Selina did not answer at once. She smoothened the front of her gown, buying herself a moment. “I would never take pleasure in being proved right at your expense, Lucy,” she said quietly.
Lucy’s mouth curved, just barely. “You have always been very generous in that regard.”
Selina crossed the room and stopped a few steps away. “I will say this,” she continued. “I will say it as often as I must. I believe this is the right path for you, whether you can see it yet or not.”
Lucy’s gaze fell to the floor.
“I have told you before,” Selina went on. “I will no doubt tell you again. A life need not be narrow simply because it is shared. Love, when it is steady and well chosen, does not diminish a woman. It gives her a place from which to stand. Peace. Family. A sense of belonging that does not ask her to explain herself every day of her life.”
She softened then, reaching out to brush Lucy’s sleeve. “You deserve that, my dear. You always have.”
Lucy did not pull away, but she did not lean into the touch either. “I know you see it that way,” she said. “If only I could see it that way, too.”
She moved past Selina then, crossing the threshold with slow steps. At the door, she paused only long enough to gather herself before slipping out of the room and closing the door gently behind her.
When she finally got into her own room, Lucy let out a loud exhale, alone at last. She rested her forehead briefly against the wood and shut her eyes. She did not know whether she was ready for the decision she had made, but she knew only that there was no longer any pretending this was not real.
“You’re getting married, Rowan?”
The horses slowed at last, breath misting faintly in the cool air as the path dipped toward the river. Rowan drew his mount to a halt and loosened the reins, allowing the animal to lower its head and drink. The water moved lazily over smooth stones, untroubled by anything more pressing than the afternoon light.
It was Magnus who had broken the silence. “You? Rowan? Getting married?” he continued.
Rowan looked up, leaning against his saddle. “I am,” he said plainly.
Magnus exchanged a glance with Valentine, whose horse had also come to a halt. “Not just to anyone,” he said slowly. “The woman in question… is your matchmaker? My wife’s dear cousin? Lucy Crampton?”
Rowan allowed himself a small smile. “Yes. My matchmaker.”
Valentine laughed softly. “You told us you were planning to settle down, but I confess I still cannot imagine it. Your agreeing to marry someone is ridiculous. We have known your stance on marriage for a long time.”
Rowan shook his head, a gnawing disbelief threading through him. He had thought he would clarify, explain, and make them understand the circumstances. Yet the truth was more complicated than words could carry without betraying something he was only beginning to decipher himself.
He remembered the moment when Lucy had made the suggestion so clearly. The very moment she had offered herself as his wife. Only moments before then, he had told her she was free to go. That she was relieved of her matchmaking duties and that he would not hold her to the deal they made. Yet she had still offered to keep her end of the deal. In doing that, she had lodged an idea in his mind that he could neither dismiss nor control. The thought had struck him first with astonishment, then with an ease of feeling he had not anticipated.
He had smiled that day, without realizing it, without caution. He had allowed the idea of marrying her to soften the edges of his world, and even now, he could not entirely convince himself that it was prudent.
Magnus prodded again. “Rowan, I know you like the back of my hand. You might be playful, and you can turn any serious situation into a comedy, but you are resolute when you make a decision, and you don’t make one rashly. Are you sure this is what you want?”
Rowan inhaled slowly, watching the water ripple past their horses’ hooves. “I do not know what I expected,” he admitted. “I did not foresee how it would feel or how quickly it would all happen.”
Valentine’s brow rose. “Sounds as though you are unsettled.”
Rowan nodded, offering no further explanation. He knew better than to speak more than he must. Words, once released, had a habit of twisting themselves beyond control.
Magnus glanced at him sharply. “Why her, Rowan? Tell us, at least, why you decided to marry her.”
“I told you, I am marrying her,” Rowan said. “That’s just how things turned out. Lucy and I are getting married soon. Once we set the date.”
Magnus leaned on his saddle. “Do you feel certain this is the right thing?”
Rowan lifted his eyes, meeting his friend’s, and nodded. “Certain enough,” he said aloud.
But inside, he was still unsettled. Certain, yes, but also keenly aware of how little he had anticipated the way his own heart had betrayed him. The strange lightness in his chest when he thought of her, the anticipation of seeing her, the memory of her voice offering him something he had never allowed himself to want. Peace.
“Your silence is troubling, Rowan Clawridge,” Magnus observed as he approached him. “First, you write, asking for my presence right away, so I drop everything going on in my estate and come here, and now, you won’t talk. You’re quiet, and you never are. You are one of the few people that I know who has an opinion on everything. So what is it?”
Rowan adjusted the reins in his hands, letting them slip through his fingers without loosening. “I am not unusually quiet,” he said carefully. “There is just nothing else to say.”
