She stepped back. The distance felt disproportionate to the space crossed.
“Thank you,” she said. “For the book. And for—conversation.”
“Will you come again tomorrow?” he asked, the words outwardly mild, inwardly anything but. “In the morning, when no one will miss you.”
“I should not.”
“I know.”
She hesitated. Truth pressed against habit.
“Yes,” she said.
Then she left—before restraint could fail, or courage could betray them both.
Chapter Seven
“You are smiling again.”
Cecilia schooled her features into careful neutrality, but the damage was already done. Georgiana regarded her in the mirror with an expression that combined curiosity and suspicion in equal measure.
“I was not aware smiling was forbidden.”
“It is not forbidden. It is merely… unusual.” Georgiana turned on the dressing-stool to face her directly. “You have been different this week. Lighter. Almost—happy. It is most unsettling.”
“I beg your pardon if my contentment gives offence.”
“Do not be pert with me, Cecilia. Something has altered, and I wish to know what.”
Cecilia continued arranging Georgiana’s hair, her hands steady though her pulse had quickened. Four days had passed since her first conversation with Sebastian in the library. Four mornings of stolen meetings; of talk ranging from philosophy to politics to the practical difficulties of tenants and land; four days of feeling, for the first time in five years, like a person rather than an instrument.
She had known it could not remain secret forever. She had simply hoped for longer than four days.
“Nothing has altered,” she said calmly. “The weather has been fine. Lady Marchmont’s library is admirable. I have been sleeping well.”
“The library.” Georgiana’s eyes narrowed. “You have mentioned the library repeatedly. One might almost suppose you spend a great deal of time there.”
“I enjoy reading. You know this.”
“I know youused toenjoy reading, before my family came to Thornfield. I was not aware the habit had persisted.”
There was an edge in Georgiana’s tone—sharper than her usual harmless vanity—and it unsettled Cecilia. Her cousin was not a fool, merely inattentive; and if she had begun to pay attention…
“The library here is unusually well stocked,” Cecilia replied. “I have been making use of the opportunity.”
“And has anyone else been making use of it? In the mornings, perhaps—when the organised activities have not yet begun?”
The question struck like a blow. Cecilia’s hands faltered for a heartbeat before resuming with deliberate care.
“I could not say. I am generally occupied with my reading.”
“Are you.” It was not a question. Georgiana watched her in the mirror, calculating. “The Duke of Ashworth has been absent from several morning engagements. Lady Marchmont remarked upon it. She wondered where he might be.”
“I am sure I could not say.”
“Could you not?”
Silence settled between them—heavy, suggestive. Cecilia continued to place pins and thread ribbons, performing each step of the familiar ritual while her mind ran ahead through possibilities and dangers.
