29
CECILY
Cecily found her uncle in his study, bent over a ledger, a candle burning low beside him. He looked up at once when she entered, and a smile flashed across his face.
“There you are, dear,” Stephen said.
“Uncle, please. You must speak with Julian,” Cecily blurted.
He set the ledger aside and gestured for her to sit, but Cecily remained standing.
“I have considered it,” he said, his fingers steepled. “And it is not a battle I can fight for you. Or for Isabel.”
“A battle? It is his sister’s happiness,” she said, her voice rising.
“It is politics,” he replied, his own voice gentle but firm. “And Julian is not a man to cross for the sake of sentiment. He will not welcome my interference, and frankly, we cannot afford his displeasure.”
“But surely a word—”
“A word will change nothing,” Stephen said.
“Many men like of low birth, like Benedict, have been upjumped into nobility through granted titles or marriage. Even our own forebear, Sir Thomas de Malet, rose that way. If I oppose Julian on this, our own standing suffers. I have your future to think of.”
Cecily flinched. She did not like her father’s name used this way, as a justification for Benedict’s rise to power. It felt like a stain on her family’s history, now used to bless an injustice.
“Isabel is frightened,” she said. “This is not a match she wants.”
“Few women are given that choice,” Stephen said, not unkindly. “But she will be provided for.”
Then her uncle looked at her for a long moment. “It is past time you considered marriage yourself, my dear,” he said. “I cannot keep you from it forever, though I wish you never had to leave Malethurst Hall.”
The words were not meant to wound her, but they landed precisely where they hurt most. Waiting to be placed.
It was the same language her father had used, the same cage she had fled once before.
For all her travels through time, she stood exactly where she had started: as a commodity, her future held in a man’s well-meaning hands.
Cecily left him and made arrangements to ride to Veyron Hall before the day was out.
∞∞∞
When she arrived, Cecily did not linger. She asked for Isabel and was led to her chamber.
Isabel sat near the window, her hands folded tightly together. She rose when Cecily entered. Her composure was stiff.
“Have you written to them?” Cecily asked. “Your family?”
“I have,” Isabel said. She looked down at her hands. “More than once.”
“And they will help you?”
Isabel shook her head. “No,” she said. “They are angry with Julian. Ashamed of him. They say it should never have come to this, but they will not oppose my brother. They say it is not their place.”
“What do they advise?” Cecily asked.
Isabel hesitated. “One suggested I petition the king. Another said I should submit and make the best of it. That I should think of the children Benedict will give me.” Cecily saw her shudder then.
“Even if I petition the king today, he is always away on campaign against the Scots. He will not receive it in time. It is too late for me, my friend.”
Cecily’s mouth tightened. “They would rather see you miserable than risk interfering.”
Isabel gave a small, tired smile. “They would rather see themselves untouched.”
Cecily embraced her briefly, then turned away before her frustration showed. She sought out Julian. He received her in his private chamber. He looked at her as if he already knew why she had come.
“It appears you mean to scold me,” he said.
“I have come to plead with you to stop this marriage, Lord Julian. It should not go forward. It will bring shame on your family name, not stability.”
Julian laughed softly. “Shame fades with time. Obedience and loyalty are what last.”
“You can’t mean that. Benedict’s loyalty is to himself only,” she said, her voice rising. “You know his reputation. The households he has dishonored, the women he has pursued. You know what happened to Sir Aldric’s wife. You were there. That is the man you would give your sister to?”
Julian’s expression did not change, but a coldness entered his eyes. “Sir Aldric’s wife went to him willingly enough. And you are a guest in my house. Remember that.”
His expression hardened. “You tread close to insolence,” he said.
“I tread close to the truth,” Cecily replied. “You are binding your sister to a man whose appetites are public and unchecked. It will degrade her. Your own sister.”
Julian stepped nearer. His voice lowered. “My sister will be well cared for. She will remain here, in her childhood home. That is more than many women are given.”
“This house will become her cage,” Cecily said.
“Do not involve yourself further,” Julian said abruptly. “The matter is settled.”
∞∞∞
Isabel and Benedict were married a fortnight later.
Cecily was present when Isabel stood beside Benedict, her face the color of ash, her voice barely steady as she spoke the vows.
When it was done, Isabel wept. Not quietly, not with the contained dignity she had maintained through everything.
She wept openly, her shoulders shaking, her face turned away from the hall as if she could make herself small enough to disappear.
No one moved to comfort her. The guests looked elsewhere, at their cups, at the floor, at each other with small, careful smiles.
Cecily watched Isabel weep and thought of a small bright bird closing into a cage.
Someone under his breath said, “Julian will be next, mind you.”
As Cecily left the hall, she felt eyes on her and turned. Julian stood near the doorway, watching her with the stillness of a cat. He smiled and inclined his head.
Cecily looked away. She had seen the bars close around Isabel with little resistance. The next cage they tried to build, she promised herself, would not shut so easily.