Chapter Sixteen #2
There was something in the way she said it—in the stillness of her posture, in the faint tightening at the corner of her mouth—that told Cecilia there was more left unsaid.
“Helena,” she said softly. “Is he… the man you spoke of?”
For a moment, Helena did not answer.
Then her composure wavered—not collapsing, but thinning, like silk held too close to flame.
“Yes,” she said at last. “He is."
Cecilia inclined her head, acknowledging the confidence without pressing too quickly. “Have you spoken with him since he arrived?”
“Briefly. In the corridor.” Helena’s voice was steady again, though her eyes were not. “The sort of exchange one has with a colleague—courteous, professional… devoid of anything that might be misconstrued.”
“And yet,” Cecilia said gently, “you would have wished it otherwise.”
“What I wish is immaterial.” Helena’s jaw tightened. “He sees me as the Dowager’s companion. Competent. Reliable. Useful.” A faint, bitter smile. “Invisible.”
“Invisible.” The word struck a chord deep within Cecilia. “Yes. I know that feeling.”
“I know you do. That is why I—” Helena stopped, shook her head. “It does not matter.”
“Tell me about him,” Cecilia said softly. “If you wish to.”
There was a long silence.
Then, slowly, Helena began.
“I met him a few years ago, when I first entered Her Grace’s service.
He was at Ashworth Hall, managing the estates.
We worked together more than once—questions of staffing, repairs, accounts.
He was… kind. He listened. He explained things without condescension.
He treated me as someone whose opinion mattered. ”
“And over time,” Cecilia said, “your feelings deepened.”
“It was gradual,” Helena murmured. “Not like a thunderbolt. Simply… a growing awareness. I started looking forward to seeing him. His voice made me feel calm. I started noticing when he entered a room and feeling his absence when he left.”
“Have you ever told him?”
“How could I?” Helena’s voice cracked, then steadied again by force of will.
“We are both dependent on our positions. A misstep would be disastrous. If I spoke and he did not return my feelings, the awkwardness would be intolerable. And if he did…” She broke off.
“If he did, we could do nothing without the Dowager’s approval—and she has given no indication that such a match would be welcome. ”
Cecilia was quiet for a moment.
“But the Dowager has surprised you before,” she said gently. “She surprised everyone by supporting my engagement to Sebastian.”
“That is not the same. You are a lady, by birth if not by current circumstance. I am a companion—a servant with slightly better manners. The situations are not comparable.”
“They are more comparable than you think. I was invisible. You are invisible. The only difference is that I was forced into being seen—and you still have the choice to remain hidden.”
“Remaining hidden is safer.”
“Yes,” Cecilia said. “But is it what you want?”
Helena did not answer.
She did not have to.
The truth was written in the sorrow behind her eyes, in the years of feeling buried beneath composure.
Cecilia reached no further—she simply waited.
At last, Helena whispered, “I want him to see me. As the Duke sees you—as though I am the one person in the room who matters. I want to know what it feels like to be chosen, not merely… useful.”
“Then perhaps,” Cecilia said, “it is time to stop hiding.”
Helena gave a small, fragile laugh. “And risk everything? My security, my livelihood, the one life I know how to live?”
“Is the life you are living making you happy?”
Silence answered for her.
“I cannot promise you a happy ending,” Cecilia continued gently. “But I believe you will regret it all your life if you never let him know. Even painful certainty is kinder than a lifetime of wondering.”
Helena breathed out slowly.
“You make it sound so very brave.”
“It is terrifying,” Cecilia said. “But sometimes the terrifying thing is also the right one.”
Helena smiled—a small, sad smile that held both hope and resignation.
“You seem to have acquired a surprising degree of wisdom, Miss Ashwood.”
“I have had excellent teachers. Yourself included.”
Helena looked down, then up again, eyes bright with unshed tears. “If I speak to him—and he does not return my regard—”
“Then you will survive it,” Cecilia said softly. “And you will know.”
Helena nodded once—a small motion, full of possibility.
“I will reflect upon it—upon what you have said, and upon the wisdom of… speaking.”
“That is all I would ever presume to suggest.”
There was a brief silence. Then Helena said, more quietly, “Miss Ashwood… Cecilia, I am grateful. You have shown me a kindness I did not expect.”
Cecilia’s expression softened. “The gratitude is mine, Helena. You have shown me no less consideration.”
Helena bowed her head slightly—a gesture of respect, and of something nearer to affection. “You are very good.”
“I am merely returning what has been given,” Cecilia replied.
***
Cecilia retired to her room that night with her mind full of futures—her own, Sebastian’s, Helena’s—all of them uncertain and bright and terrifying in their possibility.
The pearl necklace rested warm and familiar against her throat, a thread to the past that no longer felt like a chain. Her mother had worn these pearls while building a life of her own—choosing, loving, being loved.
Now Cecilia would do the same.
She undressed slowly, almost ceremonially.
Tomorrow, she would travel to Ashworth Hall.
In three weeks, she would become a duchess.