“Cecilia.”
She paused.
“You will not write to him. You will not seek to maintain this… acquaintance. Should I learn that you have attempted anything of the kind, the consequences will be severe. Do you comprehend me?”
“I understand, Aunt.”
“Good. You may withdraw.”
Cecilia did exactly that.
***
She was packing her few possessions when the note arrived.
A maid brought it—one of Lady Marchmont’s, not a member of the Ashwood household. She delivered it with wide eyes and a hurried curtsey, as though aware she carried contraband, and fled before Cecilia could question her.
The note was brief. The hand was unmistakable.
Meet me in the library. One hour. Please.
S.
Cecilia stared until the letters blurred. One hour. She was to leave in the morning—to vanish from this house, from this week, from him.
One hour could never suffice.
But it was all they had.
She finished packing, folded her hands to keep them steady, and waited. When the hour was nearly gone, she slipped from her room and made her way to the library.
He was waiting for her.
Sebastian stood by the window, the fading light behind him, his posture tight with feeling barely mastered. When she entered by the servants’ door, he turned at once—and the look on his face made her heart ache.
“You are leaving.”
Not a question. Of course he knew—word travelled fast in houses like this, and his mother would have ensured he was informed of the Ashwood family’s decision.
“Tomorrow morning. I am to return to Thornfield.”
“I will not allow it.”
“You cannot prevent it.” She closed the door behind her, leaning against it as though it could support her. “Lady Ashwood has made her decision. I am to go quietly, to be forgotten, to resume my invisible existence as though none of this had ever been.”
“And you submit to that?”
“What choice remains to me?” The words came out more bitter than she intended. “I have no fortune, no position, no family who would take my side against hers. I am dependent on her goodwill, and her goodwill has been exhausted.”
“You could come with me.”
The words fell between them—dangerous, astonishing. She felt them like a touch.
“I cannot.”
“Why not? I could secure your comfort—your safety—I could—”
“Make me your… paramour?” She saw him flinch and softened, though she did not withdraw the truth. “Is that truly what you intend to offer?”
