Betty—her maid during their days at Rothwest Manor, a stay that had extended beyond its first intention—was already packing when Celine reached her rooms, humming cheerfully as she folded gowns into tissue paper.
“Such a lovely time with you here, my lady,” Betty said. “And the country air’s done you good. You’re positively glowing.”
“It’s been... educational,” Celine managed, thinking of all the things she’d learned about her husband. His hidden kindnesses, his heroic nature, the way his control could crack to reveal something molten beneath.
“His Grace seems altered as well,” Betty continued, not looking up from her work. “More... present, if I may say so.”
“Present?”
“As though he ishere, my lady—rather than shut away inside his own thoughts. Mrs Morrison says she has not seen him so for years. Not since before his mother passed.”
“He was different then?”
Betty paused her folding.
“From what I hear, he was quite the wild young boy. Before his father… well, before everything changed. They say he usedto laugh. Imagine that—the Duke, laughing like an ordinary person.”
Celinecouldimagine it. She’d seen flashes of that man—briefly, brilliantly—before he rebuilt his walls.
“Betty… may I ask you something?”
“Of course, my lady.”
“What do the servants think of our marriage?”
Betty flushed. “Oh, my lady, I couldn’t—”
“Please. I need to know.”
Betty glanced at the door, then lowered her voice.
“At first, they thought it was merely business. His Grace’s way of sorting out a difficulty with money and contracts. But now...”
“Now?”
“Now they’re placing bets on when the locked doors will come down.”
Her blush deepened. “Beg pardon, my lady. That’s terribly improper.”
“But accurate?”
“Well… the way His Grace looks at you… and the way you look back…”
She shook her head. “Cook has five pounds on the doors lasting less than a week once you’re back in London.”
“And you? What is your wager?”
Betty’s eyes went wide. “Oh, my lady, I would never wager on such a thing—far too improper.”
Celine arched a brow.
Betty hesitated… then allowed herself the smallest, most conspiratorial smile.
“But if someone were inclined to speculate, purely in theory… they might say the doors will come down the night of the Winter Solstice Ball.”
“And why, in theory, would they say that?”
“Well, because it’s such a grand occasion,” Betty said, flustered but earnest. “All the dancing and candlelight and music… It seems the sort of night when things might… change.”
