Helena entered, looking remarkably well for a woman who had given birth only two months earlier. Marriage and motherhood suited her; she possessed a quiet radiance Cecilia had never before seen.
“The post has arrived,” Helena said, crossing the room. “There are several letters requiring your attention—and one I thought you might wish to see at once.”
She extended an envelope. Cecilia recognised the hand immediately.
“Dorothea,” she said, taking it. “It has been months since I last heard from her.”
“I thought you might prefer to read it privately. I can return later—”
“No, please stay.” Cecilia broke the seal and unfolded the letter, scanning it quickly.
Dear Cousin Cecilia,
I write with news I hope will please you. After much consideration, I have accepted an offer of marriage from Mr Edward Wilton, second son of Viscount Ashbury. He is kind, thoughtful, and makes me laugh—qualities I have come to value far above wealth or title.
We shall marry in the spring, quietly, in the country. I would be honoured if you and His Grace would attend, though I understand if such an association might feel uncomfortable, given the history between our families.
Mama is, of course, furious. She had hoped for a more illustrious match—one that might restore what we have lost. But I find I no longer care what Mama hopes. I have spent too many years being what she required of me. It is time I became what I wish to be.
I believe I learned that, in some measure, from you. Watching you claim your happiness despite every obstacle made me believe I might do the same.
Georgiana, I should add, has found her own path. She is engaged to Mr William Harding, a gentleman farmer from Derbyshire. He is no duke—nor even a baronet—but he seems to care for her sincerely, and she is, I think, learning to return the sentiment. She has softened greatly this past year. Loss and humiliation have a way of stripping away pretence.
I hope this letter finds you well. I have heard whispers that congratulations may soon be in order on another count, but I will not presume. Some news is better shared in person.
With affection,
Dorothea
Cecilia set the letter down, a complicated mixture of emotions stirring within her.
“Good news?” Helena asked.
“Dorothea is engaged. To a second son—not the grand match her mother wanted.” Cecilia smiled slightly. “She appears genuinely happy.”
“And Georgiana?”
“Also engaged. To a gentleman farmer, of all things.” Cecilia shook her head faintly. “A year ago, she would have found such a match unthinkable. Now she appears… content.”
“People change,” Helena said quietly. “Circumstances change them, whether they wish it or not.”
“Yes.” Cecilia smoothed the folded letter. “She hopes we will attend the wedding. I am uncertain how Sebastian will feel about it.”
“He will feel precisely as you wish him to feel. His Grace is accommodating in that respect.”
Cecilia laughed. “He is, is he not? I sometimes wonder whether I have acquired a husband who is entirely too agreeable.”
“There are worse fates.”
“Indeed.”
Helena settled into a chair opposite her, her expression sobering. “There is another matter I wished to raise, if you have time.”
“Of course.”
“Daniel and I have been discussing the future. What we wish our lives to be, now that everything has changed.” She hesitated. “We would like to remain at Ashworth, if you will have us—Daniel as steward, and myself as… whatever capacity you might find useful. Our son was born here. It feels like home.”
Warmth spread through Cecilia. “There was never any question of your leaving. You are family—both of you. And littleThomas is the nearest thing to a nephew I am likely to have for some time.”
