Chapter 5
Cecily played the opening bars again, her fingers moving with practiced ease, though her thoughts drifted away from the keys.
The notes were steady, but her mind slipped the moment she reached the familiar turn in the melody.
She paused and let her hands rest on her lap.
The room was quiet except for the soft ticking of the clock on the mantel.
Focus, Cecily. You are playing poorly today.
A few days had passed, yet she still did not know what to make of the earl. His first impression had hurt her more than she wished it had. She pressed a single key and listened to the sound fade.
She let her hand rest on the keys, steadying her breath. The quiet in the room felt heavier than usual, shaped by thoughts she had tried to ignore since the morning. She wished she could dismiss them with the same ease she dismissed a wrong note, but they stayed where they were.
You should not care what he thinks. It should not matter.
But his apology had unsettled her. She had not expected the sincerity in his voice or the way he had looked at her as though he truly regretted his words. She lifted her hands again and played the passage more slowly.
Why did that move you so much? Why did it feel so genuine?
She had always known he was handsome, but she had not expected the warmth that she felt when he spoke to her with such quiet honesty.
The feeling surprised her every time she remembered it.
She had been spoken to with courtesy before, but something in his voice was different.
It had been careful, measured, and sincere.
The memory unsettled her because it felt honest, and such raw honesty from him was not something she had prepared herself to receive.
This is foolish. You cannot allow this. You are here to work.
She shook her head lightly and began the piece again, determined to steady her thoughts.
She could not let anything interfere with her purpose here.
She reminded herself that she had come to this house for stability.
Her work mattered. Her wages mattered. The children needed her attention, and she needed the certainty that came from doing her job well.
Anything else would only complicate what she had worked so hard to secure.
Her mind shifted to Julian and Amabel. Their solemn faces, their careful silence, and the way they watched her hands when she played all moved through her mind.
And their grief. It was there in everything they did. Their slow, gentle movements and calm, reserved voices all told the story of two hearts that were broken.
She recognized that grief. It lived in her, too.
She remembered the long months after her father’s death, when just getting through each day felt like a monumental task.
She saw the same quiet effort in the children, and it made her more determined to give them something steady, even if it was only a lesson.
They are hurting. You can see it. You know that feeling, and you cannot let them stay in it.
She played a gentle chord and let it settle in the air.
Whatever the earl believed about discipline or propriety, she would not let the children remain frozen in that quiet sorrow. She was determined to bring some small amount of joy into their lives. They deserved that much.
You can help them. You must.
Cecily straightened her posture, placed her hands firmly on the keys, and began the piece again with renewed purpose.
When she finished, she let the final chord fade beneath her fingers. The sound lingered for a moment before settling into the quiet of the schoolroom. She exhaled and closed the lid of the piano with care.
She stood up and gathered the loose music sheets she had been using for the children’s rhythm practice.
She aligned the edges with care, then crossed the room to return them to the small cabinet beside the window.
She had just reached for the folder where she kept Julian’s scales when the door opened without warning.
Mrs. Bracknell entered with brisk steps, her expression unusually tight. Cecily straightened at once, the music sheets still in her hands.
“Miss Marwood,” Mrs. Bracknell said, “I have heard that you have been invited to dine with his lordship and his guest this evening.”
Cecily blinked. Already? I only just learned of it myself a couple of days ago. And his guest arrived much sooner than anyone anticipated.
She set the books down neatly. “May I ask how you came by this information?”
“The household speaks,” Mrs. Bracknell replied, lifting her chin. “One hears things.”
Of course. In this house, news travels faster than breath, Cecilly thought, resisting the urge to shake her head.
Mrs. Bracknell folded her hands, her posture stiff with a unique mixture of concern and irritation. “I must say, I am surprised. And a little alarmed.”
Cecily felt the familiar rise of irritation, but she kept her posture still. She had grown used to people assuming she needed guidance for which she had not asked. It was a habit she had learned to endure, though it never failed to strike her as unnecessary and somewhat tiresome.
“Alarmed?” Cecily asked. “Why should my presence at dinner cause alarm?”
