“Everything has already altered.”
“Not yet. Not entirely.” He turned fully toward her, the light from the ballroom gilding one side of his face and leaving the other in shadow. “In there, we are a spectacle—a tale people will repeat for years. The duke who defied expectation; the poor relation who captured his heart. We shall be watched, examined, discussed, until there is nothing left of us but the narrative others choose to tell.”
“That sounds rather dire.”
“It is reality—the reality of my position, which will soon be yours as well.” He lifted her hand and pressed his lips lightly to her knuckles. “But out here, for this moment, we are only ourselves. Sebastian and Cecilia—two people who found one another in spite of every obstacle. I wish to remember that, before the world intrudes.”
Something eased within her—a knot of tension she had not known she carried.
“I spent five years being invisible,” she said softly. “Learning to want nothing, to expect nothing, to exist without leaving a trace. And now I am about to become one of the most visible women in England.”
“Does that frighten you?”
“It terrifies me. Utterly terrifies me.” She managed a small, shaky smile. “But I would rather be terrified with you than safe without you.”
“That may be the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“I doubt that. You must have had countless declarations.”
“Countless assurances of devotion to my title, my fortune, my influence. You are the first to say you prefer terror in my company to safety anywhere else.” His smile softened. “It is… unexpectedly affecting.”
She laughed in spite of herself—a genuine laugh, startled out of her by the absurdity of it: standing on a cold terrace, newly betrothed, calmly weighing the merits of fear and security as though comparing vintages.
“We are ridiculous,” she said.
“Undoubtedly. But we are ridiculous together—which renders it infinitely more tolerable.”
He lifted her hand and brushed his lips lightly across her knuckles—a promise rather than a declaration—and then guided her back toward the doors.
“Ready?” he asked.
“No.”
“Nor am I.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Let us be unready together.”
They stepped back into the light.
***
The remainder of the evening passed in a blur of congratulations and well-wishes.
Cecilia lost track of the faces that swam before her—ladies who clasped her hands and declared themselves delighted, gentlemen who bowed and offered felicitations, strangers who suddenly wanted to be intimate friends. Everyone, it seemed,wanted to meet the woman who had captured the Duke of Ashworth.
Sebastian stayed beside her through most of it, a steady presence at her shoulder. When she faltered, he stepped in with smooth conversation. When she grew overwhelmed, he guided her to quieter corners where she could catch her breath. He was, she realised, protecting her—shielding her from the worst of society’s scrutiny, giving her time to find her footing.
“You are very good at this,” she murmured during a brief moment of privacy.
“At what?”
“Managing people. Situations. Me.”
“I have had thirty years of practice managing people and situations. You are new.” He smiled. “And considerably more pleasant than most.”
The Dowager found them near midnight, materialising from the crowd with the particular grace of a woman who had navigated ballrooms for decades.
“Well,” she said, studying Cecilia with an unreadable expression. “You have certainly exceeded expectations.”
“Your Grace—”
