One Whisper Away (18 page)

He was also aware of Cecily moving to sink down on a nearby settee. A swift sidelong glance showed that her cheeks were a brilliant scarlet.

“I do not see how, considering your coloring, but you do resemble your father.” The duchess walked past him and chose a chair by the grandiose fireplace, whose intricately carved Italian marble mantel was unlike any he’d ever seen before. “You have the look of him. Maybe it is the nose. Whatever you may be,
that
is an English nose.”

The implied insult that he wasn’t an aristocrat in her eyes didn’t bother him. He’d certainly endured worse. “You knew my father, then?”

“Of course.”

“He was an admirable man.” He could say this with studied assurance and moved across to lean against the mantel, giving him a better view of both Cecily and her grandmother. “I would prefer he still held the title. Not because of any selfish motivation except that I miss him.”

The dowager duchess blinked and then narrowed her eyes. “Well said.”

“Well meant,” he countered, because honestly it was. “He was my father and I loved him.”

“I see you are not of a retiring nature, Lord Augustine.” Eugenia Francis leaned back in her chair and her gaze was challenging.

“No.” He couldn’t help but smile.

“I just caught you in a compromising embrace with my granddaughter.”

Cecily made an inarticulate sound of what he could only interpret as mortification.

“Your arrival, Your Grace, was most ill-timed, I admit.”

“Are your intentions honorable?”

“Would I admit it if they were not?” He was more than a little curious to hear how she would respond.

“Yes.” Her eyes were assessing. “I think you would.”

A grudging compliment if ever there was one. “I don’t know if I adhere to your standards, ma’am, but I am truthful,” he admitted.

“You wish to court my granddaughter.”

This wasn’t precisely how he wanted to approach it, so he equivocated. A more private conversation was his preference. “We’ve discussed it.”

“Hardly an answer.”

She was right. So he nodded. “I want her as my wife.”

The dowager duchess switched her gaze to Cecily’s face. “What about you?”

It seemed that his potential fiancée also did not like to tell lies despite that the feigned engagement was her idea in the first place. She bit her lip, but then raised her chin and said quietly, “I will marry him if his lordship offers.”

“Harrumph.”

Well, Cecily had just said it, and as they hadn’t gotten quite that far in their discussion yet, Jonathan didn’t think he could be blamed for offering nothing but a bland smile. “I offer,” he said with lazy insouciance, but he was actually tense, which surprised him. Her agreement was important, damn it all. James was right—he
was
in trouble. “Though I should speak with her father first.”

“Absolutely correct, Lord Augustine.” The dowager duchess sat very rigid and upright. “My son is in his study. Have the footman right outside the door show you the way. After what I just witnessed, I’m guessing the sooner you speak with him the better.”

As a dismissal it was effectively done, but he still hesitated. All along Jonathan had thought the pretense a bad idea, though he understood now why Cecily had instigated it. It made much more sense to him now that he knew she was protecting her sister. That kind of loyalty was admirable and spoke to him about her character.

As if she needed to be even more tempting.

If he truly married her, that was different. He wasn’t at all sure how she’d feel about having a husband who eschewed living in England, and they did need to discuss that aspect of their life together. However, he himself was more and more convinced that their paths were meant to be one.

Cecily’s beauty had struck him from that first moment when he’d seen her splash half a glass of champagne on her undeniably lovely bosom, but as he grew to know her better, he found her delightful in other ways.

He thought she would. No, somehow he
knew
she would. Cecily had an open mind and a giving spirit.

Still, he wished to have a chance to tell her that he intended the engagement to be real before he actually approached her father.

“Are you certain?” he asked her, after deciding it would be impossible to request even just a moment in private with her. The duchess didn’t seem the compromising sort, and what she had seen was not exactly a chaste kiss.

Cecily nodded, her lovely topaz eyes clear and direct, her hands folded very ladylike in her lap. “Yes.”

He couldn’t really do less for his sisters than follow through with this, especially now. If he was going to change his mind, kissing his future wife in the duke’s drawing room had been a bit reckless.

