Chapter Twenty-Four
"So you see, Papa," said Cecily, fighting to stop her fingers from fiddling nervously with a strand of her hair, "this sorry business between our family and the Hartleys was not caused by any wrongdoing on anyone's part. It had its roots in love – true love."
The Duke's bushy eyebrows lowered as he looked from the portrait of Lady Letitia to the ring Cecily held towards him. Cecily, standing proud yet anxious before the imposing desk in her father's study, felt the way his stewards must when presenting him with figures from his estates which fell short of his expectations. Would she be praised for her efforts, or blamed for their result?
"Let me see that ring," said the Duke. He held it up to the light, examining it from every angle. "Good gracious!"
"Is something wrong?"
"I haven't set eyes on this since I was a boy. It was once one of the chief jewels of the Balfour family – customarily worn by the second son, as a sign of his father's love. It had been in our family for generations, before it was lost –"
"In Lord Thomas's carriage accident," Cecily finished for him. "But now we know, Papa, the ring was not lost at all, but given away – to Lady Letitia Hartley."
The Duke came around from his desk to examine the painting more closely. "I suppose the lady does appear to be wearing a ring with twin rubies," he allowed.
"Mr Clearwell assured me that the ring also bore the Balfour crest."
"I would not set much store by that man's word, Ceci. His reputation is among the worst in the county."
"That reputation is based on nothing more than the rumours started by your own grandfather," Cecily insisted. She turned to her mother, who had watched proceedings so far in silence. "Tell him, Mama!"
"You are better placed to persuade him than I am, my dear," said the Duchess. "You have met Mr Clearwell, and I have not. Though I will say that I, for one, believe every word of his story. It is so closely intertwined with events as we understand them, and is a much more convincing explanation than the accusations of kidnapping and wrongdoing that have been flying around all these years."
The Duke harrumphed and stroked his chin. "No, no, no!" he barked, causing both ladies to jump. "There is too much here that I do not yet understand. What has possessed you to put all this effort into resolving an argument that has existed since before you were born? And where exactly did you find the Balfour ring, when it has been missing for years?" He shook a stern finger in Cecily's direction. "You are up to something, young lady. Another one of your schemes! Well, I have made up my mind. I will not be so easily taken in as I once was. I demand the truth from you, Ceci, the whole and complete truth. Until I have it, there is no question of my reconsidering our relations with those cursed Hartleys."
"Do not speak ill of the name Hartley, Papa," said Cecily, drawing on all of her courage. "It is a name which I shortly intend to bear myself."
She had expected rage, confusion, disappointment – the Duke was well known for the violence of his temper, when he set it loose.
Cecily was amazed, therefore, to see her father's face creasing up not with fury but mirth. He let out a booming laugh. "A Hartley! My daughter, a Hartley! It's too much, Ceci, even for you – too much!"
"Do not laugh at me, Papa," she said, growing unsure of herself. "I am perfectly serious."
The Duke shook his head and dabbed at his streaming eyes. "You have doubtless seen the Earl or his brother passing through Loxton in one of their fine carriages and dreamed up a little infatuation for yourself! My girl, it is quite natural at your age. Young women are prone to this sort of silliness. All of my friends with daughters say the same."
The Duchess, noticing Cecily's embarrassment, spoke up sternly. "Your friends, who think themselves so wise, might do better to listen to their daughters, rather than laugh at them!"
"But, my dear," said the Duke, shoulders still shaking merrily. "It is the most absurd nonsense I have ever heard in my life! That my only daughter should imagine an attachment between herself and a – a – a Hartley! Which is it to be, Ceci? Whom should I greet as my new son? The older or the younger? The older, I hear, is the finest shot in England – and has had ample opportunity to prove himself on the duelling ground, through his dratted Hartley recklessness! Perhaps the younger one might suit you better. Has he a sweeter temperament?"
