“Miss Ashwood,” Helena said gently. “Your room is ready. Shall I show you?”
Cecilia nodded, too tired for speech.
They walked together through the quiet corridors of Fairholme, her silver gown whispering across the floor, her mother’s pearls warm at her throat.
The pearls.
Her hand flew to the necklace—and her heart lurched.
“Wait.”
Helena turned. “Is something amiss?”
“My pearls—the strand feels—” Cecilia ran her fingers along the necklace, counting. Her stomach dropped. “One is missing. It must have slipped free.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes. I have known this necklace my whole life. One of the pearls is gone.”
Concern flickered across Helena’s face. “Where might it have fallen? The ballroom? The terrace?”
“I do not know—I was not thinking —” Tears pricked her eyes. “They were my mother’s… one of the few things I kept after my father died. I cannot lose them—I cannot—”
“We shall search tomorrow,” Helena said firmly. “In daylight, when we can see clearly. If the pearl is here, we will find it.”
“But if it fell outside—if someone takes it—if it is lost in the grass—”
“Then we shall search the garden. We shall search everywhere.” Helena laid a gentle hand on her arm. “Cecilia—you are exhausted. The pearl can wait until morning.”
Cecilia wanted to argue—wanted to run back and search every inch of Fairholme—but her limbs trembled with fatigue, and she knew Helena was right.
“Tomorrow,” she whispered. “First thing.”
“First thing,” Helena promised.
They continued to Cecilia’s room—a charming guest chamber finer than anything she had occupied in years. Helena helped her undress, then examined the necklace with care.
“The clasp is sound,” she said. “But one of the links has stretched. The pearl must have slipped free during the evening.”
“Can it be repaired?”
“The strand? Easily—a jeweller can restring it in an hour.” She set the necklace upon the dressing-table. “Finding the missing pearl will be the difficulty. But we shall try.”
“Thank you—for everything. For the gown, for this week, for… all of it. I do not know how to thank you properly.”
“You need not thank me.” Helena’s smile was faint and wry. “It has been… good to be useful.” She nodded toward the bed. “Now sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day.”
She withdrew, leaving Cecilia alone.
Cecilia lay in the soft bed, staring at the ceiling while her thoughts refused to still. The night replayed itself—the ballroom, the whispers, the dance, the proposal, the announcement, the lost pearl.
So much had happened. So much had changed.
That morning, she had been a poor relation in a grey dress, facing a life of quiet invisibility.
Now she was engaged to a duke.
It felt impossible. Miraculous. Like a story one heard—not a life one lived.
