He’s busy.
Even though her mind was rationalizing his distance, a pang of doubt lingered. His warmth last night, his tenderness, felt so far away.
“Of course,” she said in a soft voice, forcing a smile even though her eyes glistened with unspoken hurt. “Thank you, Rhys. I’ll… I’ll handle it.”
Her words were polite, even though she couldn’t shake the unease that crept into her voice. It almost looked like he was trying to escape her company, but that couldn’t be right. Could it?
He’s pulling away,a small voice in the back of her head whispered, but she ignored it.
He’s just busy.
Rhys nodded, his eyes meeting hers briefly, a flicker of something—regret, perhaps—flashing in them before he turned back. His coat flapped as he strode out, the door clicking shut behind him.
Celine stood alone, the room’s quiet swallowing her, the clock’s ticking louder, her heart racing with a mix of relief and disappointment.
She crossed to the writing desk, ignoring its chipped surface, and pulled out a sheet of vellum, her fingers trembling as she dipped a quill in the inkpot.
The idea of her friends coming to Wylds Estate sparked a flicker of excitement, a chance to break the manor’s stifling quiet, yet her ache lingered.
As she penned the first invitation, her hand trembled, the script faltering as thoughts of Rhys’s hurried exit consumed her.
Tenants, he has tenants that need him.
Still, a whisper of doubt lingered. His urgency felt personal, a retreat from their shared vulnerability last night.
She sealed the letter, her fingers brushing the wax lightly as she heaved a sigh. Her eyes lingered on the roses across from her, their wilted petals a mirror of her inner turmoil.
Things were going to be better once Daphne and Helena visited; they had to.
Summoning the footman in a steady voice, she ordered him to send the invitations, and as the door shut, the silence fell back with more intensity than she had ever felt.
Celine stood in the drawing room, the late afternoon sun filtering through the heavy velvet curtains, casting a warm glow on her sapphire muslin dress, its lace trim brushing her wrists.
The air was scented with beeswax and the faint lavender from her morning’s perfume-making, though the manor’s musty undertone lingered.
“Your Grace.” Eliza bowed as she walked into the room. She was a plump young lady in charge of overseeing the maids. “The guests have arrived. They’ll join you shortly.”
“Thank you, Eliza,” Celine answered.
“There’s no need to thank me, Your Grace.” Eliza blushed furiously as she turned around and hurried out of the room.
Celine’s black hair was pinned in soft curls beneath a delicate cap that framed her flushed cheeks. She tried to keep her anticipation in check as she smoothed her skirt, but her heart wouldn’t stop racing. Somehow, the ache in her bandaged hand had dulled.
The drawing room, with its faded wallpaper and chipped mahogany furniture, felt less stifling now, the clatter of a carriage outside signaling the end of her solitude, no matter how short.
The door swung wide as Dahlia swept in, her curls dancing beneath a feathered bonnet, her green pelisse vivid against the room’s muted tones, mischief glinting in her eyes.
“Celine!” she cried, the excitement in her voice palpable even before she pulled Celine into a hug, her skirts rustling. “This manor is positively gothic—you’re living in a novel!” Her laugh was infectious.
Dahlia always had a way of brightening any room she entered, and Celine soon found herself slowly returning the smile on her friend’s face. Her energy was a stark contrast to Celine’s restless quiet.
Behind her, Helena entered, her hair neatly coiled around her face. She wore an ivory dress that looked almost regal.
“Dahlia, do behave,” she chided fondly, a smile tugging at her lips as she approached Celine, her embrace gentle but firm. “It’s been too long, Celine. I can’t believe you’re just now writing to us.”
Celine’s cheeks flushed slightly as she tried to come up with a reason why she hadn’t contacted her bosom friends earlier. She settled on silence and allowed their gazes to wander around the room.
“Celine, you look radiant, though this place could use polish. How do you manage?” Helena asked, her tone teasing.
