Helena appeared at her elbow. “That was… unexpected.”
“Yes.”
“You were gracious. More gracious than she deserved.”
“Perhaps. But grievances have little use now.” Cecilia turned from the doorway. “It is finished—the grey life, the invisibility, the fear. I am done with all of it.”
“And now?”
“Now I build something new.” She smiled, feeling the words settle into place like truth. “Now I learn how to be visible.”
***
Sebastian found her that evening in the library.
It felt fitting—the room where they had first discovered one another among borrowed books and pencilled margins. She had sought it instinctively, drawn to its quiet after a day of upheaval.
“I heard about your meeting with Lady Ashwood,” he said, taking the chair opposite hers. “My mother was… impressed. She said you handled yourself with remarkable composure.”
“I merely said what needed saying.”
“According to her, you said it beautifully.” He smiled. “I almost regret missing the performance.”
“It was not a performance. I simply stopped pretending gratitude for what never deserved it.”
“That,” Sebastian said softly, “is precisely what made it remarkable.” He studied her for a moment. “You have spent years being invisible. Today, you allowed yourself to be seen. That takes courage.”
“Or desperation.”
“Sometimes they are the same thing.” He reached into his pocket. “Speaking of courage—Helena returned this. She asked me to give it to you.”
Her mother’s pearls lay coiled in his palm—newly restrung, the clasp replaced, every pearl present and gleaming. Cecilia took them reverently, letting the strand slip through her fingers.
“They are perfect.”
“The jeweller said the clasp had weakened with age. The new one should last another century.”
“That sounds optimistic.”
“I prefer hopeful.” He rose and moved behind her. “May I?”
She lifted the necklace toward him. His fingers brushed her neck as he fastened the clasp, and a shiver passed through her despite the warmth of the fire.
“There.” He stepped back. “You look like yourself again.”
“I feel like myself.” Her hand rose to the pearls. “For the first time in years.”
“Good. That is the woman I wish to marry—the one with contradictions and sharp opinions about agricultural improvement.”
She laughed—freely, this time. “I have opinions about other matters too. Politics. Education. Household accounts.”
“I intend to hear all of them. Often. For the rest of our lives.”
“That could become tiresome.”
“On the contrary—it sounds like precisely the marriage I want.”
She stood, turning to face him. The library was quiet around them—firelight, shadows, and the silent witness of books.
