Page 87 of A Spinster for the Cold Duke

Celia moved closer. Her small hands were clasped before her in a gesture that spoke of careful consideration. “Something has happened between you and Papa, hasn’t it?”

The directness of the question stole Annabelle’s breath. She had underestimated the young woman’s ability to perceive the undercurrents that had transformed their once-comfortable dynamic into something strained and formal.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Annabelle replied carefully, though her voice lacked conviction even to her own ears.

“He’s unhappy,” Celia continued, undeterred by the weak deflection. “Truly unhappy, in a way I haven’t seen since…ever. He thinks I don’t notice, but I do. He stares out windows when he thinks no one is looking, and he’s forgotten to eat breakfast twice this week.”

That image of Henry sent a sharp pain through Annabelle’s chest. She pressed her lips together, fighting the urge to demand details so she might know how badly their separation was affecting him.

“Adults sometimes go through difficult periods,” she said weakly. “It doesn’t necessarily mean?—”

“That’s the same feeble excuse Papa keeps giving me. I know you’ve been avoiding us.” Celia’s observation was a matter of fact rather than accusatory. “You used to smile when we arrived and linger after my lessons to discuss my progress. Now I don’t even get to see you anymore.”

Annabelle felt her careful composure crack under the weight of the young woman’s unwavering attention. “Celia, I think perhaps?—”

“Did he break your heart?” The question was asked with such genuine concern that tears pricked at Annabelle’s eyes. “Because if he did, I could speak with him. Papa listens to me, usually.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” The endearment slipped out before Annabelle could stop it, and she saw Celia’s expression brighten at the familiar warmth. “Your father has done nothing wrong. Sometimes… sometimes adults make difficult choices that seem hurtful but are meant to protect the people they care about.”

“Protect them from what?”

From society’s cruel judgment. From whispered speculation that could follow a young girl throughout her life. From the sort of scandal that could close doors before they even had a chance to open.

But how could she explain such complexities to a child who still believed the world was fundamentally fair?

“From disappointment,” Annabelle said finally. “From situations that might make life more complicated than it needs to be.”

Celia studied her with an intensity that was unsettling in someone so young. “But what if the people you’re protecting would rather face those complications together than be separated?”

The wisdom in the question made Annabelle’s throat constrict.

From the mouths of babes, indeed.

She reached out instinctively and smoothed a strand of Celia’s dark hair that had escaped its careful arrangement.

“Sometimes, my dear, love means making sacrifices that others might not understand.”

“Is that what this is, then?” Celia asked quietly. “A sacrifice?”

Annabelle didn’t know what answer to give her that would not reveal too much, but before she could even go through the rigors of thought, the morning room door opened to admit Florentia. She wore an expression that was bright with false concern.

“There you are, Lady Celia! Your father has been looking everywhere for you.” She turned to Annabelle with that practiced smile that never quite reached her eyes. “Anna, dear, you look pale. Perhaps you should rest some more.”

The dismissal was gentle but unmistakable. Annabelle watched as Celia was efficiently shepherded from the room. The young woman’s questioning gaze lingered on her until the door closed behind them.

Left alone with her churning thoughts, Annabelle sank back into her chair and pressed her fingertips to her temples. The weight of maintaining this facade was becoming unbearable, but what alternative did she have? She had made her choice—the right choice, surely—and now she must live with its consequences.

“My dear girl.”

Annabelle looked up to find her grandmother standing in the doorway. Her sharp eyes took in every detail of Annabelle’s disheveled state.

“Grandmother. I thought you were resting.”

“Nonsense. Rest is for the infirm and the guilty.” Lady Oakley entered the room with her usual brisk efficiency, then settled into the chair opposite Annabelle with the air of someonepreparing for battle. “And while I may be advancing in years, I am neither of those things.”

Annabelle managed a weak smile at her grandmother’s characteristic bluntness. “Of course not, Lady Oakley.”

“That’s better.” The older woman’s expression softened slightly at the familiar affection in her granddaughter’s tone. “Now then, shall we discuss what has you looking like a wraith haunting her own drawing room?”

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