CHAPTER FIVE
“You’re getting married to a duke?”
Cecilia blinked once, setting her quill down as the ink bled across the page in a slow, spreading blot. She turned slowly to face her younger sister, who stood at the doorway with eyes bright as firecrackers and a grin that threatened mischief.
“Dorothy,” she said, her voice dangerously calm. “I love you dearly, but please leave my room.”
Dorothy took a dramatic step backward, pressing a hand to her chest. “You wound me.”
“Not nearly enough.”
But instead of retreating as instructed, Dorothy planted her feet and crossed her arms. “Phillip is not around, you know, and as much as I loathe his gimmicks, I miss the fact that I have no one to argue with. You’ve been locked in this room for twodays writing letters. Emma is busy making preparations for your wedding, and I am beginning to feel left out.”
Cecilia let her head fall back with a sigh. “Don’t be dramatic.”
Despite herself, a small smile tugged at the corner of Cecilia’s mouth. Dorothy had always been expressive, earnest, and full of unsolicited opinions. She was only nineteen, but she had grown so quickly in recent years that it sometimes startled Cecilia. She could now pass for Cecilia’s twin. They both shared the same stormy eyes, light brown hair, and even the same height.
Dorothy stayed indoors more than most girls her age, preferring her books and the company of her siblings. Cecilia had long noticed how much she took after Emma in that regard. They both loved books. So much that they could stay indoors for days on end as long as they had books at their disposal.
Dorothy walked over to where Cecilia sat and leaned her hip against the edge of the writing table. “Who are you writing to? Lucy?”
“Yes,” Cecilia breathed. “But I cannot quite figure out what to say to her.”
She stared down at the half-filled page, the ink slowly drying where her pen had stopped moving. Dozens of crumpled drafts lay scattered across the floor, each one an attempt to explain, to apologize, to offer something that might patch the wound she’d left behind. But none of them felt right. None of them sounded enough.
“I’m sorry, Cecilia,” Dorothy said to her. “But who knows? You and the Duke of Ashbourne might just fall in love! I mean, look at Emma and His Grace, or Alice, Emma’s friend. Or Lavinia! They are all so happy.”
“You’ve read one too many books, Dorothy,” Cecilia said and rose to her feet. “Look around. There are just as many failed marriages as there are successful ones. Even more, dare I say.”
“You can be optimistic.”
“I don’t want to think about it,” she retorted.
Dorothy didn’t press further. She moved away to the window instead, drawing back the curtain just a little to peer into the street below. The silence that fell between them was brief, interrupted only by a gentle knock at the door before it cracked open.
A maid stepped inside, her eyes flitting from one sister to the other. “Pardon the interruption, Miss, but His Grace, the Duke of Ashbourne, has arrived. Lord Lockhart has asked that you come downstairs and receive him.”
Cecilia blinked. For a moment, she was sure she had misheard. Her hands stilled over the papers she had been gathering. Her eyes lifted slowly to the maid, then to Dorothy.
“The duke? You are certain?”
“Yes, Miss,” the maid answered and nodded. “Your father sent word for you to come down.”
“I am not going,” she said plainly and sat down.
It still felt utterly surreal. This stranger, this man she barely knew, was now entwined with her life in a way that felt too tight. A duke, yes, but a stranger all the same. The whole arrangement felt absurd, no matter how many times she reminded herself why it had to be done. She was trying — truly trying — to accept it, to understand the need for calm, for compliance, for doing what everyone insisted was best. However, the truth was that it was all happening far too quickly. Her heart hadn’t caught up, not yet.
“You’re going,” Dorothy chimed in.
“I will do no such thing.”
“Cecilia, you are going,” she insisted. “Or would you rather I call for Emma?”
Cecilia shot her a mean glare. “You wouldn’t.”
“I very much would.”
“Who visits like that, unannounced?” she questioned as she stood up.
