The Dowager inclined her head, approving. “Then small it shall be. That simplifies much.”
Conversation moved to settlements. Cecilia spoke quietly.
“I have nothing to contribute to one—no property, no fortune. Whatever terms you think proper, I will accept.”
“That is not how settlements work,” the Dowager said. “You possess something far greater than coin: my son’s affection—and, more importantly, judgment. You have shown yourself capable, composed, and equal to difficult circumstances. You will be provided for accordingly.”
The words struck deeper than Cecilia had expected. “Thank you,” she whispered, “I appreciate the sentiment, but—”
“It is prudence, not sentiment,” the Dowager replied, though her tone had softened. “You must have income of your own—independent of any heir, should misfortune occur. That is my concern, and I will see it done.”
The rest of dinner passed in a blur of practicalities—guest lists left blessedly brief, arrangements deferred until they reached Ashworth.
At last, the Dowager addressed one final matter.
“Until the wedding,” she said, “you cannot return to Thornfield. That much is evident. Nor is it possible for you to remain here at Fairholme once the household empties.”
“What do you suggest?”
“The most suitable course is that you travel on with us to Ashworth Hall—as my guest, under my protection—and begin to acquaint yourself with the estate that will, in time, be yours to manage.”
Mistress of Ashworth Hall.
The thought trembled through her—both terrifying and astonishing.
“I would be honoured,” she said softly.
“Good. We depart in the morning. Helena will see to what needs packing—and to what must be acquired. A future duchess cannot live in borrowed gowns.”
A future duchess. The words still felt like unfamiliar clothing—strange on her shoulders, but warming to her shape.
When the meal concluded and the party began to disperse, the Dowager excused herself with a final nod.
“Rest, child. Tomorrow will be busy, and the days beyond, busier still.”
She left them, and Sebastian moved to the empty chair at Cecilia’s side.
“Are you all right?”
“I do not know,” she said honestly. “There is so much—so quickly. Yesterday I was a poor relation in a grey dress. Now I am planning a wedding, leaving my house, moving into yours and—” She broke off. “It is overwhelming.”
“We can slow matters, if you wish. Nothing is fixed.”
“No.” She reached for his hand. “I want to begin our life. I only… need a little time to steady myself.”
He squeezed her fingers gently.
“That is more than reasonable. You have had precious little time to breathe.”
“I have had no time at all. Everything has happened so quickly.” She gave a small, unsteady laugh. “Two weeks ago, I was invisible. Now I am about to become one of the most visible women in England.”
“You will adapt. You are remarkably adaptable—five years of endurance have proved that.”
“Endurance and visibility are different accomplishments.”
“True. But you will master the latter as you mastered the former. And I will be beside you, step for step.”
The steadiness in his voice calmed her more effectively than any touch might have done.
