33
CECILY
Everyone was pleased.
To hear them talk, the marriage of handsome Julian de Veyron to the lovely Cecily de Malet was a splendid thing.
Cecily heard their cheerful plans as if from underwater, nodding when they asked her opinion.
A blue gown to match her eyes? Yes. A three-course feast, with musicians? Of course. She agreed to it all.
She didn’t care about any of it.
Easter had come and gone. She had delayed giving her answer to Julian as long as she could, but in the end, it was not her answer to give.
Whether she was living in her own time, or this time, someone else would always arrange her marriage.
Now Pentecost loomed three weeks away, and the household hummed with preparations.
Seamstresses arrived with rare bolts of silk.
The cook consulted daily about the wedding feast. Stephen walked the halls with a lightness in his step that only caused Cecily more unease.
On the fifth morning after Easter, Cecily found her uncle in his study and asked for a favor.
“I need to travel to Marrowden,” she said. “To see Master Nicholas, the physician.”
Stephen looked up from his accounts, his brow furrowed. “Are you unwell?”
“No,” Cecily said quickly. “Not unwell. But I need… there are women’s matters I should discuss with him before the wedding. Herbs and such.”
It was vague enough to be embarrassing, specific enough to be believable. Stephen’s face reddened slightly.
“Of course,” he said quickly. “I’ll arrange a carriage.”
“Thank you, Uncle.”
He smiled at her. “I’m glad you’re being sensible about all of this, Cecily. Taking care of yourself for Julian. He will be a good husband. You’ll be happy.”
Her stomach felt sour. She forced herself to smile back and left quickly.
The journey to Marrowden took a good part of the day. Cecily watched the landscape pass and tried not to think about the last time she’d made this journey. Back then, the same carriage and driver had fetched her from the physician’s home.
As the wedding drew closer, every turn of the wheels seemed to beat out Finn’s name. The anger and hurt she’d nursed for so long had become tangled with a longing that left her breathless.
Where was he? Was he even alive? Did he think of her, or had he moved on, found some other life? Another woman.
Did he know she was about to marry a Veyron?
By late afternoon, the carriage rolled into Marrowden. Master Nicholas’s house still stood at the edge of town. Cecily climbed down from the carriage and told the driver to wait.
The door opened and there stood Master Nicholas, a little grayer than she remembered, but his eyes were the same: sharp, yet kind.
He stared at her for a long moment. Then his face broke into a smile.
“Young Cecily,” he said. “By God, it’s good to see you.” His voice carried a genuine ring of pleasure.
“Master Nicholas.” Her voice caught. “May I come in?”
“Of course, of course.” He stepped aside, ushering her into the familiar front room. “Sit, please. Let me get you something to drink.”
He returned with cider and settled into the chair across from her. For a moment, they simply looked at each other.
“You’re well?” he asked.
“Well enough.” She paused. “I’m living with my uncle now. At Malethurst Hall in Kent.”
“Ah, I heard you’d found family,” Nicholas said. “I’m glad. I worried about you after you left. I suppose it’s Lady Cecily now.”
She smiled, her hands tightening around the cup. “Master Nicholas, I came because I need to ask you something.”
“Anything.”
“My… my brother. Finn.” The lie still felt strange on her tongue, but it was the story they’d told everyone. “Did he ever come back? Did he ever come looking for me?”
Nicholas was quiet for a moment. He set his cup down with deliberate care, his eyes fixed on the table as if choosing his words.
“Has he not found you yet? Yes, my lady, he returned. Months ago. Early summer last, I think it was.”
The room seemed to sway. He was alive. Cecily set the cup down before she dropped it.
“He came back?”
“Yes. He looked half-wild. Asked me how long he’d been gone, what year it was.” Nicholas shook his head. “The lad seemed lost, if I’m honest.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him the truth. That you waited for him as long as you could. That you walked to the woods every morning, looking for him.” Nicholas’s voice was gentle. “And then I told him about the man who came in the carriage. The one who took you south.”
Cecily’s throat tightened. “What did he say?”
“He asked where you’d gone. I told him south, Kentward. He left that same day.” Nicholas leaned forward. “He was eager, quite desperate, to find you.”
She had to press her lips together hard to keep from smiling like a fool in front of Master Nicholas. He’d come back. He’d come looking for her. All this time, she thought he’d abandoned her. That he’d left and forgotten her.
“Did he say where he was going?” she asked.
“No, only south. To find you.” Nicholas paused.
“I haven’t seen him since he disappeared,” Cecily said, her eyes burning.
When she rose to leave, she pressed a small purse of coins into Master Nicholas’s hands.
“For everything you did for us,” she said.
Nicholas tried to refuse, but she closed his fingers over the purse.
“Please. It’s not enough, but please take it.”
He nodded, his eyes warm. “He’ll find you, child. I saw his face. Finn won’t stop until he does.”
∞∞∞
The journey back felt shorter. Cecily barely noticed the jolting or the passing landscape. Her mind was too full. The anger she’d been holding onto for so long had simply run out, like a fire with nothing left to burn. Beneath it was something more raw, more painful. Longing. Desperation. And fear.
If he’d been searching for months, where was he now? Why hadn’t he shown up at Malethurst?
Unless something had happened to him. Unless he was hurt, or lost, or—
She couldn’t let herself think it. He was searching for her. That was all that mattered.
∞∞∞
By the time the carriage rolled back through the gates of Malethurst, dusk had fallen. Cecily climbed down, stiff from the long ride.
Uncle Stephen was waiting in the hall.
“Did you see the physician?” he asked. “And all is well?”
“Yes, Uncle. Thank you for arranging it.”
“Good, good.” He smiled. “Julian sent word. He’ll be coming tomorrow to discuss the final arrangements. The banns will be read this Sunday.”
The banns. Three weeks of public announcement before the wedding. After that, there would be no escape.
“Of course,” Cecily said.
She went to her chamber and closed the door behind her. Then she sat on the edge of her bed and pressed both hands over her mouth, because if she didn’t, she was going to laugh, or cry, or both, and she could not explain any of it to the household.
He had come back. He had come back, and he had been searching for her.
She stood and crossed to the small glass on the wall.
She looked at herself—really looked. She had sensibly pinned back her hair, the way she wore it every day.
Her dress was plain and practical. She looked like a housekeeper, not a lady of the house.
Not the girl he had known. She wondered if he would still want what he saw.
She unpinned her hair and let it fall. Better. She turned her face one way, then the other. She wondered what he would think when he saw her. Whether he would know her at once, or whether she would have to remind him. Whether he would seem different. Whether she would seem different to him.
Whether he would still—
She stopped that thought before she could finish it.
But she allowed herself one moment. She remembered the scent of pine and woodsmoke on his clothes, the rough calluses of the hand that cupped her jaw. The brief, uncertain press of his lips before he pulled away, his eyes wide as if startled by his own courage.
She pressed her fingers to her lips and told herself firmly to stop being foolish.
Then she smiled into the glass anyway, because she couldn’t help it.
He was coming. He was out there somewhere, and he was coming for her.
She had to be ready.