He really couldn’t see a way to do anything but see her father, as he’d been ordered to do just that.

With a nod, he left the room.

 

“Do you want my opinion?”

Even though she was still embarrassed at being interrupted at such a personal moment, Cecily still had to stifle a laugh. “Do I actually have a choice, Grandmama?”

“No.”

“As I thought.”

“I think Augustine is intemperate and not the least respectable.”

That description of Jonathan didn’t precisely surprise her. On the other hand, Cecily knew her grandmother well enough to sense that the stated disapproval was not entirely heartfelt. From the moment when Jonathan had disappeared through the doorway to go meet with her father, she’d waited for the scolding she knew was coming for her wayward conduct with the notorious Augustine.

“He is all that and more, I suspect.” Cecily adjusted her skirts and smiled blandly, though her heart was still pounding from that scandalous kiss. “Respectability is an abstract concept to him.”

“Very handsome,” her grandmother said gruffly. “I don’t dispute he’s attractive. But so was his father. I remember David Bourne.”

“Oh?” Cecily asked, not just politely but because she wanted to know more about the adventurous earl who went to America and married a native chieftain’s daughter. “What was he like?”

“What was he like?” Her grandmother looked taken aback by the candid question.

Cecily nodded, sitting back. “I’m very curious to know everything I can about Jonathan, and his father would be a good starting point. What can you tell me?”

In a gray silk gown, her hair tightly coiled, her grandmother looked down her nose from across the elegant inlaid table between them—though how she was able to do so was a mystery, as she was considerably shorter. “Tall, blond, effusive, charming . . . not quite the traits I see in his son.”

True enough. Jonathan was neither effusive nor blond. “He’s quite tall,” she pointed out, “and he
can
be charming, though I admit it is a rather different sort of charm than I am used to.”

“That,” her grandmother said acerbically, “must be true, for otherwise I would not have found you so . . . occupied.”

Occupied
. That was one way of putting it, she supposed. That passionate kiss was ill-timed, but really, any drawing room kiss was going to be inadvisable. The surroundings were much more suitable for formal afternoon tea and stilted conversations. Cecily still wasn’t sure why it had happened. “I’m a bit bemused around him, I admit. I assume that is how it is supposed to be.”

“Supposed to be?”

“When one falls in love,” she clarified.

It wasn’t often she confounded her grandmother twice in one conversation—in fact, in her recollection it had never happened before this moment.

Her grandmother was even silenced momentarily, no small feat. Then she said gruffly, “There is no set of rules.”

“I thought there was nothing
but
rules,” Cecily responded, her tone polite and quiet.

That caused another telling pause, before her grandmother finally gave a small sniff. “If you are enamored of that young man, I suppose I can understand it, but I am also concerned. His family is unconventional at best.”

“Because his father married a woman not considered suitable?”

“Not suitable? That is a kind way of putting it. A foreign woman of mixed descent. What could be less suitable?”

Thinking it was better to be forthcoming than to wait, Cecily simply said, “And of course, though he has never been married, he has a daughter whom he openly acknowledges.”

“So I hear.”

The audible sniff was not surprising, as she didn’t really expect her grandmother to approve.

“His sister isn’t even received by some of society. She has a very tarnished reputation.”

That was interesting news. There were certain topics that no one discussed with ingénues. True, his oldest sister did not attend any social functions, but Cecily had assumed it was because she was already two and twenty and perhaps had tired of the endless rounds of parties since she was, by virtue of her age, considered to be on the shelf. After all, this was just Eleanor’s second season, and there was already a noticeable difference in how she was regarded next to the crop of young ladies making their initial debut.

Cecily knew better than to try to pry the specifics of Lady Lillian’s disgrace out of her grandmother. Besides, it didn’t really matter. No wonder Jonathan had agreed to the betrothal. It lent them a sense of camaraderie, for it seemed each of them was trying to help a sister who sorely needed it. “Can you repair it?”

