Valentine gave a vague nod, eyes still fixed on the papers in front of him.
“They came to warn me,” she continued. “About the rumors. It’s spreading across London and people are starting to believe it.”
At that, his gaze lifted, brows drawn faintly. “Is that all?” he asked.
Cecilia stared at him. “You don’t think that’s a problem?”
“It’s idle talk,” he said with a shrug. “Everyone gossips. They’ll move on.”
“No,” she said, firmer now. “This is different. She’s determined, and people are starting to listen.”
“She’s a petty woman grasping for relevance,” Valentine said coolly. “It doesn’t concern me.”
“Well, it concerns me,” Cecilia replied. “It’s about my reputation. I don’t like it when people talk about me and my family. We have been through that in the past, and I don’t want a repetition of it.”
“It is not a big issue, Duchess,” he said. “People will always have something to say. Why does this bother you?”
“You’re not listening to me,” she said quietly.
Valentine looked up at her then and locked eyes with her. “I’m listening.”
“You might think it wouldn’t affect you, but it will. You should be worried. Because when they start to discuss you, it reaches Abigail. If it doesn’t reach her now, it will in time. I don’t want that. I don’t want her to hear any of this. If they say I trapped you, what will she believe? What will she think of me? What of you?” she pressed. “You may think your name is untouchable, but people find ways to ruin even the highest houses, and it’s always through whispers that no one bothers to stop.”
“What would you have me do?” he questioned and sat back. “What do you want, Duchess?”
Cecilia hesitated, then leaned forward, resting her hands lightly on the arm of the chair. “I want to speak with her. Aunt Marianne.”
Valentine’s expression barely shifted.
“She’s the one fueling all this,” Cecilia continued. “I thought maybe if we invited her here to the estate, had her to dinner, spoke plainly, calmly, we might be able to clear the air. Put everything behind us.”
“You want to host the woman who’s tarnishing your name?” he asked.
“I want her to see what she’s doing,” Cecilia said softly. “I want her to look me in the eye and understand that she’s hurting her own family, and if there’s a chance that speaking to her as someone who’s been hurt by her words will change something, I think I need to try.”
Valentine stiffened in his chair. The shift was slight, but unmistakable. His shoulders drawing back, his jaw setting like stone. “We will not bow to idle gossip, Duchess.”
“We are not bowing,” Cecilia said sharply. “We are managing it. You don’t know what it’s like in London, Your Grace. You’ve never had to be the person at the center of the whispers, the glances, the way people pretend not to care, and then ruin you with a smile. It’s...it’s humiliating. It’s depressing. I don’t want my family to suffer for something I did not plan.”
“Dorothy is going to debut soon, and if Aunt Marianne’s story keeps growing legs, it will follow her into every room she enters. The girl whose sister stole someone’s place, they’ll say. The family that schemed for a title.”
“That is absurd,” he said to her. “Surely, as my wife, you should know better than to suggest we pander to such weakness. It is bait. Only a fool takes an obvious bait.”
Cecilia held her breath for a moment and glared at him. “I thought I wasn’t your wife. I was Duchess of Ashbourne. Only here for Abigail.”
The silence that followed was taut, brittle. The air between them seemed to thicken, as if the room itself held its breath. Her words hovered like a drawn curtain before a storm, simple, but impossible to ignore.
Valentine didn’t speak at once. But something in his eyes sharpened, and for the briefest second, almost a heartbeat, no more, his gaze dropped to her lips.
“We have been invited to a ball,” he said, changing the subject. “At the Wentworth’s. Four nights from now.”
A ball?
She blinked, startled by the sudden announcement. “Your Grace–”
“I need to rest, Duchess,” he said and rose to his feet. He didn’t look at her as he crossed to the window, hands folded behind his back. “Your gown will arrive in two days,” he added coolly.
Cecilia drew in a breath, slow and controlled. “Of course, Your Grace.”
