Phillip nodded. “We even tried talking to Aunt Marianne directly, but she’s refusing to hear any of it. She said she’s too old to be lectured by her nieces and nephews.”
“Or her brother,” Dorothy added.
Cecilia shook her head slowly, disbelieving. “So she’s really that determined to humiliate me in circles I no longer even frequent?”
Phillip shook his head. “It’s more about her image. Her legacy. Somehow, she thinks making Lucy the brave one who refused the duke keeps her family pride intact.”
Dorothy leaned closer. “But Papa’s doing what he can, truly. So is Emma. They’re pushing back where they can, and so far, not everyone is buying Marianne’s tale,” she said, then moved even closer. “But I have a suggestion. How about you speak to Aunt Marianne?”
Phillip nodded. “We thought about it and we figured it might help if it came directly from you.”
“You want me to speak to Aunt Marianne?” she asked, slowly, as if testing the idea on her tongue.
Dorothy leaned forward. “Cecilia, we’re not asking you to grovel. We know this wasn’t entirely your fault. But Aunt Marianne isn’t exactly listening to reason right now.”
Cecilia’s shoulders tensed. “And you think if I speak with her, she’ll stop?”
“She might,” Dorothy said. “At least if she hears from you directly not as a duchess, but as her niece. As someone who’s been affected by her words. Maybe then, she’ll see that this has hurt people.”
Phillip nodded. “You don’t even have to explain the whole thing all over again. Just let her know you want peace. She might not back down completely, but if you can show her that you’re not holding any anger, that you’re willing to move past what she has done, then maybe she’ll do the same.”
“Then it’ll die down,” Dorothy added. “Because right now, Cecilia, it’s spiraling, and frankly, we don’t know what else to do.”
Cecilia looked between them and let out a sigh, her fingers twisting tightly in her lap. “I just…I can’t believe she’d do this.”
She blinked rapidly, willing the tears back, but they stung anyway, pressing hotly behind her eyes. “She saw everything, you know. She was there. She knows it wasn’t meant to happen like that. Yet she’s out there telling the world something else entirely.”
Dorothy reached for her hand, squeezing gently, but Cecilia barely felt it.
“She’s always been cruel to us,” Cecilia whispered, shaking her head. “Always sharp with her words. I know that. But this? This is so surreal.”
“I just,” Cecilia swallowed, the lump in her throat making it hard to breathe. “I thought we were past this already. I thought…after all these years, after all the things we’ve endured from her, that at least she wouldn’t stoop so low. She saw me in that room with the duke. She knew exactly how that day unfolded. Why would she try to ruin me?”
Dorothy gave her hand another squeeze. “She won’t. That’s why we came.”
Cecilia nodded slowly, pulling herself together. “All right,” she said. “I’ll speak to the duke about this first. He is out on a short business trip, and he will be back in a few days. Once I talk to him, I’ll go speak to Aunt Marianne. If only to protect what’s left of my name. I will also try to find Lucy and speak to her. But if Aunt Marianne throws a slipper at me, like she used to do when we were little, I’m holding both of you responsible.”
At that, Cecilia drew in a breath as her siblings giggled and gave a small shake of her head, as if tossing off the heaviness that had settled in the room.
“Well,” she said, rising to her feet with an exaggerated stretch, “Now that you’ve delivered your scandalous gossip and mademe cry, I think it’s only fair that I bribe you with tea and something sweet for this vital information you traveled several hours to deliver. Come. I’m sure Cook has tucked away different assortments of cakes if we ask nicely.”
As she reached the door, she paused and glanced back at them. “Also, you’ve not met Abigail yet. I must introduce you before you leave. You’ll adore her. She is wonderful.”
Phillip raised a brow. “The duke’s daughter?”
“Yes,” Cecilia said. “She’s sharp as a whip and entirely too clever for her age. Much like you, Phillip.”
“So, are you saying that I’m not clever?” Dorothy questioned and crossed her arms.
Phillip turned to her with a smug grin. “I believe the implication is that I’m the clever one. As always.”
Dorothy scoffed. “Please. The last time you tried to fix the latch on a window, you nailed it shut and blamed the draft on spirits.”
“That was strategy,” he retorted. “I was thirteen and innovative. Also, the ghost thing made you scream, which was a bonus.”
“You make thirteen sound like ages ago. That was just three years. You’re still the same idiot now.”
“You wound me, sister,” Phillip said with exaggerated flair, clutching his chest as though she’d delivered a mortal blow.
