Her lips parted, then closed again. For a moment, she sat still, pulse thudding in her ears. She glanced at Norman, who had his head lowered and then sat back, fighting the urge to cross her arms.
“Curiosity is a fine thing, Duchess,” he continued. “But there are lines, and you should learn where they are.”
“And if I cross them?” she snapped, chin tilting. “What happens then?”
“I won’t let that happen,” he said, holding her gaze.
Cecilia’s breath caught in her throat, but before she could fire back another retort, she felt a small shift beside her that instantly reminded her that Abigail was seated there in the room.
She forced her voice into something softer. “Abigail,” she said gently, turning slightly. “Do you need help with your supper?”
Abigail shook her head slowly and smiled. “No, Cecilia.”
Cecilia offered her a small smile anyway, brushing a stray curl behind the girl’s ear before returning to her own plate. “All right. When we are done with supper, what do you say weread together?” she asked, continuing the conversation with her instead so she didn’t continue arguing with Valentine.
Abigail nodded vigorously and continued eating.
She did not speak again, not through the rest of the meal. There was no use. She couldn’t help but wonder why it was so difficult to reach Valentine. This man she’d married, this man who, moments ago, had looked at her with such unguarded intensity, like they had formed an unspoken connection, only to retreat again behind walls so thick she could not see past them.
What hurt him so much that he was so set on protecting his space from her?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Your Grace,” Hawkins, the butler, said, bowing slightly. “There are visitors at the front door.”
Cecilia sat with Abigail on the rug near the hearth, their skirts tucked beneath them as they worked quietly over a little wooden tray filled with smooth river stones. It had started as a lesson in counting, but the conversation had drifted into color sorting and story-making.
Cecilia’s head snapped up. “Visitors?”
“Yes, Your Grace. They’ve requested to see you,” he answered. “They are your siblings.”
“My siblings?” Cecilia’s eyes widened. “All of them?”
She didn’t wait for Hawkins to respond before shooting to her feet. “Miss Flaxman,” she said quickly, turning to the governess who was seated with them. “Please stay with Abigail.”
With that, Cecilia walked with hastened steps out of the room, making her way to the front parlor where visitors were usually received. Her heart beat faster with every step that she took. If her siblings had arrived, maybe then Lucy could be with them. She had to be.
It could be. Please let Lucy be with them.
They had still not spoken to each other since that incident. Cecilia was certain that her aunt Marianne was intercepting all her letters to Lucy. That was the only way to explain the silence. So, she figured that Lucy had probably snuck out of the estate to come visit, so they could talk.
“Sister!”
The call came even before Cecilia had fully crossed the threshold of the parlor. Dorothy and Phillip were already rising to meet her, their expressions warm with the kind of relief only family could offer. Phillip was first to close the distance, wrapping her in a strong, familiar embrace, while Dorothy pressed a kiss to her cheek and held her arms.
But even as Cecilia returned their welcome, her eyes scanned behind them, searching. There were only two of them.
“Where’s Lucy?” she asked quickly, her breath catching in her throat. “Did Lucy come with you?”
Phillip’s smile dimmed. “No,” he said. “Lucy isn’t with us.”
The drop in Cecilia’s chest was immediate. It was heavy with disappointment. She swallowed it down and offered a small nod, her gaze falling to the floor for a moment before she gathered herself. “Oh,” she said softly. “I see.”
Finally, she looked up at her siblings again, and the disappointment she had felt in that moment dissipated, overtaken by an aching gladness.
“You came,” she whispered, as though only just realizing it.
Before either could reply, she stepped forward and pulled them both into a firmer embrace. Her arms wrapped tightly around them, her cheek pressed to Dorothy’s shoulder, her fingers grasping the back of Phillip’s coat. “You came,” she said again, this time with a small, helpless laugh that sounded suspiciously like it might break into tears. “I’ve missed you both so terribly.”
