“I have not pursued anyone. Nor have I encouraged—”
“Do not attempt to mislead me.” Her aunt’s voice sharpened. “You were seen together in the library. You were seen walking in the gardens. You were seen emerging together from a secludedcorner of the ruins after a length of time. The evidence admits of no alternative interpretation.”
Cecilia remained silent. Any defence would only inflame the matter.
“Have you the slightest notion of what you have done?” Lady Ashwood continued. “Of the embarrassment you have brought upon this family? Georgiana was to secure the Duke’s notice—and instead—” Her composure wavered, then hardened. “Instead, you have made us objects of derision. The poor relation scheming to rise above her station. The dependent girl setting her cap at a duke.”
“I was not scheming. I was not setting my cap at anyone.”
“Then what, pray, were you about?”
I was being seen,she thought—but she did not say it.
“I erred,” she said instead. “I ought not to have continued those conversations. I regret any embarrassment I have caused.”
Lady Ashwood studied her for a long moment.
“Regret does not repair the damage. The Duke’s attention has been diverted; Georgiana’s prospects compromised; our reputation subjected to comment.”
“What would you have me do?”
“I would have you gone.” The words were cold and final. “You will return to Thornfield tomorrow. You will remain there until this foolishness is forgotten. You will not attend assemblies, you will not write to any acquaintance made here, you will not, in any manner, remind the world of your presence.”
“And if I refuse?”
The question startled all present—Cecilia not least of all. She had not meant to speak it; yet something within her, long dormant, refused obedience.
Lady Ashwood’s eyes widened. “Refuse? You dare—”
“I ask what follows if I decline to go quietly back to Thornfield and vanish,” Cecilia said, her voice remarkablysteady. “For five years, I have served this family. I have managed your household, educated your children, and performed every duty asked of me without complaint. I have earned better than banishment.”
“Earned?” Lady Ashwood gave a short, incredulous laugh. “You have earned nothing. You have received charity—charity we were under no obligation to extend. And this is your recompense? To set yourself in your cousin’s path?”
“I did not set myself anywhere. He sought me out.”
“Because you made it convenient. Because you placed yourself to be noticed. Because you—”
“Because I was interesting,” Cecilia said—the words fierce despite their softness. “Because I spoke of matters that engaged him—matters beyond fashion and trifles. Because I am not merely ornamental, and he perceived as much.”
Georgiana caught her breath. Lady Ashwood’s face blanched, then flushed with anger.
“How dare you imply—”
“I imply nothing,” Cecilia replied. “I state only that the Duke valued my conversation. That is neither crime nor scandal. It is—simply—human.”
Silence fell. Sir Horace shifted miserably; Georgiana stared as though seeing her cousin anew. Lady Ashwood’s fury gathered with lethal focus.
“You will go,” she said at last, in a low, controlled voice. “You will go to Thornfield, and you will be thankful I do not cast you off entirely. Is that understood?”
Cecilia met her gaze. “And if the Duke asks for me? What will you say?”
“He will not.”
“But if he should?”
Lady Ashwood’s smile was thin and cold. “I shall inform him that you were called home by family necessity—that youregret your departure and could not remain. And then I shall ensure that Georgiana is afforded every opportunity to display her own… agreeable qualities.”
There was nothing left to contest. Cecilia inclined her head in a small, deliberate curtsey and turned to go.
