Page 91 of Caught By the Ruthless Duke
“How fortunate for you, Papa, that my marriage serves your interests so well.”
If he detected the bitterness, he didn’t acknowledge it. “I’m simply stating facts. The Duke’s standing in society is considerable. Any hint of trouble between you reflects poorly on all of us.”
“Then perhaps you should have considered that before you sold me to satisfy a scandal.” The words escaped before she could stop them.
The room went very still.
“Sold you?” Her mother’s voice rose. “Wesavedyou. You’d ruined yourself, destroyed your prospects, and we arranged the most advantageous match possible.”
“Advantageous for whom?”
“For everyone!” Her mother stood and paced to the window. “You became a duchess. We regained our standing. The scandal was contained. Everyone benefited from your marriage.”
Everyone except Cressida. Everyone except Theodore, trapped in a contract he’d never wanted with a wife he couldn’t—wouldn’ttrust.
“You still haven’t explained what’s happened.” Her father’s voice sharpened. “This disagreement. What was it about?”
“That’s between the Duke and me.”
“Not when it affects this family’s reputation.” He leaned back, studying her with the calculating expression he used for business negotiations. “Whatever he’s done, whatever you’ve done, it must be repaired. Immediately. I won’t have whispers circulating about trouble in your marriage.”
“How considerate of you to worry about my well-being, Father.”
“Your well-being is best served by maintaining your position as the Duchess of Ashmere.” His voice remained level, practical.“Now, I suggest you compose yourself, write to your husband, and resolve this matter with dignity and discretion.”
Dignity. Discretion. The same words they’d used when they’d sent her to Aunt Agatha’s, when they’d arranged her engagement to Lord Emerton, when they’d forced her into this marriage. Once she’d been safely married, they discussed their own gains as though she were an investment whose value had finally been realized.
Always a commodity, never a daughter.
“We must host a dinner party while you’re in town,” her mother was saying. “Nothing too elaborate, but enough to remind people of the connection. The Pembrokes and the Ashfords, certainly. Perhaps Lord and Lady Hartwell, if they’re available. What do you think, George?”
“Capital idea. I’ll have my secretary draw up a list.” Her father turned to her. “You’ll want to invite the Duke. Give us a chance to become better acquainted.”
“Naturally.” Cressida set down her teacup. “Though I cannot speak to His Grace’s availability.”
“Whenever he can manage.” Her mother waved this away. “I’m sure he’ll make time.”
The conversation drifted toward guest lists. Cressida let it wash over her while studying the carpet. The irony wasn’t lost on her—she’d escaped this house by marrying a man who viewed her as a contract, only to discover her parents viewed her the same way.
An asset that had finally proved itself useful. Nothing more.
“Cressida?” Mary stood in the doorway, her young face carefully neutral but her eyes bright with the particular intensity of someone waiting for an opening. “Might I borrow you? I wanted to show you something upstairs.”
“Mary, we’re in the middle of—” Lady Bardwell began.
“Of course.” Cressida stood before her mother could finish. “If you’ll excuse me.”
She followed Mary into the corridor and climbed up the stairs. Her sister didn’t speak until they’d reached her old room, the door closing behind them.
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you, darling. Your warmth is overwhelming.”
“Don’t.” Mary crossed her arms, thirteen and far too perceptive. “I’m not Mama. You can’t distract me.”
Cressida sank onto the bed, exhaustion settling over her shoulders like a weight. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” Mary sat beside her, warmer and brighter and taking up far more space than she had last time. When had she grown so much? “I saw your face downstairs. You looked like you wanted to disappear into the wallpaper.”
