“When I first met Solomon,” she began softly. “It was far from perfect. I was frightened, do you recall? I barely knew him, and he made the most ridiculous request of me. We seemed so utterly mismatched. Yet, I fell in love with him. We married, and suddenly there were expectations, so many that I feared I could never meet. But in time, everything began to settle. He truly saw me. He loved me, even when I was difficult, even when I tried to push him away.”
Cecilia tried to smile, but her lips didn’t quite manage it. “We can all see that His Grace dotes on you shamelessly. He saved us. Saved Papa. But I cannot sit idly and expect the same to happen to me. You are the exception, Emma. Not the norm.”
“Cecilia, what can I say to make you accept this?” Emma asked. “It will be easier if you do. I am your older sister. I know how these things work. The moment Papa accepted the duke’s proposal, your fate changed.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m happy it worked for you, truly. But I don’t have the luxury of hoping.”
“My dear–”
“I want a love match,” Cecilia blurted. Her voice cracked, not from volume, but from the weight of the truth she’d carried far too long.
“When I debuted,” she continued, her fingers twisting the ribbon at her sleeve, “I had dreams. Foolish ones, maybe. I imagined dancing with someone who would make me laugh. I imagined long walks in the gardens, letters filled with thoughts, not just pleasantries. I wanted to be chosen, not just for my dowry or the fact that I can hold a conversation. I wanted love.”
Her gaze dropped to the carpet. “But I ruined that. I said the wrong things. I questioned the wrong people. Most men didn’t care for my thoughts, much less my wit. So I played the game. Tried to be softer. Sweeter. But I was always…too much.”
“No, you were never too much,” Emma said firmly, moving closer. “You were always you.”
Cecilia swallowed. “It might be foolish to still hold on to the idea of a love match when I have seen two seasons come and go after my debut, but I don’t want this. Also, this is about more than me. This is also about Lucy. She does not deserve this. She might have been nervous about the entire thing, but she has spent weeks bracing up for this moment, preparing. Everyone knows. She will be humiliated. People will talk about this and wonder what happened, and if they dig deep enough, they will find out.”
Emma’s gaze lingered on Cecilia’s face before she reached out once more, brushing a stray curl from Cecilia’s brow.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “You should try to rest. You’ve barely slept these past few nights. Everything feels heavier when you’re tired.”
Emma offered a gentle smile, then stood, smoothing her skirts. “If you need me, I shall be downstairs. I’ll ask that our belongings be moved around, so your bags will be brought here, and I’ll stay in your room.”
Cecilia nodded. “Thank you, Emma.”
As the door closed behind Emma, Cecilia sat still for a moment, staring at the dying embers in the hearth, then slowly moved to the bed and lay back against the pillows.
She needed a plan.
Letting things run their course had never suited her. She had tried it once, closed her eyes, held her breath, and hoped the world would shape itself kindly around her. But life had no such tenderness. The world moved as it pleased, and if one did not steer, one was swept under.
She had almost been swept under before. Smiled when she was uncertain, nodded when she should have questioned, made herself agreeable when her instincts screamed otherwise, and for what? To be called good? To be left untouched by blame?
Never again.
If she were to have any say in what came next, she could not drift through it hoping for the best. She would need a strategy, a clear-eyed, steady-footed approach. Emotions had their place, but they would not lead this charge.
She must have a plan, and to begin, she had to speak to Valentine.
It’s now or never.
Later that night, when the house lay wrapped in stillness, the kind that only settles once every footstep, every whisper, every flicker of light has vanished into sleep, Cecilia quietly rose from the bed.
She had feigned drowsiness when Emma checked on her, staying in bed until the final creak of footsteps down the corridor had stilled. Now, hours later, it felt like the time was finally right.
She crossed the room swiftly, pausing only to draw her shawl around her shoulders before easing open the door. Lying awake for hours had given her time to think through a strategy to convince the duke that marrying her was a terrible idea. No matter how much she thought about it, her best option was to get the duke to change his mind.
When she reached Valentine’s door, she hesitated, her hand hovering just above the latch.
He might be asleep. He might be displeased.
But she needed him awake.
Deciding not to think too much, she pushed the door open and stepped inside before anyone saw her in the hallway. The room was dim, lit only by a few candles and the faintest silver wash of moonlight filtering in through the windows. As her eyes adjusted, she saw him, propped against the headboard with his arms crossed. Thankfully, he was very much awake.
Cecilia froze.
