She had to think of something. Quickly.
“It’s… new,” she started softly, her eyes dropping to the tea tray to avoid Helena’s gaze. “The manor’s quiet, and Rhys is… busy.”
If she was going to fool her friends into thinking that everything was all right, she couldn’t lie. Helena would call her out almost instantly. Vague truths were her only way out.
“I thought your visit might… liven things up.” Her eyes glistened as she spoke, the ache in her chest growing worse without warning, suffocating her slightly.
Helena leaned forward, her voice softening as her hand reached for Celine’s. “We’re here now,” she spoke warmly, her hazel eyes earnest. “And we’ll make this manor sing. But, I don’t know, Celine… you still don’t seem yourself. Is there anything else?” Her question was gentle.
So much for being saved by vague truths.
“I’m just… adjusting,” Celine answered, her voice shaky, forcing a smile. “The estate’s overwhelming, that’s all.”
“You know you can tell us anything, right?” Dahlia chimed in. “Your marriage doesn’t change the fact that you’re our best friend.”
Celine’s hand stilled, her heart racing slightly. The memory of Rhys’s vow in the study and his firm assurance that their marriage would remain childfree fed the ache in her chest, making it churn and twist her insides.
Dahlia was right. These were her closest companions. She didn’t have to hide her pain from them.
“It’s… Rhys,” she finally admitted.
The tension eased off her back like she had dropped a weight she hadn’t known she’d been holding onto.
“He told me something a few nights ago, after—well, there was an emergency in the stables, and I helped. I suppose neither of us was quite at our most rational.”
Her words were careful, as if she were afraid she would stumble over them. Her breath came out shallow, and the scent of jasmine grounded her as she pushed forward.
Dahlia’s brow arched, her tea forgotten as she leaned forward. “The Duke? What did he say?” she asked, her voice eager, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “You look like he’s declared he’s joining a monastery.”
Her tease was playful, but she held Celine’s gaze, urging her to speak.
Helena paused, her eyes narrowing slightly, “Dahlia, let her talk,” she said, and turned away to set down her teacup with a soft clink. “What is it, Celine? You can tell us.”
She met Celine’s gaze again, her eyes warm, offering a safe harbor for her friend, the room’s quiet amplified by her words.
Celine swallowed, her fingers finding and twisting her reticule, as she often did when she was nervous. Her heart pounded as she braced herself. The words felt stale in her mouth.
“He… he vowed never to father a child,” she revealed, her voice barely audible.
The flush that had colored her cheeks earlier faded slowly. She couldn’t stop the tears from welling up in her eyes when she looked at her friends.
“He said it in the study, after we saved the foal. He’s decided—has always decided—he’ll never sire an heir. I don’t know why, but somehow, it felt like a punch to the gut when he told me that night.”
Her words were raw, the ache in her chest sharpening as she spoke. Rhys’s vow was a wall that both protected and confined her.
Helena’s eyes widened, her lips parting as she leaned back in her seat. “Never? But… why?” she asked, her voice soft.
All Celine could offer in response was a shrug.
“Celine, you lost your mother to childbirth. I know how that haunts you.” Helena continued. “I thought you’d… want that—a life without that risk.”
Her words were soft, familiar even. They were words Celine had repeated to herself since that night.
Dahlia’s gaze softened as well. She stilled her fingers on the table, her poise masking a flicker of surprise. “That’s… a significant choice,” she said, the hesitation in her choice of words clear. “And it troubles you, doesn’t it? More than you expected.”
Her question carried the weight of something else.
Celine’s breath caught, and she tightened her fingers on her ribbons, her heart racing as she nodded, unshed tears glistening in her eyes.
