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“I’ve had worse.” The man’s voice retained no inflection.
“Step aside, Pritchens,” Marcus said. “I’ll see Cecelia now.”
“No, sir,” Pritchens said, his arms spanning the doorway.
“Is she sick?” Marcus asked.
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“She’s otherwise occupied.” Again, the man didn’t look him in the eye.
“Move aside, Pritchens,” Marcus growled.
“No, sir,” Pritchens said again. Marcus knew he could take the old man.
“Did she tell you why she doesn’t want to see anyone?” Marcus asked. His heart was beating like a team of runaway horses. She didn’t want to see him? How could that be?
Marcus heard whistling behind him and turned around to find Ainsley walking up the stone path that led to the front of the house. “Good morning, Marcus,” she said. She had a little skip to her step as well.
“Morning,” he grunted.
Pritchens smiled at Ainsley and stepped to the side, and she slid into the house. When Marcus went to follow, Pritchens stepped back into the doorway. “Why does she get to come in?” Marcus asked.
“Because she’s not you?” Pritchens said very directly.
Marcus’s heart was ready to break into a million pieces. “She doesn’t want to see me. But no one else’s visiting has been limited.”
The butler refused to look Marcus in the eye. “I can’t say, sir,” he said. “Would you like to leave a note?”
Marcus shook his head. “That won’t be necessary.” His heart hurt so badly that he could barely take a deep breath.
“I’m sorry,” Pritchens said quietly. “Come back in a few days.”
Days? He wanted him to wait days to see her? Marcus nodded. Where there had been a spring in his step earlier, now there was none. His feet felt like they had lead weights attached to them.
They’d made love, and now she wanted nothing to do with him. It had been perfect, and now she wouldn’t even see him. She wouldn’t come to the door. Had he done something wrong? Had he hurt her without knowing it?
***
Cecelia sat in her window and listened, the sound of voices below like a hatpin stuck through her heart. Marcus’s voice was soft, and he gave up easily. Too easily. But it was for the best. He certainly couldn’t see her looking like this, could he? He would want an explanation. And this one couldn’t be explained away as having hit her eye on the wardrobe door. This one was awful. And it was even worse that her father had been the one to deal the blow. It would be at least a week before the signs of the bruise faded.
Marcus was patient and kind. He turned to look up at her window, and she pulled herself back into the curtains. She couldn’t face him right now. She just couldn’t.
“Good morning,” a voice called from her doorway. She turned around to find Ainsley walking into her room. Cecelia turned back toward the window. She didn’t want Ainsley to see her face either, but she supposed it couldn’t be avoided. At least Ainsley knew what was going on. Cecelia didn’t have to explain.
“Why was Marcus being detained at the door?” Ainsley asked as she untied her bonnet and threw it on Cecelia’s bed.
“I didn’t want to see him,” Cecelia said quietly. “Did he appear angry?”
“He was fit to be tied,” Ainsley said. “I loved it.” She laughed loudly. “I just don’t understand it, since you were together yesterday.” Ainsley’s face turned crimson.
Cecelia slowly turned to face Ainsley. She wanted to wince at the embarrassment of it, but doing so would hurt too much.
Ainsley’s choked gasp was all the proof Cecelia needed that her face looked as bad as she’d assumed. “What the devil happened to you?” Ainsley asked, running to appraise the fresh bruise. She poked at it with her finger, and Cecelia had to brush her hand away.
“That hurts,” she said.
