The girl blinked, clearly startled by the request, but then gave a small nod. “Of course, Your Grace.”
They walked in silence to the east wing. She wasn’t even sure what she intended to say or do. All she knew was that she had not come all this way to start off her marriage on the wrong foot. It was best that she did everything right—the way it was supposed to be done. The last thing she wanted was a rumor about her being an incompetent duchess.
But when they got to Valentine’s chambers, and the maid pushed the door open, the room was empty. The fire burned low, casting flickering shadows against the walls, but there was no sign of Valentine.
“He isn’t here,” Cecilia murmured, more to herself than the maid.
Gladis hesitated. “He may be in the study, Your Grace. Shall I–”
“Yes please,” Cecilia said quickly. “Lead the way.”
Cecilia had grown accustomed to the rhythm her heart kept these days, so it hardly startled her when she could all but hear it echo in the silence. The closer they got to the study, the faster her heartbeat. Once they reached the study, Cecilia gestured for Gladis to leave. She stood in front of the day, gathering herself to knock. She took a breath, knocked once, and then let herself in.
She found him there, seated behind a large mahogany desk with half a glass of brandy in his hand, a stack of papers before him. His head turned sharply at her entrance, eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Miss Lockhart,” he said slowly. “Is something wrong? Are you having trouble settling in?”
Cecilia scanned the room. “Has Norman retreated for the night?”
“He has,” Valentine answered. “Abigail, too. You should be resting. It’ll be a long day for you tomorrow, getting to know the lay of the land.”
Cecilia lifted her chin and folded her arms across her chest. “It’s our wedding night, Your Grace.”
He blinked. For a moment, he looked as if the words hadn’t quite landed. “So it is.”
She forced a small, dry laugh. “Forgive me if I’m confused. I was under the impression that, well at the very least, we were to acknowledge it. But to my surprise, I find that I am to spend the night alone.”
Valentine forehead furrowed in response and the corners of his mouth twitched. “Is that what you expected of me tonight? A formal acknowledgment?” He rose to his feet with his hands clasped loosely behind his back.
Cecilia straightened. “No. I mean, yes. I mean…” Her throat tightened. “It’s simply what’s done, is it not?”
A smile crossed his lips as he stopped in front of her and leaned on the edge of the table. “Tell me, Duchess, what exactly do you think happens on the wedding night?”
“We are to consummate the marriage,” she answered.
He squinted his eyes. “And what exactly do you think that means?”
Cecilia opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Her hands dropped to her sides and she tilted her head, thinking. In that moment, she realized that she should have taken Emma’s offer for the talk.
“Well, you should know,” she answered. “You’ve been married before. All I know is that marriage must be consummated. That’s what happens on the wedding night.”
“It is,” he said and rose to his feet, slowly approaching here. “But this isn’t a typical marriage, is it, Duchess?”
“Your Grace, I don’t understand.”
Valentine pressed his hand against his forehead and sighed. “Miss Lockhart, I told you clearly that I wouldn’t touch you. Or do you not recall?”
Cecilia looked away for a moment to think then looked back at him. “I thought when you said you wouldn’t touch me, you meant in public.”
“I didn’t.”
Her brow furrowed. “You meant in private, too?”
“Yes,” he said simply, his gaze unflinching. “Especially in private.”
“But what about producing an heir?” she stuttered. “How could we possibly manage that?”
He looked at her then, genuinely confused, as if she’d said something absurd. “Who said I wanted an heir?”
