She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. A chill had settled in her bones, sharp and sudden. She had no idea what to say to him again, so she turned towards the door.
“I’ll leave you to your work, then,” she said to him, strolling towards the door.
“Sleep well,” he said to her, still engrossed in his work.
Valentine didn’t stop her. She stepped out of the study and shut the door behind her. In the stillness of the hallway, she finally let her breath go.
Her eyes stung. She blinked hard, willing the tears away, but they gathered anyway, warm and blurring her vision. It was foolish. She told herself it was foolish. It was just a conversation. Just a chill in the air between them. He hadn’t even said anything cruel.
Yet, it hurt. More than it should have. She leaned lightly against the wall, her palm pressed flat to the paneling as though steadying herself. In that still moment, she realized the truth. It was sharp and impossible to ignore.
She had fallen in love with Valentine Price.
It had not been the grand, breathless sort of thing she had imagined when she entered society. It had not been sudden or sweeping. It had built itself into her quietly, through theroutines, the stillness, the safety of being near him. Now, standing outside his study, she felt the full weight of it.
The cold air between them did not simply sting; it confirmed what she feared. She had come to care for him deeply, perhaps too much. But this sudden return to formality, to distance, left her unmoored. She didn’t want to challenge him. She didn’t want to mend it with defiance or cleverness. Not this time. Because somewhere along the way, without meaning to, she had fallen in love with him.
The worst part was not that he did not seem to reciprocate her feelings, but that they had drifted into silence, like strangers all over again, and she did not know how to find her way to him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“Iwould appreciate it if you stopped accusing me of things you’re not certain of, Howard,” Marianne snapped, adjusting her napkin with theatrical calm. “Truly, I don’t want to hear it tonight.”
Howard let out a sigh through his nose, the kind that suggested he very much did want to continue, but was aware enough of the audience not to push it. “I honestly do not understand you, Marianne.”
Cecilia pressed her fingertips to her brow and reminded herself, for the fifth time since dinner began that she had invited them. Willingly.
What she hadn’t quite anticipated was the scale of it all. The house felt full in a way it never had before. Her sister Emma had arrived, but with her little boy and husband in tow, even Valentine’s younger brother, Norman had made an appearance. There were more people than she could account for, and whilethat did not necessarily bother her, it seemed as though it bothered Valentine.
She had noticed it the moment they’d stepped into the banquet room to receive guests. The tightening of his jaw. The slight delay before he offered a greeting. His smile was there, yes, but polished and automatic. Now, seated at the head of the table, by her side, he looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else.
Cecilia leaned toward him slightly, keeping her voice low. “You seem disturbed, Valentine. Is something wrong?”
His fork paused briefly over the roast, but he didn’t look at her. “Nothing is wrong,” he said flatly. “Your aunt and your father have been at each other’s throats since they walked through the door.”
“I know.” She exhaled, trying not to let frustration color her voice. “I apologize, they usually try to be civil in public settings. I don’t know why tonight is so different.”
“I’m starting to rethink the idea of the dinner,” he said to her and shook his head. “Perhaps, it wasn’t a good idea. Have you even managed to talk to Lucy?”
Cecilia’s gaze slid down the table to where Lucy sat. She hadn’t looked at Cecilia once since she arrived. Not once. Cecilia had tried to get her attention every chance she got, to even offer a smile at her, but Lucy kept her head down.
“No,” she said quietly. “She’s barely looked at me. “I’m hoping she’ll talk to me before the night ends. I don’t want her to leave without us speaking. Properly. Not like the way it’s been.”
Cecilia turned to him again, studying the line of his jaw, the way his gaze remained fixed on his plate as though the roast held answers to the tension simmering between them.
“Valentine,” she said softly. “Are you all right?”
He gave a slight shrug, barely a motion, and said nothing.
It had been three days. Three days since that night they’d fallen asleep tangled up in each other, a rare kind of closeness she hadn’t expected, hadn’t dared hope for. But ever since, something had changed. He’d turned inward. Withdrawn. He was still polite, always, but there was a tightness in him now. A caution. As though that one evening had breached a boundary he hadn’t meant to cross, and now he was rebuilding the walls, brick by careful brick.
She couldn’t bear it anymore.
“I think we should talk,” she said, her voice low so no one else could hear.
He glanced at her briefly, then returned to slicing his food. “Not now. Not at the table.”
“All right,” she replied, pressing her lips together. But her heart thundered anyway, pushing her forward. “Is it what I said about children? Is that what this is about, Valentine? Fine, I apologize, I may have crossed a boundary that I wasn’t supposed to cross. If I had known that talking to you about my deepest thoughts was going to cause this rift between us, then I never would have.”
