“I told you I’m not offering romance.”
“Clearly,” she muttered. “What a pity. I had hoped to be swept off my feet, Your Grace.”
“I suspect you’re quite capable of keeping them firmly on the ground.”
“You know what? Maybe I did Lucy a favor,” she said and sighed as they reached his carriage. “If this is what marriage to you entails, then perhaps, this misfortune favored her after all.”
Valentine turned toward her with one foot already on the carriage step. “Do you always speak with such drama, Miss Lockhart, or is it just reserved for me?”
“I was hoping my dramatics would sway you,” she said with a feigned smile. “Surely, you would much rather prefer this arrangement to happen with someone–”
“No, you’ll do,” he said and got into the carriage fully. “See you at the altar, Miss Lockhart.”
She narrowed her eyes, frustration prickling beneath her skin. “Will I only be meeting your family then, Your Grace?”
He paused, turning slightly to look at her from the doorway. “Yes indeed,” he said. “My brother should be present. Oh, and if she wants to come, then Abigail will be there, too.”
The door shut behind him before she could ask anything else.
The name rang a bell.
Abigail.
Cecilia’s brows furrowed as he recalled that he had taken out time to write to Abigail during his stay at the Hemroad residence. Was that his mother? It would make sense. Her future mother-in-law, perhaps? Nothing to worry about.
Still, it struck her as odd that he would refer to her by name alone, without the usual formality.
A relative, then? His sister? That seemed more likely. Yes, that must be it.
He had mentioned his brother, so surely, if Abigail were his sister, he would have said so as easily.
So, who was Abigail?
CHAPTER SIX
“Ithought you said I would be seeing you at the altar, Your Grace.”
Valentine took a few unhurried steps into the room, glancing briefly at the piano by the window before letting his gaze settle on her. “That was the original plan,” he said. “I just thought it best to check on final preparations before tomorrow.”
“How diligent,” Cecilia replied, rising at last and smoothing her skirts with more force than necessary. “You didn’t have to, Your Grace. Everything is under control. It’s all set for the wedding tomorrow.”
“Your dress?”
Cecilia blinked. “It’s ready.”
“The fitting?”
“Done,” she replied, folding her arms.
He gave a small nod, as if ticking an invisible box. “Good.”
Cecilia wasn’t as nervous as she had been two days ago. The tight knot in her stomach had loosened, if only slightly. But that didn’t mean she was suddenly all right with it all. Far from it. If anything, she was numb now, drifting through each task like a leaf caught in the current.
The shock had worn off, the dread had dulled, and all that was left was exhaustion. Not the sort that sleep could fix, but the deep, quiet kind that settled in her bones. She had spent so much time feeling everything so intensely, panic, guilt, helplessness...that her heart had simply stopped trying.
Now, she was just going with the flow. Letting herself be pulled from one step to the next, because resisting had got her nowhere. This wedding was happening, whether she liked it or not, and frankly, she was too tired to fight anymore.
Cecilia folded her arms lightly, watching him with mild suspicion. “Are you always this meticulous about the planning of things, Your Grace?”
