Chapter 19
Cecily shut her door and leaned back against it, her palm still on the handle for support. She wiped her cheeks, brushing away the tears she did not realize had begun to fall.
She tried to push herself upright so she could cross the room with some measure of composure, but her legs gave way beneath her. She stumbled toward the bed and fell onto it, turning onto her side as she buried her face in the pillow. The tears came again, all at once, hot and uncontrollable.
How could this be true? How could his family be the reason everything fell apart? How could he know and say nothing?
She slowly pushed herself upright, the pillow damp beneath her cheek. She took in a breath that trembled on the way out as she turned and looked out the window. She sat there for a long moment, hands loose in her lap, her eyes unfocused on the stretch of lawn outside.
I trusted him. The thought came quietly as she blinked hard, trying to calm herself.
She lifted a hand to her face, wiping away the remaining tears. I let myself believe he was different. I let myself hope.
Her throat tightened, and she looked down at her hands as if the truth might be easier to face there.
I felt something for him. Something I had never before allowed myself. The admission made her ache, and she closed her eyes, letting the stillness of the room settle around her as she tried to breathe through the hurt.
Foolish. You were foolish. You should have known better than to trust a noble. You should have known he could never see you as anything but a passing amusement.
She pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to stop the tears that threatened to start again.
A mistake. He called it a mistake. He said it meant nothing and that he would stay away.
Her chest ached so sharply she had to bend forward and rest her elbows on her knees as she tried to calm her trembling breath.
You let him kiss you. You let yourself believe it meant something. And all the while, he knew. He knew what his father had done. He knew what it had cost you. And he said nothing.
Remembering her father and recalling everything she had already survived brought back a strength she had thought she no longer possessed. She took a deep breath and pushed herself to her feet. Her legs felt unsteady at first, but she made herself cross the room.
She walked to the window and rested her fingertips lightly against the cool pane. She would not give another moment of herself to someone so undeserving.
You will not cry for him again. You will not let him see how deeply he has hurt you. You will not give him that power.
She stayed there a moment longer, breathing through the last of the trembling, and then another thought came to mind. The children. They still needed her.
She pushed away from the window and spent the rest of the day at her small table, sorting through music books, drafting her lessons, and planning the week ahead. The work was simple, keeping her mind occupied and her hands moving.
Whenever her mind tried to drift back to him, she forced it toward the next exercise and the next way to help them learn. By evening, she was exhausted, but proud of herself. She went to bed early and slept deeply.
Morning came quickly. She rose before the household stirred, dressed, gathered her materials, and strode to the music room with a forced confidence.
The children greeted her with soft voices and shy morning smiles.
Cecily returned them as best she could and stepped to the piano, setting out the simple exercises she had prepared the night before.
She began the lesson with scales, guiding their hands, adjusting their posture, keeping her tone even, and encouraging.
Every so often, her thoughts slipped, and she felt a flicker of hurt she hadn’t meant to remember. Each time it happened, she paused only long enough to steady her breath, then placed her hand lightly on the edge of the piano and continued.
They moved on to the short piece they had been practicing all week.
Julian played with careful precision, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
Amabel followed with her usual quiet ease, her fingers finding the melody almost instinctively.
Their earnestness comforted Cecily as she focused on their progress and the way their eyes brightened when she praised them.
She kept her voice steady, her instructions clear, refusing to let her mind wander anywhere but here, with them, in this room. It wasn’t easy, but she stayed with them.
When the final notes faded, both children slid off the piano bench.
“Thank you for the lesson, Miss Marwood,” Julian said, giving a small, correct bow of his head.
“Thank you, Miss Marwood,” Amabel said, smiling broadly.
Cecily returned her smile. “You both played wonderfully today.”
They were pleased by the compliment, exchanging a quick glance before heading toward the door and rushing down the corridor.
Once they were gone, Cecily stepped quietly through the room, closing the music books, straightening the sheets of practice exercises, and wiping a faint smudge from the piano’s edge. The familiar motions kept her calm and focused.
