“It’s better this way,” he said, softly but with finality. “You may not see it now, but one day, you’ll understand.”
Her brows drew together. “No,” she said, a little louder. “Explain it to me, Valentine because I gave you a way out before you kissed me. Don’t hide behind vague excuses. If something has changed, tell me. If I’ve done something–”
“You haven’t,” he cut in quickly. “This is not your fault. Not in the slightest. I just, I think you should leave with your family. Go to London. Or wherever you wish. But don’t return to Ashbourne.”
She stared at him, eyes glassy now. “You’re asking me to walk away from my own home?”
He nearly reached for her. Nearly took it all back. But he couldn’t. He mustn’t. “Please don’t cry,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t do this to me.”
“Then why?”
“I’m very sorry,” he said, forcing the words through the ache in his throat. “Truly, I am. I wish you all the happiness in the world, Cecilia.”
He still didn’t look at her.
Instead, he turned and walked out of the room, each step heavier than the last. He didn’t pause, didn’t glance back. He needed to get away before he unraveled completely. Before the madness took him again and he made promises he was too broken to keep.
He was doing the right thing.
It was best for everyone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“He told me to never come back.” Cecilia’s hand flew to her chest as though trying to keep her heart from splintering again. “How could he say that to me? After everything? What about Abigail? I’m supposed to just leave her? Forget the bond we have created?”
Cecilia did as Valentine asked. She left Ashbourne. They had arrived at the Montclaire estate two days ago. Solomon, Emma’s husband, had immediately gone on a business trip somewhere in Northern England, so Cecilia was left with Emma, her sister, Dorothy, and Phillip, who had insisted that they follow Cecilia to Emma’s home to keep her company.
Although she had left the Ashbourne residence with her head held high, the moment she had arrived at Montclaire, she collapsed. Onto the bed, onto the floor, it hardly mattered. The ache had no preference. It stretched inside her like a storm, wild and loud, until she curled into herself and cried harder than she had since her mother’s death.
She gave herself the night.
Just one night to grieve like that. To cry until her eyes ached and her pillow was dampened and her bones felt scraped hollow.
But the morning brought no clarity. Only silence, and a deeper sort of emptiness.
She didn’t pretend to be fine. Not this time. There was no forced smile over breakfast, no breezy replies to her sister’s careful attempts at distraction. She sat in the drawing room with her embroidery untouched on her lap, her tea gone cold beside her. Even when Phillip tried to lure her into a game of cards, she declined with a half-smile that faded before it reached her eyes.
Nothing worked. Nothing cheered her up.
Emma took Cecilia’s hands into hers. “I’m sure you’ve been more of a mother to her than anyone has ever been, and I’m sure Abigail loves you dearly and somehow, you can still be a part of her life.”
“I am her mother. In every way but blood.” Cecilia’s voice shook. “But it’s as though none of that matters. He just...he decided. As he always does, and that’s that.”
She stood then, pacing in front of the hearth. “It wasn’t just Lucy, you know. It was just her revelation that caused this entire collapse, and yes, she did her part. But that wasn’t the start. Not really.”
Emma watched her sister carefully. “Then what was?”
Cecilia stopped. Her arms were folded tightly, like she needed them to hold herself together. “There was a night when we were lying in bed together that I told him that I wanted children. I had taken time to reflect, and I was ready to welcome that part of my journey as a wife and as a woman. Maybe it was love, or just the vulnerability of that moment, but I blurted it to him.”
Emma stared at her. “I’m sorry,” she said slowly, setting down her tea. “Did you say love?”
Cecilia blinked. “What?”
“You just said maybe it was love.” Emma leaned forward, incredulous. “Cecilia. You said that.”
“I did not say that.”
Emma tilted her head. “Cecilia Price, are you in love with him?”
