“I brought you here to see what you would do with opportunity. I did not expect you to secure an engagement within two hours.” The Dowager’s lips twitched. “You are either brilliantly strategic or genuinely in love. I am still determining which.”
“The latter, Mother,” Sebastian said. “I assure you.”
“Mm.” Her gaze moved to her son. “You look happy. I cannot recall the last time I saw you so.”
“I have not been happy in years.”
“No. You have not.” Something gentled in her expression. “I was mistaken, I think—to suppose that duty and happiness must always stand opposed.”
“Does this mean you approve?”
“It means I am… prepared to approve.” Her tone was thoughtful. “Miss Ashwood has shown herself intelligent, composed, and capable of meeting difficulty with grace. Those qualities are of considerable value in a duchess.” She hesitated, then added, “It also means I have grown old enough to recognise that my opinion matters rather less than it once did. You would marry her regardless. You may as well have my blessing.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
“Do not thank me. I am being practical, not generous.” Yet warmth threaded through the words. “Now—the supper set is about to begin. You should claim your fiancée before some enterprising young gentleman attempts to do so in your stead.”
She glided away, leaving them alone.
“Your mother is terrifying,” Cecilia said.
“Yes. She is. But she likes you.”
“That was her liking me?”
“That was her liking you very much. When she disapproves, she dispenses with pragmatism and simply destroys.” He offered his arm. “Shall we dance?”
“Again?”
“I have much lost time to amend.”
She took his arm, and they returned to the floor.
***
The supper set was another waltz. Cecilia was grateful for the intimacy it afforded—the excuse to remain close to Sebastian, to speak privately amidst the crowd.
“What are you thinking?” he asked as he guided her through a turn.
“That none of this feels real. That I shall wake tomorrow in my grey dress, in my little room, and discover it was all a dream.”
“It is no dream—though I confess there have been moments tonight when I wondered the same.”
“Which moments?”
“When you walked into the ballroom. When you said you chose me. When we stood on the terrace and you told me you loved me.” His voice was low, meant only for her. “Every moment, really. All of it feels like a dream I never dared to imagine.”
“You must have imagined marriage before—finding someone—”
“I have. I would often tell myself I ought to wait for affection—for understanding, for companionship that felt real. But as the years passed, every introduction, every carefully arranged prospect rang hollow. Little by little, I began to believe I had been foolish to hope for more than duty.”
He drew her a fraction nearer, his hand warm at her waist. “I did not expect to meet someone who makes me feel entirely myself—who challenges me, contradicts me, and sees through every pretence I attempt to wear. I did not believe such a person existed.”
“You found her hiding in a library, reading about crop rotation.”
“I found her being extraordinary in ordinary circumstances. The library merely gave me the chance to notice.”
The music swelled, carrying them through the final figures. Cecilia was acutely aware of every point of contact between them—the pressure of his hand, the warmth beneath her palm, the silent understanding that passed between them.
