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“I saw him,” she said as he fell back onto the bed. “He wants to marry me,” she said more to herself than to her father.
Her father’s eyes were closed, and his head lolled to the side. “Can’t leave me, Cece,” he murmured.
“I know.” Cecelia knew. She knew all too well.
***
Marcus paced across his chambers, trying to figure out what the devil he’d done wrong. She’d been so soft and warm in his arms the night before. What had changed from that perfect moment to the sun’s awakening in the sky? Perhaps she’d had a chance to reconsider. But even if she had, she should have left a note.
A knock on his door jerked him from his pacing. “Enter,” he called absently.
Tatten, his father’s butler, opened the door. “Your father would like to see you in his study, sir,” the man said.
Why would his father want him now? “Did he happen to say what he wanted?”
The butler shook his head. “He did not. He has his steward with him, and they were deliberating over some ledgers.”
The last thing Marcus wanted to do was pore over his father’s books. But now he remembered that he had an appointment with his father to learn more about the running of the estate. “I’ll be there in a moment,” he said to Tatten.
Tatten looked about the room. “Will you be staying at Ramsdale House much longer, sir?” he asked.
Marcus’s head shot up. “Why do you ask?”
The butler arched a brow. “I was inquiring so I can find an appropriate valet for you, sir, if you intend to remain.”
“Did you get one for Allen?”
“The younger Mr. Thorne uses your father’s valet when he’s in residence.” Of course he did. He was at home here after all. He’d grown up here. Marcus had not.
Marcus shook his head. “I won’t be staying long.” Not now that Cecelia was gone. He’d be going back to his bachelor’s quarters. Until then, he could shave himself, couldn’t he? He hadn’t become so high in the instep as to need help with every little thing, had he?
“As you wish,” the butler said.
“Do you know where Miss Hewitt’s room is located, Tatten?” Marcus asked suddenly.
Tatten stood a little taller. “I know where every room is located, sir.”
“Show me,” Marcus said, striding toward the door.
The butler fell into step quietly beside him and motioned toward the guest wing.
“She’s not in the household wing?”
“No sir,” Tatten said.
“Well, hurry up about it,” Marcus urged. This was the first remnant of hope he’d grabbed hold of all day. Perhaps if he took a look at her room, he might understand a little more about why she left.
Marcus followed until Tatten stopped at a doorway, and then he knocked softly and pushed the door open. Marcus held up a hand to stay him. “That will be all, Tatten,” he said.
“As you wish,” Tatten said flatly. He bowed and then turned away down the corridor. Marcus closed the door behind him.
“What the devil were you thinking, Cece?” he whispered to himself.
Her brush still lay on the dressing table, along with a neat stack of hairpins and a bottle of perfume. He pulled the stopper and sniffed. It smelled like sunshine. Like her. He put it back on the table. Her trunk lay at the foot of the bed, and the top was still open, her shoes and other odds and ends littering the interior. Her dresses still hung in the wardrobe, several of them in fact.
How odd that Cecelia would go home and leave all of her belongings behind. Perhaps she planned to return? And to return soon, if the status of her belongings was any indication.
The door creaked open and Marcus turned to scold Tatten, but a dark brunette head came through the doorway. “Marcus!” Ainsley cried, laying a hand above her heart.
