Page 22 of His Mad Duchess
Margaret turned, her fabric swishing against her body, to find Cecily first. Cecily barreled into her before she could say a word, arms wrapped too tightly for decorum.
“You write to me,” Cecily whispered fiercely. “Every week. Promise me, or I’ll come pounding at your front door like a common thief…”
Margaret’s laugh snagged on the edge of tears. “You wouldn’t.”
Cecily pulled back, eyes bright. “Try me. Brighton’s not so far if you love someone enough.”
Margaret’s laugh cracked in her throat. “I’ll try.”
“You’d better. Or I’ll ride to Brighton myself and drag you home.” Cecily sniffed.
Beatrice waited behind her, twisting her gloves every second, her lips pressed thin with something like hope and guilt tangled together. She leaned in, her words quick and soft.
“I know you didn’t want this. I didn’t want it this way either. Just… be happy, Margaret. Or at least… safer. Maybe I can be too, now.”
Margaret’s fingers brushed Beatrice’s sleeve. “You will be.”
Before Beatrice could gather the right reply, Cecily leaned in with her wicked grin. “And you’ll name your first dog after me,” she said brightly. “A great slobbery hound to guard you when you’re grand and titled. That way I’ll always be watching.”
Beatrice let out a quick laugh. “Oh, hush, Cecily. She’ll name a goat after you before she’d trust you with a guard dog.”
“I’ll take a goat,” Cecily sniffed, nudging Margaret’s arm. “So long as you remember me.”
Aunt Agnes stood back by the last pew, her back ramrod straight, chin lifted to keep the tears from slipping free. When Margaret stepped close, the older woman’s hand found hers, squeezing quickly and firmly.
“You do your best, child. And let him do right by you.” Her voice caught, just once, the crack hidden behind her teeth. “Your mother would have wanted that. That’s all any of us can ask.”
Margaret bowed her head.
Edward drifted up beside Sebastian, straightening his cuff with an infuriating calm.
“Well,” Edward murmured under his breath, “no one fainted. No lightning struck. Shall I count that as a win?”
Sebastian’s jaw flexed. “Count whatever you like.”
Edward gave him a sidelong look, mouth twitching. “You always were a sentimental bastard, Ravenscourt.”
Sebastian’s eyes cut to him. “Do shut up, Edward.”
Edward clucked his tongue, the grin half-hidden. “Too late to run now?”
Sebastian snorted. “Tempting.”
He felt Edward’s palm clap his shoulder, not soft, not mocking either.
“She’s a good one. Try not to frighten her away in your first week.”
Sebastian’s mouth twitched. “I frighten no one.”
“Mm.” Edward leaned in a hair closer, dropping his voice so low only the shadows could hear it. “Then why do you look like you’d rather face a duel than walk out that door?”
Sebastian didn’t answer that. He just pulled in a slow breath, eyes flicking to where Margaret stood in her pale gown, the future wrapped around her shoulders like a too-heavy cloak.
“I’ve survived worse,” he said at last.
Edward laughed, sharp and warm all at once. “Not like this, old friend. Not like this.”
CHAPTER 8
