Cecilia stepped into the hallway, the quiet tap of her shoes following her down the polished floor. The air smelled faintly of beeswax and orange blossoms, flowers that seemed to tie to the start of a new season. It was that time of year again. Balls, dinners, and endless socializing. The scent was supposed to feel hopeful, at least it did during her first season. But now, it only reminded her of how unexpected the last two seasons had been.
She remembered how she had come, hoping to find love, but instead, she’d managed to annoy nearly everyone. Most of themen hadn’t cared much for her sharp tongue and stubborn opinions, and after time had passed, Cecilia had come to care less and less about expectations.
Cecilia reached Lucy’s door and knocked softly before stepping inside. The room was quiet, bathed in the soft light filtering through lace curtains. Lucy stood by the window, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. As soon as their eyes met, Lucy sighed in relief and rushed over to Cecilia, pulling her into an embrace.
“What took you so long!” Lucy questioned. “You should have arrived this morning!”
“We got here as quickly as we could,” Cecilia tried to explain, gently as they pulled apart. “Why on earth are you so tense, Lucy?”
Lucy shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “Cecilia, this cannot be happening. It’s too sudden!”
Cecilia walked Lucy over to the bed and they both sat, holding hands. “Has he arrived? Is it certain that you will be marrying this man?”
Lucy nodded. “He’s in the study, writing to his dear Abigail.”
There was a brief pause before Cecilia tilted her head, puzzled. “Abigail?” she asked, the name catching oddly in her ears. Why,she wondered, would a man who had come to formally court his bride be tucked away in a study, writing to another woman?
“Who is Abig–”
“Oh, Cecilia, this was not my plan!” Lucy shot up from where she sat and began to pace the length of the room.
Seeing the worry etched deep in her cousin’s eyes, Cecilia decided that it was probably not the best time to question who Abigail was. So instead, she stood up, trying to decipher the best way to calm Lucy down.
“I might be able to help if I know why this troubles you so much,” she said. “I mean, from what I hear, this gentleman is a duke, no?”
Lucy stopped pacing and turned to face Cecilia with a conflicted look on her face. “Yes, he is. He is a duke. He is handsome, well-mannered from what I have heard, and of good standing in society.” Her voice faltered. “But it all feels… off.”
Cecilia raised a brow. “Off how?”
Lucy sank back into the bed, folding her hands tightly in her lap. “You recall how it was during your debut season? How we would write to each other about the London season? What you thought this was going to be like, how you dreamed of the dances, and the balls and love. I looked forward to my debut because of your letters, Cecilia. This isn’t what I imagined.”
Cecilia smiled faintly. “Well, my last two seasons were eventful, to say the least. But not in the way I’d imagined as a girl scribbling dreams onto paper. Also, I didn’t want to worry you too much, so I only told you the good things.” She paused as thoughts flashed through her mind. “Did I ever tell you about Lord Pearlton and his dreams of building a brood the size of a cricket team?”
Lucy finally smiled. “You did.”
“He said – quite seriously, mind you – that his greatest ambition was to have at least a dozen children, and that he needed a wife who would ‘get to work immediately.’ He actually once said I’d make a ‘fine breeder’ when he was speaking to me about marriage.”
Lucy let out a surprised bark of laughter, one hand flying to her mouth. “You’re joking! It’s amazing how you got rid of him.”
“Well, thankfully, my sister’s husband stepped in and got him to leave me be,” Cecilia said.
Lucy shook her head, laughter still in her eyes. “I don’t know what I would have done if I had been in your shoes.”
Cecilia shrugged modestly, though inwardly, her heart lifted at the sound of Lucy’s laughter. Thankfully, she had been able to ease some of the tension that Lucy was carrying. Lucy looked a bit more relaxed now. Her eyes were bright, and the familiar dimple had returned to her cheek.
A soft knock at the door interrupted their momentary respite, followed by a gentle voice from the other side. “Miss Lucy, Miss Cecilia, dinner is ready, and the guests are already gathering in the dining room.”
Lucy straightened with a reluctant breath and called softly. “Thank you. We shall be there shortly.” She sighed softly, smoothing the folds of her gown. “The evening unfolds, whether I am ready or not,” she murmured, almost to herself.
“Tell me, Cecilia,” Lucy continued, turning her attention back to Cecilia. “Has my mother and your father finally torn each other to pieces yet? Or are they still managing to keep the war polite enough for everyone to pretend it’s not happening?”
Cecilia chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Oh, the war is very much ongoing, I assure you. Though the rest of us try desperately to distract them or at least avoid being caught in the crossfire.”
Lucy rolled her eyes. “Figures. Sometimes, I think they get more enjoyment from sparring with each other than from the company of any of us.”
Cecilia smiled. “Well, let’s just hope they don’t get into each other’s crosshairs at dinner tonight, or we’ll all be ducking for cover.”
Lucy gave a wry smile. “Well, at least you only have to put up with my mother now and then, at dinners or family gatherings. I have to live with her every single day.”
