They were talking. Smiling and apparently waiting for him.
He wasn’t used to that part either.
Valentine cleared his throat as he stepped inside. Both heads turned. Abigail beamed at once. Cecilia glanced up, offering a polite, almost serene expression, but her eyes lingered just a second longer than necessary. It was long enough for him to catch it.
“Papa, we thought you’d never come!”
Valentine gave her a smile as he sat down. “My apologies, dearest. I was occupied with work.”
Abigail giggled and began to chatter about the way Cecilia had helped her arrange the sugar cubes into little pyramids before he came. He half-listened, watching the two of them as they went on, an odd sense of peace creeping into his chest.
Then Abigail, in the innocent way only children knew how to do, turned to him with curious eyes. “Papa, how did you and Cecilia meet?” she questioned.
Cecilia froze. Valentine hadn’t yet taken a bite of his eggs, but he chose that exact moment to do so and choked once the question hit him. He reached for his tea at once, coughing into his napkin, as his eyes watered.
Cecilia turned sharply toward Abigail, recovering faster than he had. “Through mutual friends,” she said gently. “It was a very...short meeting.”
Valentine glanced at her, recovering his breath, and saw it clearly. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, and he worried that Abigail’s question might have opened a sore spot for Cecilia again, given that her relationship with Lucy, her cousin, was still frigid because of their marriage.
Abigail tilted her head. “What kind of friends?”
“The kind who wanted the best for us both,” Cecilia replied. Her fingers tightened briefly around her teacup. “And perhaps thought we might make a good match.”
Valentine didn’t speak. He just watched her.
Abigail’s brows drew together in a small, dissatisfied frown. “That’s it?” she asked, as though someone had handed her a half-wrapped gift. “That’s the story?”
Valentine turned slightly toward her, bemused by the scrunch of her nose. “What more were you expecting?” he asked, his voice still gravelly from his earlier coughing fit.
“A story,” she said with great seriousness. “A proper one. Like in books. With a ball, or horses.”
Cecilia laughed, light, melodic, and entirely too pleased. “Well, I cannot give you a horse chase,” she said. “But I can tell you how my sister met her husband. That one involves a scandal.”
Abigail leaned forward, eyes wide. “Truly? Do tell!”
“Very well, I shall tell you the real story. But you must promise not to tell anyone, Abigail. This is family gossip.”
Abigail nodded solemnly, hands clasped.
“My sister Emma met her husband, the Duke of Montclaire in a garden,” Cecilia began, drawing the word garden out like it was forbidden.
“A garden?” Abigail blinked. “That doesn’t sound so terrible.”
“They were alone,” Cecilia said meaningfully.
Abigail gasped.
“It was late afternoon. There was no chaperone, and worse still, they were arguing.”
“Arguing?” Valentine blurted, curious.
“Oh yes,” Cecilia said with relish, but only glancing at him. “It was all because of me, but that’s another story. They argued so much that they nearly got caught, too. Which would’ve been a complete disaster, because Emma was intimidated by him at the time.”
“Then why did she marry him?”
Cecilia lifted a finger. “Because a few weeks later, he asked her to be his tutor.”
Abigail blinked again. “Tutor?”
