She looked at them both, the absurd pair who still bickered about everything from breakfast choices to who had inherited the better cheekbones from their mother. Yet somehow, they had become her anchor. Her stormy little siblings had steadied in a way she hadn’t noticed until now.
Cecilia wiped under her eyes. “Thank you. Both of you. You’re ridiculous, but you’re mine.”
Dorothy sniffed. “Obviously.”
Phillip leaned back in his chair with the sort of smug smile only a younger brother could manage. “If you ever get too lonely, or if His Grace is adamant on ending the marriage, I could always introduce you to a viscount or two. I hear they adore moody duchesses.”
Cecilia tossed a cushion at him.
But even as laughter bubbled in her throat again, she felt the grief settling under it like a tide. The mere thought that Valentine had sent her away, cast her aside with cold words that echoed through every moment, still lingered in her heart.
Thankfully, she was not entirely alone. Her heart might be breaking, but her family was here. Her siblings. Their presence. Support. Love. For that moment, at least, it would be enough to help her get through.
“Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but I thought you said the only reason you married her was for Abigail. This is not helpful to Abigail.”
Valentine had not properly slept in three days.
The papers on his desk were untouched, he barely ate, and he could swear that Abigail was purposely throwing tantrums to antagonize him. She had taken to hurling her books. The day before, it had been a cup of blackberry cordial, flung with surprising precision at the footman who dared suggest she join her governess.
He could not even bring himself to scold her.
“I have never seen Abigail like this, and it bothers me,” Norman added, standing in front of Valentine in the study. “Great heavens, I have never seen you like this! What is going on? If you made a decision, should you not stand on it?”
A muscle twitched in Valentine’s jaw. “She’ll adjust. Abigail will adjust.”
“No, she won’t,” Norman said bluntly. “She’s six, Brother. She doesn’t understand why Cecilia is gone. She doesn’t understand why she is not allowed to see her. Yesterday, she asked me if Cecilia abandoned her.”
Valentine raked a hand through his hair, now longer than he ever kept it. Everything about him was fraying at the edges. His discipline, his sleep, his ability to mask anything at all. Even Norman saw it. Norman, who had spent a lifetime pretending not to notice his cracks.
Was it always this loud in his own house? Or had Cecilia, with her maddening grace, simply muffled the chaos by existing? He had built a fortress around himself so carefully, and Cecilia hadstepped inside it without permission, made herself comfortable, and begun rearranging the furniture.
Now she was gone, and the fortress was a tomb.
It seemed as though everything was thrown into chaos, and he couldn’t quite recall how the home functioned without her in the first place.
Even his staff were now acting differently around him—or rather, they had gone back to how they used to act before he got married in the first place. Doors began closing more quietly. Footsteps grew softer. Conversations ceased the moment he entered a room.
They feared him again.
It was as though the house had returned to the man it once belonged to. The cold, impassive Duke whose staff tiptoed and whose guests never lingered.
Norman visited more often now, which would have been fine if Norman didn’t treat every visit like a discreet intervention.
“You need rest,” Norman said to him, pulling him from his thoughts. “I know none of this is about me, Valentine, but I am losing my mind. I don’t know how you do it, how you do all this work and keep your sanity. But I am utterly drained, and respectfully, I need you to take your work back. You did this. You sent her away. Why are you acting like she abandoned you?”
Norman let out an exasperated sigh and poured them both another drink. Valentine hadn’t asked for it, but he didn’t refuse it either.
“You’re still doing it,” Norman said quietly, taking a sip as he sat down.
Valentine’s brow lifted, but he said nothing.
“Still punishing yourself for something you had no control over. For something no one told you.”
Valentine exhaled through his nose. “I was her husband, Norman.”
“Yes, you were,” Norman said, not unkindly. “But you were not a mind-reader, and Helena, God rest her, never told you anything. Not until she couldn’t hold it in anymore. That wasn’t your doing.”
Valentine’s jaw tensed. “I should have seen it.”
