Cecilia looked away, but her silence was a louder admission than any words.
Emma let out a soft laugh of disbelief. “Good heavens.”
“I didn’t plan it,” Cecilia said quietly, walking back to where she had been seated. “Also, I’m not proud of it, given the fact that he was so quick to abandon me. I didn’t even know it washappening. There was no grand moment, no defining evidence, nothing. Just…something shifting. Little by little. I started to see him in a different light. He can be tender, especially when he is with Abigail, and I guess seeing him in those fragile moments, softened my resolve about him.”
Her voice trembled, but she pressed on. “I don’t even know when it happened. But it did. I fell in love with him. Now I can’t stop it. I’ve tried. I’m angry with him. I’m so hurt I can barely speak without trembling, but none of that changes the truth.”
Emma, for once, was quiet. She simply reached over and placed her hand over Cecilia’s.
“I’m in love with my husband...” Cecilia whispered. “...And he asked me to leave.”
Emma’s face softened, her earlier disbelief melting into quiet empathy. “What do you want to do? Do you want to go back there and fight for this? I mean, you are still married to him.”
Cecilia sighed and shook her head. “He was determined, Emma. Nothing I could possibly say would change or shake his resolve. I’m not even ready to talk to him again. I just—if we were to talk to each other, then it would have to be about Abigail. About seeing her again.”
A soft knock interrupted the quiet, followed by Phillip’s unmistakable voice. “Is this a good time? Can I come in and dramatically offer my sympathy like the wonderful brother I am?”
Cecilia rolled her eyes and sniffed. “It’s not that sort of tragedy, Phillip.”
“Every tragedy deserves flair.” He pushed the door open anyway, holding a small plate of biscuits like it was a peace offering. Dorothy trailed behind him with a folded blanket over one arm and her brows knit in gentle concern.
“You’ve been crying again,” Dorothy said, stepping in and setting the blanket down beside Cecilia. “I know I’m stating the obvious, but I do not like seeing you cry, Cecilia, even though you are a pretty crier. It just breaks my heart.”
“She’s allowed to cry,” Phillip said, placing the plate on the nearest table. “Pardon me, but the duke is clearly an idiot. How is any of this Cecilia’s fault?”
“Don’t call him an idiot, Phillip,” Cecilia cautioned him.
Phillip raised his eyebrows in disbelief, as though Cecilia had betrayed him. “Are you defending him now?”
Dorothy shot him a look. “Be serious, he is still her husband.”
“I am, but I will refrain from the insults,” He turned to Cecilia, suddenly gentler. “Are you all right?”
“No,” Cecilia said, a bit hoarsely. “But I’m trying.”
Phillip sat beside her on the edge of the divan, nudging her knee with his own. “Everything will turn out fine. You always have a home at the Lockhart estate.”
Dorothy tucked herself into the chair opposite, her legs crossed neatly, though her expression was far less composed. “If we’re being honest, and I don’t say that often, our family is, well, chaos.”
“Absolutely feral,” Phillip added with a dramatic sigh. “It’s all Aunt Marianne’s fault. She makes us chaotic. We were fine when she was ignoring us all these years. Now that we are better off, thanks to Emma’s husband, she has thrown our world into chaos.”
Cecilia gave a soft laugh through her tear-thick voice. “You’re not wrong.”
Dorothy smiled. “So, how can we blame the poor duke for being overwhelmed? We arrive like a storm, cause more drama than the theater, and expect him to just nod and go along with it.”
Phillip tilted his head, thoughtful. “To be fair, we are excellent theater. But still. The man clearly bit off more than he could chew.”
“Which is why he choked,” Cecilia said bitterly, but the edges of her mouth curled anyway.
Phillip brightened. “I still think he made the most ridiculous mistake of his life. You are quite nearly tolerable now, and he let you go? Barbaric. Where is he going to find a woman half as pretty as you in all of London?”
Dorothy rolled her eyes. “Oh do hush, Phillip. You’re not auditioning for a poetry society.”
“I should,” he retorted with a wink at Cecilia. “I’m rather inspired by our sister’s tragic tale. Betrayed duchess flees to the countryside.”
Cecilia gave a watery laugh, surprised by how good it felt to laugh at all. Her eyes still stung and her chest still ached, but her brother’s ridiculousness and Dorothy’s predictable exasperation filled the room with something that almost resembled peace.
They were growing up, these two. Not just older, but softer. Less selfish. Dorothy had sat with her the previous night, brushing her hair in silence even though they both knew Cecilia was moments away from sobbing again. Phillip, though he still could not resist a teasing word, had been gentler than she’d ever seen him. He hadn’t tried to fix anything. He had simply stayed.
