The laughter stilled. Abigail glanced nervously at Cecilia, who rose slowly from the piano bench. Her expression didn’t shift, but something behind her eyes cooled.
“I wasn’t teaching her, Your Grace,” she replied calmly. “We were merely–”
“Making a performance of it, clearly,” he interrupted. “There’s a reason professionals are employed in this household.”
Cecilia blinked, then gave a tight, humorless smile. “Yes, of course. How remiss of me to think a quiet moment with Abigail might be welcome. One would assume that was why I was brought here in the first place.”
Valentine’s jaw tightened. There was nothing gentle in her voice, only cool, deliberate sarcasm, tempered by perfect composure. Had he not been so intent on maintaining his own façade of indifference, he might have found her retort amusing.
“Brother,” Norman interjected from the doorway before the air grew any tighter. “Must we debate this now?”
Valentine said nothing at first. Then, after a beat, he gave a single nod and stepped back. The last thing he wanted to do was argue with Cecilia again in front of Abigail. It seemed as though they had formed that habit.
“Fine.”
But his eyes lingered on Cecilia for a moment longer before he turned and walked out of the room, saying nothing more.
“You call her Duchess,” Norman said offhandedly, as soon as they stepped into the corridor. “It’s unusual, even for you.”
Valentine’s steps did not falter, but he didn’t answer. If he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t sure why he called her that…or why he refused to call her by her name. Perhaps, he was avoiding any kind of familiarity between them, so nothing nearly affectionate would happen between them. Or perhaps, he just preferred it that way.
“You’ve changed,” Norman added after a pause. “You may not like it. You may not even see it yet. But she’s doing something to you, Valentine. Slowly.”
“Norman, I know what you are trying to do, and I don’t want to talk about this,” Valentine replied flatly. “Stop.”
“It’s been five years, Val,” Norman added softly. “Surely, that incident cannot still be the reason you–”
“Norman.” Valentine stopped in his tracks and turned to him, causing Norman to mellow instantly. “We have business to tend to. I need you to go over the estate returns from Surrey. I want to see the breakdown from the tenants before the quarter ends.”
Norman gave a small nod, sensing the shift. “Of course.”
Valentine didn’t say more. He turned toward the study, as his mind was already going over the work they had to do. As they entered the study and the door shut behind them, Valentine let out a slow breath. It was a relief...this work. Predictable, exacting, and without feeling. Here, in the quiet shuffle of ledgers and accounts, he could disappear once more, away from everything.
“So, you’re saying you grew up in London all your life?” Norman asked, reaching for the decanter and refilling his wine glass.
The dining room at Ashbourne felt grander than usual. Typically, when she had meals there, it was with Abigail, and sometimes, Miss Flaxman. Now, the oddity of hosting all four members of the household at the same table felt different. It was the first dinner they would all share together: she, Valentine, Norman, and Abigail.
She had dined with Valentine only once before since their wedding, and that evening had passed in near silence, save for the clinking of cutlery. But now, with everyone present, shefound herself sitting straighter, trying to decide whether to be guarded or at ease.
Cecilia smiled faintly. “Yes, Lord Norman. Though I spent many summers in Kent with some relatives.”
“Did you like it there?” he asked.
Cecilia shook her head. “I used to dread it as a child. My aunt always insisted I learn how to embroider and recite poetry before breakfast.”
Norman chuckled. “Sounds ghastly.”
“Oh, it was,” she replied, a twinkle in her eye. “But I suppose it taught me discipline. Also, I don’t have a lot of memories of family members from when I was young, so I hold on to the few ones I have, no matter how ghastly.”
Across the table, Abigail’s lips tugged upward faintly, though she quickly hid it behind her cup. Valentine said nothing, slicing neatly through his food without so much as glancing at her. He hadn’t spoken since the dinner had started.
Still, Cecilia kept her gaze on Norman, grateful for the levity he offered. She wasn’t entirely sure what to make of this evening, or why Valentine had suddenly decided to join them for supper after so many weeks of absence. But for now, she would take the distraction and press forward. Anything to fill the silence she feared might descend at any moment.
“I can understand that.” Norman reached for his glass, glancing toward Cecilia with a curious tilt of his head. “Your sister is a duchess, isn’t she? Were the two of you very close growing up?”
Cecilia smiled faintly. “Yes, very much. We still are, but even though we grew up close, we are very different.”
“In what way?” he asked, slicing neatly into his meat.
