“I suppose,” Cecilia responded to him with twitching eyebrows. “Why?”
Valentine stepped farther into the morning room, his gaze brushing over the untouched tea before her. Cecilia had not been idle all day, that much was clear. He had seen her trailing Mrs. Linton, the housekeeper, across corridors and staircases all morning, nodding attentively as inventories and staff schedules were recited to her.
“How has Mrs. Linton been so far?” he questioned, placing both hands behind him.
Cecilia adjusted her gloves and lifted her chin a fraction. “Efficient,” she replied. “She has quite the memory. It is such a big manor, I wonder how she recalls everything.”
Valentine’s lips curved faintly, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “She’s been running Ashbourne longer than I’ve had the title.”
“It’s quite obvious,” Cecilia answered, picking up the cup of tea left on the table. “Why have you summoned me into the morning room, Your Grace?”
“Because I’d rather you spent the rest of the day with Abigail.”
Cecilia’s hand paused at her lips just as she was about to take a sip. “Oh.”
Valentine studied her for a beat longer than was polite. “She’s not an easy child to please,” he added after a pause. “So, I reckon it’s important to start building a relationship with her early.”
Cecilia nodded slowly. “I agree.”
He gave a brief incline of his head, but even as he turned to lead her toward the side terrace where Abigail waited, something unsettled lingered.
This woman. Cecilia. From the moment they met, he had not been able to read her, and that frustrated him more than he cared to admit. He had noticed it from the moment they met. That absurd, unforgettable evening when she barged into his room and began unfastening her gown without even taking a moment to check her surroundings.
With most people, he could discern their intentions,their angles, their ambitions. It was second nature to him, like identifying the weight of a coin just by holding it. Perhaps, it was an effect from years of doing business with different people, but he liked that trait. He knew how to use that trait to his advantage.
But with Cecilia, there was nothing obvious to hold onto. At the time when they first met, he noticed that about her, and he’d overlooked it. He had needed a wife, not a mystery. But in the days since, he’d begun to realize it wasn’t a fluke. It was her nature. Cecilia talked freely, sometimes to excess, yet nothing she said ever seemed to touch the core of her.
He wasn’t sure yet whether her contradictions were dangerous or harmless. He couldn’t tell if she was playing a long game or if this was simply how she truly was. Different. Unscripted. Difficult to place. But Valentine had no fondness for things he could not categorize.
He glanced at her again as they stepped toward the garden path. “What is it?” he asked, noting that she had said very little.
Cecilia glanced at him. “I’m not sure what you are asking, Your Grace.”
He narrowed his eyes slightly. “You’ve been uncharacteristically quiet.”
“Your Grace, it’s only been a few minutes since we greeted each other for the first time today.”
“I only meant,” he said, with the barest flicker of patience. “That last night’s conversation ended rather abruptly.”
Cecilia turned her gaze forward, where the gravel path wound its way toward the orchard and the edges of the walled garden. The same garden, he recalled, where Abigail had once declared the roses better company than governesses.
“I thought we said everything that needed saying, Your Grace,” she replied at last, her voice calm.
Valentine did not respond immediately. There was a tension behind her words, something pulling tight. She had not seemed angry last night. Not even particularly hurt. But she had left too quickly, and now, this quiet? This measured politeness?
No. He didn’t like it.
“I just wanted to ensure you understood,” he said after a beat, choosing his words carefully. “Also, if you need me to clear up anything, so we make sure we are on the same page, I would be happy to.”
Cecilia turned to him then. “I do understand,” she said gently. “You’ve made yourself quite clear.”
Valentine watched her from the corner of his eye as they strolled. Although she wasn’t the bride he had planned to marry, it didn’t matter. Abigail’s world had grown smaller and quieter. The house had grown colder. Something had to give.
Cecilia, for all her habits and unpredictability, fit the person he had imagined for Abigail. She had character, she seemed warm, and she grew up with siblings. What he needed was someone who could walk into Abigail’s silence and bring light. Someone who wouldn’t shrink beneath the shadows in the house. Cecilia, despite everything, did not seem inclined to shrink.
“Papa!”
The voice rang out clear across the garden. Valentine turned just in time to brace himself as Abigail approached them in a quick pace, running past her governess. She halted just short of him, lifting her face to greet him with a smile.
