6
CECILY
For three days, Cecily endured the pretense of patience.
In the market with her maid, Margery, she felt her resolve fraying with every passing hour. As Margery stopped to gossip with friends, Cecily drifted toward a nearby stall, examining a bolt of wool. She didn’t mean to listen, but the name “Veyron Hall” snagged her attention, sharp as a fish hook.
“Veyron Hall?” one of the other maids said. “Lord Alard’s estate?”
Margery laughed softly. “Aye. He’s set on our Cecily. Says it’s near enough agreed.”
There was a brief silence. Then the maid said, quietly, “God save her.”
Cecily forgot the cloth entirely.
“What d’ye mean by that?” Margery asked.
The maid hesitated. When she spoke again, her voice was careful. “Ye know he’s got a rovin’ eye.”
Margery gave a dismissive sniff. “That’s no rarity among lords.”
“No,” the maid said. “But that’s not the worst of it.”
Cecily leaned closer to the stall.
“He’s hard,” the maid went on. “Hard with women. Hard with everyone when crossed.”
“That’s just talk,” Margery said, though her voice lacked conviction.
“I served there fer a bit,” the maid replied. “I heard that some before me ended up with child.”
Cecily felt the air leave her lungs.
Margery swallowed. “What of his wife?”
At that, the maid fell silent.
“She was… broken. At the end,” the maid said at last.
The market noise seemed to fade, as if someone had drawn a blanket over Cecily’s ears.
“But marriage,” Margery began. “That keeps a woman safe, doesn’t it?”
The maid let out a short, bleak breath. “Marriage only gives him the right.”
That was enough.
Cecily turned away before they could see her face. She walked quickly, then faster still, her thoughts splintering into hundreds of pieces.
Her parents would wait. They would plan. They would believe there was time to maneuver, time to choose the right moment.
Time did not protect girls like her. It only ever helped men like him.
Once she crossed that marriage threshold, no calm words spoken afterward would matter. No protests would be heard.
Cecily turned down the narrow lane before she allowed herself to think.
She headed toward Graston and her grandfather’s workshop.