When everything was in its place, she went outside to get some air and enjoy the day.
The garden paths were quiet as the late afternoon light drifted across the hedges.
She walked slowly, taking in everything she saw and stopping to listen to the sounds of birds, little animals, and insects going about their days.
She walked around a bend in the path near the rose garden and stopped in her tracks.
The earl was there.
He had clearly been walking as well, although he stopped the moment he saw her. For a brief moment, neither of them moved. Then he stepped toward her with an air of strained resolve, as though he had rehearsed this moment and still wasn’t certain of it.
“Miss Marwood,” he said quietly.
She dipped her head slightly. She would be polite and composed, but would give him nothing more.
He hesitated, searching her face. “I would like to speak with you. It is about what we learned, about what you learned, regarding my father and yours. I never meant you to …”
She stopped him with a single look. “You promised to keep your distance, My Lord. I expect you to keep your word.”
He froze, the hurt plain on his face, but she walked past him without slowing.
Do not look back. Do not let him see you falter.
Cecily held her composure until she reached her room. The thought she’d clung to since the night before continued to run through her mind. She would not give him any power, and she would not let him see how deeply he had hurt her.
The rest of the day passed in quiet retreat. She stayed in her room, grateful that no one sought her out. When a tray was brought up for her evening meal, she accepted it with a murmur of thanks.
Taking supper alone felt easier, and no one questioned her request. She ate only a little, then spent the remaining hours sorting through her music, reviewing the children’s progress, and preparing the next day’s lesson. She went to bed early and slept without dreaming.
Morning came with pale light streaming through her curtains. The children were once again waiting for her in the music room, their faces brightening when she entered. She offered them a small smile and began the lesson.
As much as she tried to stay focused, her thoughts continued to wander. She remembered the look in the earl’s eyes when she refused to let him speak with her the day before. She could clearly picture the hurt he hadn’t managed to hide, and she knew that she wasn’t the only one in pain.
She sighed quietly as she forced her attention back to the keys.
“Miss Marwood,” Amabel said softly, “are you sad?”
Cecily’s throat tightened. She could not tell them the truth. She could not burden them with the ugliness of adult secrets or with the pain of betrayal and loss.
“I am only tired,” she said. “Nothing more.”
Julian frowned. “You look like when Amabel cried about Mama.”
Cecily felt her heart ache. She knelt beside them, smoothing Amabel’s hair. “Tell me about your parents.”
The children exchanged a glance, and Julian spoke first, his voice quiet. “Mama used to laugh at everything,” he said. “Especially when Amabel and I were being silly.”
Amabel nodded, her hands folded neatly in her lap. “She hummed when she brushed my hair,” she said. “Every morning. I can still remember what she sounded like.”
Julian looked down at his fingers. “Papa told us stories before bed. Every night. He always made them different, even when we asked for the same one.”
Cecily listened, blinking back tears at the sound of their small, innocent voices. They weren’t trying to be brave. They were simply remembering their parents, and the tenderness of it ached in her chest. She felt for them, for herself, and for everything that had been taken from all of them.
A quiet thought came to mind, and she could not help smiling.
I could give them something to hold on to. Something that would be entirely theirs.
“I am so thankful that you are sharing with me, and I have an idea. Let us write something,” she said softly. “A little song. Something to remember them by.”
Julian and Amabel nodded at once, their small faces brightening.
“I like that idea,” Julian said quietly.
The three of them turned their attention back to the piano.
Cecily guided their hands, letting them choose the notes as their memories shaped the melody.
It was a simple and soft tune that rose and fell like a lullaby.
Julian added a few hesitant chords, and Amabel hummed along, her voice trembling at first. It grew steadier, the sound small and sweet in the quiet room.
When they finished, Amabel smiled, and Julian leaned against Cecily’s arm, comforted. Cecily also felt something inside her ease a little.
They understand loss. They understand love that lingers even when the person is gone. Perhaps I am not as alone as I feel.