“Do you have any idea who his guest is?”
“No,” Cecily said. “I caught a brief glance of her from a distance, but I have not been introduced.”
Mrs. Bracknell stood tall and clasped her hands before her. She began to speak slowly, as if she were talking to a young child.
“You have not met her because she has kept to the family apartments since her arrival. She does not take her meals below stairs, nor does she involve herself with the children’s instruction in the school room or music.”
Cecily blinked. “I see.”
“She came three days ago, but has spent most of that time with her maid and her correspondence. She has not sought out the household staff, and I have not been instructed to present you to her.”
“I understand,” Cecily said. “It makes perfect sense that I have not been introduced, but I am not even sure who it is.”
“It is Lady Stanhope,” Mrs. Bracknell declared, as though the name alone should have made Cecily drop the music.
Cecily waited, keeping her expression calm.
Mrs. Bracknell’s eyes widened. “You do not know who that is?”
“No,” Cecily said calmly. “I do not.”
Mrs. Bracknell let out a sharp breath. “She was the earl’s former fiancée. Before he broke off the engagement to join the Navy.”
Cecily absorbed this in silence.
Former fiancée. That explains the tone. And the urgency.
She kept her voice even. “I see.”
“This is a refined lady,” Mrs. Bracknell went on. “She is a woman of standing. You must be on your best behavior.”
Cecily clenched her jaw and tilted her chin. “I assure you, Mrs. Bracknell, I am perfectly capable of comporting myself with dignity. And, I must add, the best advice is that which is solicited.”
Mrs. Bracknell’s mouth tightened. “You have no idea what you are getting yourself into.”
Cecily met her gaze without wavering. “I am attending a dinner, Mrs. Bracknell. Nothing more.”
The governess shook her head, clearly unconvinced, and swept out of the schoolroom.
Cecily watched the door close behind her.
Former fiancée or not, I will not be intimidated, Cecily thought, returning her attention to the task at hand. I know my place. I know my purpose. And I will not be made small.
She finished putting the music away, her hands steady and her thoughts calm. When she was finished, she checked the clock on the desk. The hands had crept farther along than she expected, and if she were to be ready for dinner, she needed to return to her room.
As she hurried through the corridor, she realized her mind was still unsettled from Mrs. Bracknell’s visit, even though she tried to push the conversation aside.
It is only a dinner. You have attended dozens of formal dinners. There is nothing to fear.
Once inside her room, she closed the door gently and leaned against it for a moment.
Despite herself, Mrs. Bracknell’s warning had lodged deep in her mind.
Cecily felt a nervous flutter in her chest. Her hands trembled as she reached for the basin to wash them, worse than they ever had before a concert hall filled with hundreds of expectant faces.
This is ridiculous. You have performed under far greater pressure. Why should this unsettle you?
She steadied her hands against the edge of the basin. The truth was simple. She wanted to make a good impression, and the desire unsettled her. It had been a long time since she cared how she appeared to anyone outside her family.
She dried her hands carefully and strode to her wardrobe.
Her finest gown hung at the back, pressed and ready.
She lifted it from its hook, smoothing the fabric with slow, deliberate motions.
Dressing took longer than usual. Her fingers fumbled with the fastenings, and she had to pause twice to steady her breathing.
You are letting her get into your head. Stop this. You know how to carry yourself. You know who you are.
When she finally stepped back from the mirror, she looked composed enough, although her pulse still beat too quickly. She straightened her shoulders and left the room, determined not to let her nerves show.
She reached the dining room before anyone else, as the footman had directed her to wait there rather than in the drawing room.
Weatherby stood near the door, and his eyes widened slightly when he saw her.
“Miss Marwood,” he said, his tone warm. “His lordship instructed that you be seated as soon as you arrived.”
He led her to a place near the center of the table. As he pulled out her chair, he added in a low, almost conspiratorial voice, “I must admit, I was surprised when I heard you were invited this evening. Pleasantly so.”
Cecily managed a small smile. “I hope I shall not disappoint.”
“I have no doubt you will do very well,” Weatherby said, and there was genuine kindness in his eyes.