There was a beat of silence.
Then Abigail burst into laughter. Loud, unrestrained, the kind of laugh that rose from the belly and spilled out before one could catch it. She doubled over slightly, pointing at the muddy heap that was now Cecilia.
Cecilia groaned, spitting a curl away from her mouth as she pushed herself up on her elbows. “Well...” she said, dragging herself upright and blinking soil from her lashes. “...that was graceful.”
Abigail was still giggling uncontrollably. “You looked like a flying bird,” she managed between gasps. “A very muddy one!”
Cecilia sat back on her heels, muddy gloves hanging from her fingers, and tried not to laugh herself.
“I warned you,” Abigail said, grinning. “I did say you’d fall.”
“Oh, did you, my lady?” Cecilia muttered playfully, rising from the damp soil with what little grace she could muster. She reached for Abigail swiftly, and before the child could dart away, Cecilia caught her around the waist and tugged her close with a grin.
“Let us see how you fare, then,” she said, swiping two fingers through the earth and dabbing a gentle streak across Abigail’s cheek.
Abigail squealed, squirming in her arms, giggling uncontrollably as Cecilia carefully smeared another faint line just beneath her nose. “Now we both look the part,” Cecilia declared. “Two muddy flying birds.”
They tumbled into laughter together, bright, breathless, and wholly unguarded. Abigail collapsed beside her on the grass. Cecilia had barely caught her breath when she heard footsteps approach them.
“What is going on here?” Valentine suddenly demanded.
Cecilia froze, the laughter drying on her lips as swiftly as it had come. Her heart lurched, suddenly aware of the mud caking her skirts, the smear on her sleeve, the streaks across Abigail’s cheeks.
She rose quickly, brushing at her gown with trembling fingers, and gently pulled Abigail up with her. Without thinking, she stepped in front of the child, as if her slight figure could shield the girl from whatever ire might be brewing behind Valentine’s questioning look.
Cecilia’s spine straightened. “Good morning, Your Grace. I tripped,” she said quickly. “Into the flowerbed. This was all an accident.”
He looked Cecilia over, taking in her mud-streaked gown, disheveled hair, flushed cheeks, and then his gaze dropped to Abigail, who was still catching her breath from laughter. His jaw tightened as his eyes returned to Cecilia.
“Miss Flaxman,” he called curtly, never taking his eyes off Cecilia. “Please see that Abigail is washed and changed. Immediately.”
The governess, who had appeared just behind him, gave a quick curtsy and reached for Abigail’s hand. Cecilia felt the child hesitate, glance up at her, then reluctantly obey.
Cecilia watched them retreat, her heart beating faster with each step they took away from her. The moment Abigail disappeared around the hedge, she turned back to Valentine. He had notmoved. But his silence thundered louder than any scolding. She couldn’t help but wonder why he could possibly be angry. They had only been playing.
“Your Grace,” she tried to fill the silence. “It’s good to see you out of the study. I was beginning to wonder when you had time to eat when you work all the time. If I may suggest–”
“Is this how you intend to shape Abigail, Duchess?” Valentine interrupted her. “Romping about in the dirt?”
Cecilia took a breath, steadying herself as she stepped forward. “Your Grace, I can assure you, we were not romping in the dirt. We were merely tending to the garden.”
“Tending to the garden?” he echoed, sharply.
“Yes,” she replied, trying to keep her voice composed even though her cheeks still burned with embarrassment. “Abigail has taken an interest in flowers, and I thought to use that as a way to spend time with her. That is all. We were selecting a few for pressing, talking about their names and colors. I hardly think that is cause for alarm.”
Valentine’s gaze flickered to her mud-spattered skirts, then back to her face. “And the dirt?”
“A misstep on my part,” she said with a tight smile. “I stood too quickly on the edge of the bench while reaching for a wild rose.Abigail found it amusing, as children do. It was nothing more than a mishap.”
“You should not be climbing benches, Duchess,” he said coldly. “You are not her playmate.”
“No, I’m not,” Cecilia replied. “But I’ve scarcely seen you these past few days, and I had no other guidance. I only meant to reach her. She’s a child, Your Grace, not porcelain.”
“This isn’t the first time I’ve heard accounts of you and Abigail playing about the estate,” he said. “Is that what you intend to teach her? To run wild? To disregard decorum?”
Cecilia blinked, stunned. “What?” she whispered, confused.
“I did not marry you to play with my daughter, Duchess,” he said, taking a step forward. “You are supposed to teach her. Guide her, not encourage her silly habits.”
