of Ashburn had a seat on the Ministry of Marriage?”
The dissonance between her expectations and Montford’s question made Cecily blink. Her mind struggled to change tack. “No, I didn’t. Well, I suppose if I’d thought about it, I might have guessed he would. He is the head of the house of Kendall, just as you are the head of the Westruthers. But—but what has that to say to anything?”
“A great deal, as it happens.” Montford leaned forward. “There is a rather draconian power in the rules of the ministry that says each noble house may veto one marriage sanctioned by the ministry. Once exercised, that family may never use the power again.”
A veto? In a low, trembling voice, she said, “Ashburn has vetoed my marriage to Norland?”
She sensed that beneath Montford’s bland façade, he watched her keenly. “Apparently. Yes.”
Hurt, betrayal, and a good dose of fear swirled like a whirlpool inside her. She shot to her feet. “But this is outrageous! I—”
He held his hands, palm outwards to silence her. “Histrionics will not help you in this instance, my dear. I suggest that instead of railing against Fate, you put that rather fine mind of yours to good use. Once you have thought it over, you will see that the wisest course is to accept this outcome with good grace.”
“No, no, I won’t accept this. Good God! Did neither of you even think to consult me? To ask what I wanted?”
Of course they had not! Who ever consulted a mere female about her future?
“If it’s any consolation, we did not consult Norland either,” offered the duke.
Cecily ignored that piece of frivolity. This was exactly the sort of high-handed behavior she’d wished most fervently to escape by means of her marriage to the docile Norland. She’d been right all along about Ashburn. How could she tolerate such a man having dominion over her?
Biting her lip, she began to pace, desperate to think of a solution. “Is there a right of appeal against this veto? Surely there must be.” She whirled on the duke and held out her hand. “Show me those rules, if you please.”
The duke pursed his lips. “I’m afraid I can’t. The rules of the Ministry of Marriage are confidential. Your betrothal to the Duke of Norland is at an end. Accept the decision as final, Cecily. You will only make a fool of yourself if you don’t.”
He gathered up the papers that lay before him on his desk and transferred his attention to them, signaling the interview was at an end. For the space of a minute, Cecily battled the urge to throw herself on the floor and kick and scream like a child throwing a tantrum.
But of course that would only confirm his obvious belief that she could not govern her own affairs or know her own mind or judge what was best for her.
There was no point arguing with Montford; once he’d acted, he never reneged.
Cecily swept from the library, seething.
Ugh! The insufferable smugness of those men, coolly deciding her and Norland’s fate! Montford and Ashburn were two of a kind. She’d known that from the beginning.
So this was what Ashburn had meant when he’d declared war on her back at Anglesby. How stupid of her to believe he must have forgotten that stern resolve.
Well, she would not meekly wave the white flag in surrender. He ought to know her better than that.
Chapter Seventeen
Rand watched Cecily pacing his book room like a small tigress, lethally beautiful in her fury. Her elegant hands were clenched into fists, her skin flushed a rosy pink. Fire smoldered in those dark eyes. She was so different from the other bloodless aristocratic girls he’d known, she might have hailed from another species.
He loved her like this, loved to see all that passion rise up in her, even if it was the angry kind rather than the amorous.
At this point, he’d take any sort of passion he could get.
He couldn’t resist adding fuel to the flames. “My lady, this visit is most improper. You should have sent for me and I could have called on you at Montford House.”
She all but bared her teeth and snarled. “I needed to speak with you alone. Besides, it would become known throughout London if you called on me. We would be a byword in no time at all.” She flung up her hands. “What am I saying? We are a byword already, thanks to you!”
“But all I’d have to do is make your presence here known to compromise you,” he said calmly. “That is a greater risk than a little gossip, I should think.”
Not to mention the very real danger in which her virtue now stood. Cecily was no longer betrothed to Norland, so she could no longer use him as an excuse to deny her passion for Rand.
She glared at him. “You would not be so base as to trumpet my disgrace to the world.”
So she trusted him that far, then. He placed a hand over his left breast. “It warms my heart to hear you say so.”
She snorted. “Look, I’ve thought about this and it can’t be right that you have the power of veto over my marriage. The Ministry of Marriage had nothing to do with arranging my betrothal to Norland. How can they now dissolve it?”
He paused. This was precisely the argument he’d raised with Montford, after all, when they’d discussed the scheme.
Smoothly, he said, “Ah, yes, but Montford is bound by the ministry rules. He has the power to forbid the match under the terms of his guardianship.”
“It’s a clear abuse of his power, then!” she retorted. “Surely he cannot allow a third party to dictate his actions.”
The intelligence he so admired in her could be deuced inconvenient at times. Well, perhaps she was right, but he wasn’t about to agree with her. Instead, he regarded her with a gleam of amusement. “Do you plan to take Montford to court over it?”
She simmered with temper. “Of course not! How should I? Besides, the most infuriating part of it is that he is doing what he thinks is best for me! Utterly misguided and patronizing though it might be.”
Briefly, she met Rand’s eyes, and the air sizzled between them. She turned away. In a muffled voice, she said, “But he’s wrong.”
Rand took a deep breath. “Cecily, why are you here?”
She swung to face him. “To demand that you withdraw that confounded veto, of course!”
His jaw tightened. “I believe I told you back at Anglesby that this was war, my dear. I cannot let you marry him. I need time to make you see—”
“Do you know, you had almost won before you pulled this trick?” Her eyes glittered, still with anger, and perhaps also with tears. “I’d all but convinced myself you were right; that love would conquer all.” She closed her eyes, as if in exquisite pain. “And then you used your power to coerce me. To force me to do as you wished.”
He was thunderstruck. “I acted to stop you taking a step that would ruin all of our lives!”
She went on as if she
hadn’t heard him. “Why would I be better off with a man who does not scruple to ride roughshod over me when it suits him than with a man who allows me to act as I see fit?”
He stared at her, incredulous. “You would prefer a man who left you to your own devices out of indifference to a man who would love you, cherish you, respect your intelligence, share your dreams? Why do you have to do it all on your own, Cecily?”
“But you do not respect my intelligence, Rand,” she said, ignoring the question. “You aim to prevent me marrying the man of my choice. The irony is that by doing so, you have proved I was right to choose him in the first place.”
She stopped pacing and looked at him. “For such a clever man, you can be very foolish, you know.”
Deliberately, he said, “And for a woman who knows her own mind so well, Cecily, you have very little acquaintance with your heart.”
“Love makes women weak and slavish,” said Cecily, pacing again. “But not me. Did you think once Norland was out of the way, I’d fall into your arms?”
Had he thought that? No, but he’d hoped. Even at this moment, when he could shake her for being so pigheaded and stubborn, his arms literally ached to hold her.
She pressed fingertips to her temple, as if her head hurt. “Men like you and Montford are accustomed to manipulating everyone to get what you want. Often with the most altruistic motives, I’ll grant you that.” She drew a breath. “Perhaps it is because neither of you has allowed yourself to truly love another human being that you view every other person in your life as a pawn or an adversary to be maneuvered or vanquished. But if you love someone, you should care about what they want, too, Rand. You shouldn’t use your advantage to make them fall in with your plans.”
For a long time, he couldn’t speak. The turmoil inside him was too great. “So this is your opinion of me,” he said in a low voice. “I commit one desperate act to stop you doing something that was irreversible, something that would have destroyed the happiness of all three of us, and you think that means I would ride roughshod over you once we were wed?”
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