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Cecily gave a single, firm nod.

"I believe we are in agreement, then," said Cecily.

"Would you like to see your sister this evening?" asked Arthur.

The transformation in Cecily’s expression was immediate. The guardedness vanished, replaced by unmistakable excitement akin to a child's.

"More than anything."

"Come," was all Arthur said as he escorted her through the corridors of Winworth in companionable silence. The house had grown strangely quiet over the past fortnight, the laughter that had once drifted from one end of the corridor to the other having long since disappeared. It was remarkable, he thought, how one person could alter the very air of an estate.

They reached the private apartments before long. Arthur stopped outside his own chamber before motioning towards the neighbouring door.

Eliza's.

Only a handful of feet separated them, but it felt considerably further.

"I shall leave you to do the honours," he said quietly.

Cecily barely waited for him to finish speaking. She hurried across the short stretch of corridor, knocked once upon the door before pushing it open without waiting for permission and then disappeared inside with all the confidence of a woman who knew she would always be welcome.

Arthur remained where he was. He had no intention of intruding. Yet he found himself holding his breath. For a heartbeat, all he heard was silence. The corridor was filled with the unmistakable chorus of two women greeting one another after far too long apart. Arthur felt his shoulders loosen.

The halls of Winworth had not known such noise in weeks.

Quietly, without another glance towards the door, Arthur turned and disappeared into his own chamber, allowing the sound of their laughter to follow him inside.

Chapter 41

Three weeks had flown by since Cecily’s arrival, and though they were cutting matters rather fine for their journey to London, Eliza had not minded in the slightest.

This was because Colonel Radnor was walking. Not with ease and certainly not without discomfort. Yet he was walking nonetheless.

The Colonel now relied on a polished cane to support much of his weight, his gait marked by a pronounced limp that reminded anyone watching of the terrible wounds he had endured. He still tired quickly, and his mood remained as dark as ever, yet to Eliza, it felt nothing short of miraculous. The road to recovery remained long, but there was a path forward now, and that in itself was reason for celebration.

Naturally, Eliza had insisted that Radnor attend her debut ball in London.

He had refused immediately.

She had begged.

He had refused again.

She had then begged rather more shamelessly.

Eventually, he had relented, though not before informing her that she possessed an alarming talent for wearing down military officers. Eliza considered that a compliment. The Colonel’s chambers, rather conveniently, sat directly beside Cecily's, who had taken to wandering in at least once or twice each day to ensure he had not talked himself into remaining behind.

Between Cecily's relentless encouragement and the Duke’s arrangements for the travelling carriage to be altered to accommodate Radnor’s injured leg more comfortably, there remained very little opportunity for him to refuse.

Eliza smiled to herself as she approached his chambers, but the door opened before she reached it.

"Lizzie!" Cecily beamed. "I was just informing Major Melancholy that we depart promptly at two o'clock. The Duke's orders." Major Melancholy was but the latest of a series of nicknames she had rather cruelly christened Radnor with.

It still felt surreal that Cecily was here. When Eliza had finally gathered enough courage to ask how such an impossible thing had come to pass, her sister had merely declared it to be divine intervention. Eliza had smiled politely, though she was not nearly naïve enough to believe that explanation.

The Duke had played a part. She did not know how. Nor did she entirely understand why, but she found she could not bring herself to question a kindness that had returned her sister to her after more than a year apart. Since her return, they had spent three weeks visiting the village, the Didleys and the children, taking long walks through Winworth's gardens and helping Cecily create beautiful gowns from what had once seemed like nothing more than scraps of fabric.

The night Cecily arrived, they did not sleep at all. They had remained awake until the early hours, talking about everything and nothing, Vinnie happily sprawled between them as though determined never again to allow the sisters to be separated. Cecily's tales of London had left them both enchanted and, on more than one occasion, quietly horrified.