Cecily smelled faintly of wind and rosewater. Ofhome.
She held her tighter. “And I you,” she said softly. “Though I can see you’ve done quite well without me. Not a single disastrous gown in sight. You could do better with that severe bun, though.”
That made Beatrice laugh. A shaky, surprised laugh that felt dangerously close to tears. She pulled back just enough to look at her sister. “You are utterly exasperating.”
“And yet, somehow, you still love me,” Cecily replied with mock solemnity, brushing a stray curl from Beatrice’s cheek.
“It feels like it,” Beatrice quipped. To her own surprise, her voice caught. She reached for her sister’s hands, squeezing them hard. “I’ve missed you.”
Cecily’s smile softened. “You wrote as though you’d been talking mostly to the walls.”
“I was not exaggerating,” Beatrice said, half laughing.
“Then it’s a good thing I’ve come armed,” Cecily replied. “I couldn’t arrive empty-handed, not when there’s a baby to spoil and a duchess in danger of turning into furniture.”
“Cecily,” Lady Moreland chided, though amusement laced her voice.
“Both,” Cecily admitted as she set the basket on the nearest chair with glee. “I bring gifts—for the child, of course. And perhaps one for the Duchess, if she behaves.”
Lady Moreland smiled faintly, unbuttoning her gloves. “If she behaves? My dear, I should think she’s earned a little leniency. Marriage can make saints of us all—or drive us to collect silver rattles.”
Cecily grinned. “Then we’re both safe, Mama.”
She began taking toys out of the basket like a magician pulling tricks. She pulled out a wooden horse that appeared far too delicate for play, followed by a stuffed lamb with a lopsided bow.
“And look, a silver rattle shaped like a duck! Isn’t it dreadful? I couldn’t resist.”
Beatrice bit back a smile. “She’s hardly old enough to tell one end of a rattle from the other. I doubt she knows what any of those are for.”
“Then she’ll grow into her treasures,” Cecily said cheerfully, handing the duck to Mrs. Hart, who accepted it with polite confusion and passed it to the maids.
“Mama…” Beatrice turned to her mother. “This is Mrs. Hart. She oversees the household.”
Lady Moreland nodded in acknowledgement, a trace of amusement in her eyes. “I’m very pleased to meet you. You keep a lovely nursery, Mrs. Hart.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Mrs. Hart replied, bobbing a deep curtsey. “Her Grace has made it easy to keep things in order.”
“That sounds dangerously diplomatic,” Cecily snorted.
Beatrice shot her a look that carried both affection and warning. “I see nothing has improved your manners.”
“You’d be disappointed if it had.” Cecily grinned and linked her arm with Beatrice’s. “You look well. A touch tired, perhaps. But then duchessing must be exhausting work.”
Beatrice smiled faintly. “That’s generous of you. It took me some time to adjust.”
“Mama said as much,” Cecily revealed. “She worried you’d buried yourself in duties and forgot how to breathe. And possibly how to eat.”
Beatrice huffed. “I’m perfectly capable of breathing… and eating, thank you very much. Though it seems everyone’s determined to remind me how.”
Cecily tilted her head, studying her. “You’ve grown rather serious. It’s not unflattering, but I don’t know that I like it.”
“Seriousness happens when one has a houseful of people asking questions before breakfast.”
“Ah, so that’s what power feels like.” Cecily smiled. “I think I prefer my freedom to sleep till noon.”
Before Beatrice could answer, Cecily’s attention had already shifted to the cradle.
“Oh, look at her,” she whispered, moving closer. “She’s grown since I last saw her.”
