“For what?”
“For refusing to let her make me feel small.”
“You are not small,” he replied quietly. “You are remarkable. I merely spoke the truth.”
She very nearly leaned across and kissed him; the impulse was so sudden she had to clutch her napkin to restrain herself.
“You are staring at me,” Sebastian said, a faint smile touching his lips.
“I am memorising your face—for later, when I am alone and wondering whether any of this truly happened.”
“It happened. It is happening. And tomorrow, and the next day, and every day after—it will continue.”
“You sound very certain.”
“I am certain. I have never been more so.”
Beneath the table, his hand found hers, hidden by the heavy cloth. Their fingers intertwined—a simple contact, yet it felt likean anchor, fastening her to this moment, to this man, to the life opening before them.
She held fast.
***
The ball ended near two in the morning.
Cecilia was utterly spent—body, mind, and spirit. The evening had demanded constant vigilance, endless courtesy, and unbroken composure beneath a tide of scrutiny. She felt as though she had run a great distance without moving an inch.
Sebastian escorted her to the entrance hall, where the Dowager waited with Helena.
“You have survived,” the Dowager observed. “Barely, from the look of you.”
“It was… a great deal.”
“It was only the beginning. But you acquitted yourself well—better than I expected.” Her expression held something dangerously close to approval. “You will stay here tonight. Helena has secured a room. Tomorrow, we shall discuss the next steps.”
“Next steps?”
“The engagement must be announced properly. Notices to the papers, letters to the appropriate connections—the formalities such matters require. And your circumstances must be addressed: your residence, your wardrobe, your position. You cannot continue as you have been.”
A flutter of anxiety stirred in Cecilia. “I am not certain—”
“We shall discuss it tomorrow,” the Dowager said, brooking no argument. “For now—rest. You have earned it.”
She swept away, leaving Cecilia with Sebastian and Helena.
“She is right,” Sebastian said gently. “You are exhausted. We will speak tomorrow.”
“There is so much I wish to say—”
“And you shall say it. On the morrow. Tonight, you must sleep.” He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Thank you, Cecilia—for coming, for being brave, for choosing me.”
“Thank you for being worth choosing.”
His smile was soft, private—a smile meant for her alone. “Goodnight, my future Duchess.”
“Goodnight, my future husband.”
She watched him go—tall, composed, impossibly dear. It still did not feel real. Perhaps it never would.
