Cecilia blinked. For a moment, she couldn’t quite remember what they’d been discussing. Only that his touch had been warm, and that he had looked at her as though...
No.
Cecilia shook her head. Perhaps she had imagined it. Perhaps it was simply the closeness, the surprise. Perhaps she was the only one noticing this shift in their interactions.
But as he turned to walk ahead once more, she remained where she stood, hand still pressed faintly to her waist, recalling the night they had slept together on the same bed. Something had changed then, but she wasn’t entirely sure either of them had noticed just how much.
Later that morning, the household stirred with energy as preparations were made. Cecilia stood before her looking glass, adjusting the pearls in her hair and smoothing the folds of her soft yellow gown. Outside, the carriage was being readied, and somewhere down the corridor, she could hear Abigail chattering excitedly, her voice rising in bursts of joy as Miss Flaxman tried her best to keep her in her shoes long enough to brush her hair.
By the time they were seated in the carriage, Abigail was nearly bouncing in her seat. Valentine, on the other hand, looked a bit too composed. Cecilia glanced at him from across the coach, noting the way his gaze flicked once toward Abigail, then settled firmly out the window, and it made her wonder if their earlier interaction had unsettled him too much.
When they arrived at the fairgrounds, the scent of baked goods, trampled grass, and warm sugar filled the air. Abigail shot forward the moment the footman opened the carriage door, grabbing Miss Flaxman’s hand.
“Abigail, don’t run!” Cecilia called out to her with a sigh.
“I see marzipan, Cecilia!” she said over her shoulder before disappearing into the crowd with Miss Flaxman.
Cecilia laughed softly and stepped down beside Valentine, linking her hands in front of her. “You look as though you’re about to be marched to the gallows, Your Grace. If you did not want to come, then why did you agree?”
Valentine adjusted his cuffs and gave her a sidelong glance, as though the answer should have been obvious. “Because you nearly tackled me to the ground in the library. I feared what you might do next if I declined.”
She arched a brow, unconvinced. “I recall no such thing.”
“Convenient,” he muttered, eyeing the colorful chaos before them with a sort of cautious disdain. Children ran shrieking past, a juggler tossed flaming pins into the air, and somewhere nearby, a woman was singing a ballad in a voice far too loud for the tune.
He exhaled slowly. “This is an alarming amount of cheer.”
Cecilia tried – and failed – not to laugh. “You truly do not know how to have fun, do you?”
“I know how to have many things. Fun simply isn’t one of them.”
“Oh, how tragic,” she said stepping in front of him and walking backwards as they moved down the main path. “All these years in high society, and not a single soul has taught the Duke of Ashbourne how to enjoy himself.”
He gave her a dry look. “I find enjoyment in quiet. In order. In things that do not squeal or throw pie.”
Just then, a young boy dashed past them with a custard tart in each hand and a face full of sugar. Cecilia glanced after him, then grinned. “You’re in the wrong place, then.”
“So I’ve gathered.”
“I think your tenants will be happy to see you here, Your Grace,” she said with a soft smile.
Valentine arched a brow, clearly skeptical. “I highly doubt that.”
“I don’t,” she replied firmly, brushing a bit of dust from her skirts as they walked. “You may be the Duke of Ashbourne, but you are also their landlord. Their livelihoods depend on your decisions. Your presence here says more than any policy ever could.”
He didn’t respond at once, and she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. His expression was unreadable, but something in it had shifted, just slightly.
Cecilia slowed her steps beside him, her gaze drifting across the bustle of the fair before landing on Valentine once more. “You know,” she began,“Your tenants speak well of you. I know I’ve only been duchess for a few months, but I hear things. I have heard one of the women say how the duke allowed them to pay their rents in harvest goods during a bad season two summers ago. Someone else said you’d funded repairs for the mill after that storm.”
He said nothing, but his stride faltered just a fraction.
Cecilia smiled gently. “You pretend to be gruff and disinterested, but the truth is you’re rather kind, aren’t you, Your Grace?”
That made him stop altogether. Valentine turned to face her fully with his eyes narrowed, jaw tense, and something flashing behind his gaze. He studied her a moment too long. Then, almost brusquely, he cleared his throat and straightened.
“I believe,” he said carefully, “that is my cue to stroll alone before I start believing a word of that.”
Cecilia blinked. “Oh, I was only–”