“I beg your pardon?” Her grandmother stared at her as if her face had just turned a spectacular shade of blue.

“Lady Lillian’s reputation.” Weighing her words, as it was important that she be able to fulfill her promise to Jonathan, Cecily said carefully, “I expect I will be marrying Lord Augustine, so it would be best, don’t you agree, if his sisters were properly settled.”

There. That was an admirable challenge
.

And while she wasn’t sure of many things in this world, she did know her grandmother fairly well. Her father had come by his autocratic ways quite naturally. The word
failure
did not exist to the Dowager Duchess of Eddington. Had her grandmother known of Eleanor’s penchant for Viscount Drury last season, a match between them would have been a much better possibility. Had she been at liberty to tell her, Cecily would have gone that route rather than this drastic one, but Elle wouldn’t even confide in
her
, so this was the best she could do.

When she thought about Jonathan’s kiss, it wasn’t that bad of a choice either. The feel of his hands, sliding erotically downward, the sensation of his tall body pressed against hers . . . and her unladylike response.

She would have to set that aside for future contemplation.

“I am sure you could help her overcome her dilemma,” Cecily continued with what she hoped was perfect equanimity. “Couldn’t you?”

A toss of a second gauntlet.

“I have no idea.”

“We both know you could. With your consequence, you could gain anyone entrance back into society. Whatever gaffe she committed, she is still the daughter of an earl.”

“It was hardly a mere ‘gaffe.’” Her grandmother sniffed. “And do not practice that winsome smile on me. I am not your susceptible Earl Savage.”

“Mine? I am not so sure he’s mine quite yet. And I don’t think he’s all that susceptible either,” Cecily declared, pleased that she sensed a victory. “The two of you will no doubt get along famously. His spirit is as independent as yours.”

That did stir a laugh—albeit a small one. “Upon first impression, I can’t say I’m flattered. As far as his sister goes . . . I think you are asking a bit much of me. My influence would help Lady Lillian, of course, but so far as actually garnering her attention from respectable gentlemen, that I cannot promise.”

That admission was a coup in itself.

“But you are willing to try?”

“I disavow giving a direct promise until your engagement to that roguish young man is officially announced.”

Yet Cecily saw an interested gleam in her grandmother’s eye. Grandmama was a bit of a dragon now and then, but at heart she was a kind woman under the regal exterior, and she did pride herself on her influence with the
ton
.

Cecily rose and went over to kiss her cheek. “Thank you.”

A thin hand lifted to touch her face in an uncharacteristic affectionate gesture. Faded blue eyes held a concerned question. “He is truly what you want, child?”

Cecily knew she was being asked in terms of commitment and marriage, but if
want
included the frisson of excitement that she felt every time Jonathan looked at her, then she wasn’t telling a falsehood when she replied, “Yes. He is everything I want.”

T
o his mind, the informal setting of the study was vastly more preferable for an interrogation than the stuffy confines of the vast drawing room, but it would have been better had Jonathan actually known the Duke of Eddington before he had to petition him for his daughter’s hand in marriage. They’d seen each other, of course. The
ton
was not such a large circle that they would not run into one another, and besides, Jonathan knew his father had counted the duke as a friend, but a brief introduction at their club hardly helped him to take the measure of the man.

How far that past friendship with his parent extended might be tested in the next few moments, along with the elasticity of the ducal lack of prejudice. Upon the announcement of his presence by the very august butler, Jonathan adjusted his cuffs with seeming nonchalance. “Your Grace.”

The man in question glanced up, showed no real surprise—no doubt Jonathan’s arrival had been duly reported—and nodded at a chair. “Augustine. Sit down.”

The phrase “better than nothing” came to mind and Jonathan selected a captain’s chair that might have, from the wear and tear, come from a real ship, and sank into it. It was comfortable, which, coupled with its appearance, said something he liked about his host. It had to have some sort of sentimental value or it would not be there among the polished bookcases and expensive paintings.