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Milly looked at Ronald, whose anger flashed in his eyes like sparks from the fireplace. “You should have told him,” Ronald said.
“I can’t. They’re my family. Their secrets are mine.”
“I wish they weren’t mine.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wish I didn’t know their bloody secrets.”
“I don’t understand.” Ronald had always been cryptic, but she could usually keep up.
“I saw the bruise on her cheek. A week after Marcus left. Her father, in a temper.” He patted his cheek as though he could feel it. “You shouldn’t have sent her back there.”
“She’s strong. She can take care of herself. And her father is not a bad man. He just has a problem.”
“A problem he can’t control,” Ronald shouted.
Milly startled. But Ronald didn’t scare her. She was more afraid that someone would hear. ?
?No one else knows about that.”
“She covered the bruise well. But I could still see it,” Ronald admitted. “I’m worried for her.”
“I’m on my way back there now,” Milly said, getting to her feet.
“But even you can’t watch her all the time.”
“I can watch her most of the time.”
“Her father needs some help.”
“So does she,” Milly said. “Do you think Marcus will go to her?”
“I think Marcus is hurt by her disappearance. And I’m going to tell him if you don’t.”
“You can’t!” Milly cried. “It’s not your secret to tell. It’s hers.”
“She won’t ever tell him.”
“She gets a seat with the Trusted Few.”
“If she can’t govern her own life, how will she ever govern the land of the fae?”
“I don’t know,” Milly said quietly. “I need to get back to her.”
“Be careful,” Ronald warned.
Milly nodded.
“I’ll miss you,” Ronald said softly.
Tears pricked at the backs of Milly’s lashes. She nodded and threw herself from the open window. Sometimes, she wished for an easier life. But then she wondered what on earth she would do with one.
Ten
Cecelia closed the front door behind her and walked into the drafty old manor house. She’d only been gone a few days, yet already it appeared disused. Perhaps it was just because she didn’t want to be there. She wanted to be anywhere but there.
“Father!” she called out as she walked down the corridor toward his study. Before her mother had died, Cecelia would have laughed all the way down the corridor because she knew she’d find her mother perched on the edge of her father’s desk, and her father would be trying to make her laugh. Now her father didn’t laugh at all. Nor did he try to make anyone else do so. She raised a hand to her cheek.