"I am for the Earl of Scarcliffe," said Cecily stiffly. "And I assure you, his temperament suits me exactly."
The Duke's laughter choked into silence. "Have a care, Ceci. The way you speak, it sounds almost as if you are actually acquainted with Lord Robert."
"We are very well acquainted," said Cecily primly. "We met some weeks ago, the night that I became lost in the forest and ended up at Scarcliffe Hall."
"You did what?"
"Lord Robert was good enough to take care of me, and from that day, our affection only grew. Papa, he has asked me to marry him, and I will do it with or without your permission."
The Duke's face had turned an unhealthy shade of magenta as she spoke. "Is this the way I raised you to behave? Spending the night in strange places without so much as a chaperone? Demanding to marry the first man who asks you?"
"Come now, Papa," said Cecily. "He is hardly the first. His proposal is simply the only one that I have thought worth considering."
"Do not think to distract me from the gravity of your behaviour!" shouted her father, the veins standing out in his neck. His former jollity only threw his anger into sharper relief. "You have betrayed our family! Thrown our good name in the mud!"
"Our family is just as guilty of wrongdoing as the Hartleys!" Cecily snapped back. "Your own grandfather ruined Lady Letitia in vengeance for Lord Thomas's death! You cannot deny it!"
"It was what they deserved –"
"Then I deserve ruination as much as she does," said Cecily, and held out her hand. "Please give me back the ring, Papa. I have made a gift of it to Robert, just as your uncle once gave it to Robert's great aunt. If you will not bless our marriage, I will simply wait until my twenty-first birthday. It is not so far away now. Less than a year, and I shall put an end to this foolish rivalry with my own hand."
"You will be hard put to manage that, my girl, when you are kept locked away in this house!" The Duke passed a trembling hand over his forehead. Cecily realised that it was not anger so much as hurt which fuelled him. "My only daughter! My Cecily!"
"Papa, you will not lose me," said Cecily, taking a cautious step towards him. "Only think! Scarcliffe Hall is so close by! Think how different it would be if I should marry a gentleman from Yorkshire, or perhaps Cornwall! When I am Countess of Scarcliffe, we will see each other every day, if you so wish."
"I do not fear to lose you, my child," said the Duke, speaking more softly. "A father's greatest happiness is to see his daughter forging a life of her own. But him, Ceci – anyone but him, I beg you."
Cecily shook her head. "It is too late, Papa. It is done. We are in love."
The Duke looked at the ring he still held. He rubbed his thumb over its ruby-studded surface. "So many years of hatred," he murmured.
Cecily gently put her hand over his and took back the ring. "Soon they will all be ended."
The Duke looked at his wife, who gave him a serene nod. He turned back to Cecily, sighed, and placed a tender kiss on her forehead. "This Hartley – this Lord Robert – is he a better man than his reputation claims?"
"I believe his reputation is not so poor as you imagine it," said Cecily, biting down a smile. "There is not a man in the country who would not be tempted to flatter the Duke of Loxwell by dragging his enemy's name through the mud, after all."
"I hope you are right." The Duke sat down behind his desk, leaning both elbows on it heavily. "Until this day, Ceci, you have never given me cause to mistrust your judgement. I will go to the Marquess of Lilistone and present him with the evidence you have given me. It may yet be possible to heal the old wounds, after all."
"Oh! Papa! Do you really mean it?"
The Duke rubbed his forehead with a wry grimace. "There is nothing I would not do to ensure your happiness, Ceci."
Cecily kissed her father on both cheeks, leaving him red-faced and muttering something about these girls and their whims, and begging to be left in peace to gather his thoughts and write to the Marquess. The Duchess swept from the room with a gentle smile of satisfaction on her face, and Cecily followed. She slid the Balfour ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand, where it would be safe until she could give it to Robert.
It belonged to both of their families now, his as much as hers. Once the symbol of a doomed love, it would soon become the sign of hope, peace, and, above all things, reconciliation.