“Etiquette lessons.”
Abigail clapped her hands in delight. “Did she say yes?”
“She did, and somewhere between correcting his posture and scolding him for his manners, she fell in love with him. But she didn’t know it at the time.”
“What about him?” Abigail asked.
“Oh, he was lost from the beginning,” Cecilia said lightly, brushing a crumb from her lap. “But I think it took him a while to admit it. Now, they are happily married!”
Abigail giggled, kicking her feet. “But why were they arguing because of you, Cecilia?” Abigail asked. “What is the other story?”
“Oh, well.” Cecilia cleared her throat. “The reason they were arguing was because I had gone to the garden to –”
“I think that’s enough storytelling for breakfast, Cecilia,” Valentine said, his voice calm.
Cecilia blinked, mid-word, her eyes snapping to his. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Valentine met Cecilia’s gaze firmly, prepared to offer a subtle warning look, but instead, he caught the glint of mischief still dancing in her eyes as though she had anticipated his response. She was toying with him, and she knew precisely how close she had come to saying something utterly inappropriate for young ears.
Her lips curved, slowly, and he felt the corners of his own mouth threaten to follow suit against his better judgment.
“Oh, very well,” she said at last, sitting straighter in her chair. “Perhaps not all stories are suited to daylight hours and breakfast tables.”
Abigail gave a disappointed sigh.
“But,” Cecilia added brightly. “How about we plan a visit to Mayfield residence? You could see Dorothy and Phillip again, and they will certainly have more appropriate stories to tell you.”
“Really! We can?” Her face lit up.
“That’s if your Papa is comfortable with it,” Cecilia said, turning to glance at Valentine with a composed smile that was anything but innocent.
Valentine narrowed his eyes slightly. He knew that smile. It was the very same she wore when Abigail outmaneuvered him into letting her stay up past her bedtime. It was the smile of a woman who had just set a trap and was patiently waiting for him to walk right into it.
“Mm.” He turned to Abigail, who was watching them with rapt attention.
Abigail beamed. “Thank you, Papa.”
As Abigail bounced excitedly in her chair, already asking Cecilia when they would write a letter to the Mayfield residence, Valentine found his gaze drifting, inevitably to Cecilia.
She was listening intently to the child’s rambling thoughts, nodding with exaggerated seriousness as if the choice of wording in the letter were a matter of state. Her hands moved gently across the table, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Abigail’s ear. There was an ease to her, an elegance that had nothing to do with posture. It was in the way she looked at Abigail, with fondness and just enough mischief to make the little girl feel as though they were in on something together.
He caught himself smiling before he could stop it.
Good God. I’m growing fond of her.
He leaned back in his chair, eyes still on her as she laughed at something Abigail said, wondering if he ought to pull back, just a little, before this fondness grew into something he could no longer pretend to ignore.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Oh, come on, Your Grace, it will be fun!”
Cecilia clasped her hands in front of her and leaned ever so slightly toward him, her eyes bright with determination. They stood in the library as Valentine busied himself by searching for ledgers in a corner of the room.
Valentine looked up from the book he had picked out, one brow lifting with weary skepticism. “A village fair?” he repeated, as though the phrase were entirely foreign to him.
“Yes!” she said, stepping closer. “One of your tenants mentioned it while I was walking with Abigail. There will be ribbons and games and gingerbread, and possibly even a goose race. Doesn’t that sound like a splendid way to spend the afternoon?”
“I have far more useful things to do with my time, Cecilia,” he said evenly. “The estate accounts are due next week. There’s a shipment delayed at the docks. I’ve received two letters fromLondon requesting my presence. I think I’ll concern myself with matters that…how shall I put it…actually matter?”
Cecilia gave an exaggerated sigh, stepping further into the room. “Do you even hear yourself, Your Grace? Honestly. You’re like a walking ledger.”
