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“Yet you stay.” She looked into kind, old gray eyes.
“I wouldn’t leave you here for anything,” he admitted. “Not alone.”
“When I have my own household someday,” Cecelia began, “will you come and manage it for me?”
His tired eyes brightened. “I live for the day.”
She nodded.
He pressed the cold cloth tightly to her eye, and she winced again. “Keep it on there. It’ll help.” He patted her shoulder twice, then squeezed. “Go to bed. I’ll take care of your father.”
“Slap him around a few times while you’re at it, will you?”
He heaved a sigh. “I would if I thought it would help.” He looked Cecelia in the eye. “We’re going to have to get some help for him.”
She nodded. “Someone to slap the bottle out of his hand.” She tried to laugh. But it came out more as a sob.
Mr. Pritchens cocked his head to the side and pressed his lips tightly together. “If that’s what it takes.”
“It won’t help. Not unless he wants to change. He used to be an amusing drunkard.”
He gently probed at her cheekbone. “Not amusing now,” he murmured, anger flashing in his eyes.
“You’re certain you can get him to bed by yourself?” she asked.
“Quite,” he said, gritting his teeth as he looked down at her father. “Go to your chambers. I’ll see to him.”
Cecelia was halfway up the stairs when he called out to her. She turned back. “What should I tell Mr. Thorne when he comes to call tomorrow?”
“What makes you think he’ll come to call?” she asked, her heart leaping at the thought.
He smiled. “He’ll come.”
She sighed heavily. “Tell him I’m not accepting callers.” She turned to go upstairs.
“He’ll ask for a reason,” Mr. Pritchens called to her back.
“Tell him I’m ill, for goodness’ sake, Pritchens,” she called back. She couldn’t let Marcus see her looking like this. And it would look even worse tomorrow, if history was a good indicator.
“He won’t accept that.”
“He won’t have a choice.”
Cecelia entered her chambers and looked around at what used to be her home. She crossed the room and leaned close to the looking glass. She’d seen pugilists leave Gentleman Jackson’s looking less beat up than this. Her eye was a startling shade of red, and it was quickly swelling shut. She pressed the cold cloth against it, wincing as it touched the scraped skin of her cheek. Her father must have caught her with his ring.
A rising sense of elation buoyed her for a moment as she realized what Marcus would have walked into if she’d allowed him to escort her inside the house. At least he was spared from it. Even if she wasn’t.
***
Marcus broke his fast the next day to the sound of babies crying in the breakfast room. Allen stuck his fingers in his ears and made a face. “I imagined the land of the fae to be calm and serene.” He raised his voice comically loud. “This is nothing of the sort.”
Lord Phineas grinned. “Just wait until you have one of your own. I’ll be sure to remind you of this conversation.” He bounced Lucius on his knee.
“Can’t you take them to the nursery or something?” Allen groused.
Claire passed Lucius to a hovering nurse, and another stepped forward for Cindy. Thank goodness Sophia and her son were still upstairs. “Take them to the nursery, will you?” Claire brushed Lucius’s hair from his forehead. “And come and get me immediately if you need me.”
“Yes, my lady,” the nurse said.
