She paused, uncertain how much of what she was saying was coming out the way she intended. But there was no turning back now.
“I want to speak to her,” she said. “I want to ask her kindly, directly, to stop. Not for my sake. But for yours and Abigail’s. All I want is peace. For everyone. So, I figured if I could extend an invitation, if she would come to dinner here, with the rest of the family, it might begin to mend what’s been broken. Or at least soften whatever bitterness she carries.”
Valentine exhaled slowly and looked away for a moment as if gathering his thoughts.
Cecilia’s voice softened. “I’m not expecting any miracles. Only a chance. A chance to be civil. To show her that we are willing to put her efforts past us and look to the future.”
“You want to go to her?” he said, incredulous. “To that woman? Alone?”
“Yes, Your Grace. I’ll be back by tomorrow if I leave now.”
“I object to the entire thing,” he said flatly, moving around the desk. “Why would you subject yourself to her venom? Or worse, pretend civility when she’s the one dragging your name through the mud?”
“Because someone must,” Cecilia said calmly. “Someone must act like the adult.”
He snorted. “That is not maturity, Cecilia. That is martyrdom.”
“I’m not trying to be a martyr,” she said. “I simply want peace. If that means I must extend the olive branch, then so be it.”
Valentine stopped in front of her, hands on his hips. “And what exactly do you imagine she’ll do? Accept your invitation, apologize for being an utter wretch, and vow to support you?”
“As I said, I don’t expect miracles,” she snapped, temper beginning to fray. “But I would like to believe that people can be reasoned with. Even if only for appearances.”
He let out a quiet breath, the kind that barely passed through his nose. “There are other ways to handle this, Cecilia, if it bothers you so much. If your aunt won’t hold her tongue, I can–”
“No,” Cecilia said quickly, stepping closer. “This is my family, Your Grace. My burden. I would like to deal with it as such.”
His brows knit together. “You’re forgetting that you’re my family too.”
A quiet stillness settled between them. Cecilia’s fingers curled lightly against her skirts as she held his gaze. He looked somewhat conflicted. Not angry, not dismissive, just torn between the part of him that wanted to shield her from any harm and the part of him learning to trust that she could hold her own.
Another beat of silence passed before he drew in a slow breath and exhaled through his nose.
“Very well,” he said at last. “You may go, if you wish it. I will make sure you have what you need. If anything—anything comes up, you’re to send for me. Immediately.”
She glanced up again, surprised by the tenderness threading through his tone. There was a note of hesitation in his eyes, as though he wanted to say more but chose not to. Still, she saw it. He didn’t like it. Didn’t like that she was walking into something that was probably going to get ugly. But he was giving her the room to do it anyway.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
Cecilia left the study with a fluttering in her chest. She climbed the stairs to prepare for the journey to the Hemroad residence. Once Gladis helped her dress for the day and pack a light box, she began her descent from the stairs.
By the time she stepped outside, a light breeze was tugging at her skirts and teased strands of hair loose from her pins. The carriage was waiting just as Valentine promised. Standing beside it was a tall, quiet-faced footman and a companion maid who dipped a curtsy the moment Cecilia appeared.
“Your Grace,” the maid said gently, offering a steadying hand as Cecilia approached the carriage.
She nodded her thanks and stepped inside. As the door shut behind her, she settled into the cushioned seat, staring out of the window as the carriage jolted into motion.
She did not care to see Aunt Marianne. Not truly. But there was one person she did wish to see.
Lucy.Her cousin. Her friend. Cecilia had not seen Lucy since the day of that engagement. The silence between them had stretched too thin. Perhaps if she saw her, there could be something like forgiveness. Or at least understanding.
The journey passed in silence, broken only by the rumble of wheels and the occasional snap of the driver’s whip. By the time the carriage rolled to a stop before Aunt Marianne’s residence, the sun was tucked well behind a veil of clouds and a slight chill had crept into the air.
Cecilia stepped inside slowly, glancing around the familiar house. It looked unchanged, and yet she felt entirely like a stranger within its walls. The butler announced that her Aunt Marianne was in the small drawing room, and since Cecilia was familiar with the terrain, she made her way there.
The drawing room door creaked open once Cecilia was announced to Aunt Marianne, with the familiar, deliberate slowness of a house that prided itself on appearances. Cecilia stepped in, shoulders square, though her heart beat like the hooves of the horses that had brought her here.
Aunt Marianne was seated by the fireplace. She did not rise, nor did she smile. Her teacup hovered in her hand, poised halfway to her lips as though Cecilia’s presence was a mild surprise.
