Celine looked at her mother. Lady Farrington was oblivious. She was busy talking about the wedding breakfast.
"We must have lobster," Lady Farrington declared. "Lobster is very fashionable this season. And ice sculptures. Perhaps a swan?"
Rowan nodded chanically. "Whatever you wish, Lady Farrington."
"And the dress," Lady Farrington continued. "Celine will wear white silk. With the Hamilton diamonds. You will open the vault, won’t you, Your Grace?"
"Of course," Rowan said. "The diamonds are... available."
He said it without joy. He said it like he was lending a book from the library.
Celine felt tears prick her eyes. She looked down at her roast beef. It looked gray and unappetizing.
She realized, with a clarity that hurt her chest, that she was an intruder. She was the villain in soone else’s love story. She was the obstacle.
She ate her food silently. She chewed. She swallowed. But it tasted like ash.
"Are you well, Lady Celine?" Ines asked kindly. "You have barely touched your potatoes."
Celine looked up. She forced another smile. It was getting harder to keep the mask in place.
"I am fine, Your Grace," Celine lied. "Just... tired from the sun. The croquet ga was quite spirited."
"Indeed," Rowan muttered.
The al dragged on. Every click of silverware sounded like a clock ticking down to a disaster.
Finally, the last course was cleared.
Rowan stood up. "If you will excuse , I have estate matters to attend to."
He bowed and left the room. He didn’t look at Celine. He looked at Delaney one last ti—a look of longing and apology—before closing the door.
Delaney stood up imdiately after. "I must... check with the cook for dinner."
She fled.
Celine sat there. She felt cold.
"I think I shall retire as well," Celine said. Her voice was small.
"Oh?" Lady Farrington asked, wiping her mouth with a napkin. "But we were going to practice the harp."
"I have a headache, Mama," Celine said. "I am tired from the events of the day and need rest."
She stood up. Her legs felt shaky.
"Excuse ," she whispered.
She walked out of the dining room. She walked up the grand staircase, holding the banister tight.
She heard footsteps behind her. Heavy, purposeful footsteps.
Her mother was following her.
Celine turned the door knob and entered the room.
The guest room assigned to the Farringtons was large and pink. It slled of roses and expensive powder.
Celine walked in. She went straight to the window and looked out at the garden. She could see the woods in the distance—the place where Rowan and Delaney had lost a shawl and found sothing else.
The door opened behind her. Lady Farrington entered. She closed the door with a firm click.
"Celine," Lady Farrington said. Her voice was sharp. "What is wrong with you? You were silent at lunch. You looked like you were at a funeral."
Celine didn’t turn around. She watched a bird flying over the lawn.
"I am tired, Mama," Celine said.
"You cannot be tired," Lady Farrington snapped. "You are courting a Duke. You must be sparkling. You must be witty. You must be present."
She walked over to the dressing table and began to rearrange the perfu bottles aggressively.
"Did you hear him?" Lady Farrington asked. "He agreed to the lobster. He agreed to the diamonds. He is going to propose, Celine. In two weeks, at the ball. You will be a Duchess."
Celine closed her eyes.
"I don’t want to be a Duchess," she whispered. " I never wanted to be one. I am tired of pretending I want him."
Lady Farrington froze. She turned around slowly. The silk of her dress rustled like dry leaves.
"What did you say?" Lady Farrington asked. Her voice was dangerously quiet.
Celine turned from the window. She looked at her mother. She felt small, but she also felt a sudden surge of courage.
"I said I don’t want to be a Duchess," Celine said louder. "Not his Duchess."
"Do not be absurd," Lady Farrington scoffed. "Every girl wants to be a Duchess. It is the highest honor. We have talked about this before, don’t bring it up again."
"He doesn’t love ," Celine said. "He doesn’t even look at , Mama. Not really. He looks through ."
"Love?" Lady Farrington laughed. It was a cold, harsh sound. "Love is for milkmaids, Celine. We are aristocracy. We marry for land. We marry for titles. We marry for security."
"But he loves soone else," Celine blurted out.
Lady Farrington narrowed her eyes. "Who? That matchmaker? The mouse in the beige dress?"
" You knew? You knew they were not related? You knew she wasn’t married?" Celine asked. " Why didn’t you tell ? Why didn’t you say anything about it?"
Lady Farrington replied "That is because it is not necessary. She isn’t a threat."
"But," Celine said. "I saw them. At lunch. In the woods. They... they vibrate when they are together. They have a connection."
"A connection," Lady Farrington sneered. "She is a poor woman. A nobody. She has no dowry. She has no title. Rowan Hamilton is a Duke. He might dally with a woman like her, but he will not marry her. He will marry you."
"I won’t do it," Celine said. She shook her head. Tears began to spill down her cheeks. "I can’t marry him, Mama. It isn’t right. I won’t be the woman who stands in the way of his happiness. And I won’t be miserable for the rest of my life in a cold house with a man who wishes I was soone else."
"You will do your duty," Lady Farrington commanded. She stepped closer. "Your father and uncle arranged this. The contracts are drawn."
"Uncle Hawksley is scary," Celine cried. "I don’t care about the contracts! I don’t care about the business! I want to go ho!"
"Stop this childishness imdiately!" Lady Farrington shouted.
"No!" Celine shouted back. "I refuse! I will tell the Duke. I will tell him I cannot marry him!"
She turned toward the door, intending to leave.
Lady Farrington moved faster than a woman in a corset should be able to move.
She grabbed Celine’s arm. She spun her around.
SLAP.
The sound was loud and shocking in the quiet room.
Lady Farrington’s hand connected hard with Celine’s cheek. The force of the blow knocked Celine’s head to the side.
Celine stumbled back. She gasped, holding her hand to her face. Her skin burned. Her ear rang.
She looked at her mother with wide, horrified eyes. Her mother had never hit her before. She was strict, yes. Cold, yes. But never violent.
Lady Farrington stood there, breathing heavy. Her hand was still raised. Her face was twisted in a mask of fury and desperation.
"You stupid, ungrateful girl," Lady Farrington hissed.
"Mama..." Celine whimpered.
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