Smoothing his expression, Owen sipped at his tea. His mother had no idea that, though he did enjoy being in the country, his happiness had one source: the woman currently ensconced in the schoolroom.
“Yes, the countryside is so good for one’s health,” Sir Kenneth Whelan said from his place by the stone balustrade. He was a hale man who appeared to be in his mid-forties, with fair hair and tanned skin. “When Lady Juliet and I were raising our daughter on the Continent, we kept her away from unhealthy cities as much as possible.”
“We did compromise,” Lady Juliet added with a laugh. She wore her dark brown hair in an artistic arrangement, with fresh flowers tucked in amongst the combs. “A few weeks in a city here, and then a month in the country so we could all restore our constitutions. There’s nothing like a good ramble to balance one’s humors.”
“Very true,” Owen said noncommittally. This company was pleasant enough, but how much better it would be to sit on the terrace with Cecilia, unafraid as they enjoyed their tea in the summer afternoon. He could see the sunlight gilding her hair, watch with overt fascination as she brought her cup to her lips, and run his fingers back and forth over the softness of her wrist.
“My own daughters often take exercise in between their lessons,” his mother said. “Their governess believes it is important to strengthen their minds as well as their bodies, and I agree with her progressive stance. Difatti, I think we are just at the hour when my girls will take a pause in their studies to for some air. I will tell their governess to bring them out to us.”
She waved a footman over to her and conveyed her instructions. At her directive, the servant bowed and left the terrace.
“I always loved it here at Tarrington House,” Viscount Sulgrave said, looking around. “One of the finest estates in England, and the best fox hunting too.”
“We don’t hunt foxes here anymore.” Owen tried to keep from sounding too cool, but he’d always abhorred the practice of chasing a defenseless animal on horseback, with hounds eager for blood.
“Since when?” one of Sulgrave’s older male guests asked.
“Since I became the duke,” Owen answered. Going through the duchy’s many holdings, Owen had been pleased to confirm his understanding that when his father had inherited the title, he had divested from the Caribbean, and withdrew financial support to shipping lines making their fortune through repugnant practices. Sadly, his father had neglected to end the custom of fox hunting on the estate’s grounds, but Owen had seen to that.
Conversation continued, and though he participated as much as would be expected of him, in truth he had little interest in discussing London gossip. He had too much work awaiting him to spend with these relatively genial people, and if he wasn’t going to work, taking a quick nap would refresh him so he could give Cecilia all his energy tonight. Last night, she’d whispered that the scene in The Scoundrel’s Willing Captive involving a blindfold had always intrigued her…
He straightened and smiled with genuine warmth when Maria and Ellie appeared at the French doors. They came forward, looking at the glamorous visitors with interest. His sisters huddled close to their mother, resting their heads on her shoulders and accepting the duchess’s maternal caresses.
“What darling children,” Lady Juliet cried. “They remind me so much of my Lisbetta.”
“She’s in finishing school,” Sir Kenneth said.
Owen’s restless gaze moved toward the French doors. Pleasure filled him when he saw Cecilia stepping out from the house and onto the terrace. Seeing her again banished any impatience he’d felt from entertaining the London visitors.
A governess would not ordinarily join in conversation between the family of the house and their guests, however, which was a damned shame—she had far more interesting things to say than the entire nobly born lot.
Her expression was reserved as she hovered at the periphery. The urge to walk to her and take her hand was so strong he curled his fingers into fists.
“Miss Holme,” the duchess said genially. “I trust you do not mind a change in your usual schedule for the girls.”
“Change is always welcome, Your Grace,” Cecilia answered after curtsying. “It keeps the mind from calcifying.”
“Miss Holme is your governess?” Sir Kenneth asked.
Color drained from Cecilia’s face, leaving her ashen and waxy. Owen fought with the urge to go to her side, hating that he couldn’t show the depth of his concern for her.
What could have shaken her so badly?
Somehow, Cecilia managed to hide her shock well enough to answer with an even, composed voice. “Sir Kenneth, Lady Juliet.”
Owen’s mother looked from Cecilia to the Whelans. “Oh, that is right! You were her prior employers, and provided her with an excellent character.”
Cecilia managed a faint smile. From the corner of her vision, she saw Owen take a step toward her, yet when she held up a discreet hand urging him to stop, he remained in place.
She had prayed she’d never see the Whelans again. With their preference for living on the Continent, and with her in the English countryside, she’d believed it almost impossible their paths would ever cross.
Yet here they were. A single word from them could obliterate her reputation, and end her dream of establishing her own school.
That was all it would take…a hint, an insinuation, and she’d be ruined.
Owen turned to his mother. “Madre, Miss Holme looks tired. She ought to have some rest, and making her stand outside in the hot sun is unfair.”
“Bensì.” The duchess waved her hand. “You may go, Miss Holme.”
Cecilia curtsied before turning and disappearing into the house. God above, if only she could simply run and run. It offered no true solution, and yet the instinct to flee snapped at her heels. With each step, she choked back tears.
Owen caught up with her on the first floor as she made her way to the back stairs that led to the upper servants’ quarters.
“Miss Holme, wait,” he called softly.
She stopped, but didn’t face him. He pulled open a door to a small, seldom used parlor, and motioned for her to go in. She did so, her movements stiff, unable to look at him.
Because she knew the terrible truth now. She’d tried to remain blind, yet there was no denying it now. If Sir Kenneth so much as suggested there had been some impropriety between her and him, everything was lost. And if by some grace he didn’t speak of her past, she had her future to consider.
Once the door closed behind her and Owen, he stepped nearer, reaching for her. She slid away so that his fingers grazed her wrist.
“I could tear his fucking throat out,” Owen growled.
“You wouldn’t hang for his murder,” she said lowly, “but you’d be imprisoned, and he’s not worth the loss of your liberty.”
“Damn it, Cecilia, will you look at me?”
She turned. Surely her eyes showed the depths of her hopelessness.
His expression was tormented. “Tell me how to make it better.”
“Dukes can do many things, but they have no ability to change the past,” she said without emotion. “I feel no shame in it, but no one can ever know.”