Page 60 of The Earl's Scarred Bride

"And do you remember what she said?" Madeleine's eyes glowed with the memory. "She just stood there, taking in the scene, and then-"

"'Well, if you're going to learn, you might as well learn properly,'" all three siblings chorused together.

"The next day, she had Master Richards himself come to give us lessons," Emily added, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "Poor man had no idea what to do with two young ladies demanding to learn swordplay."

"Mother always did have her own way of doing things," Cecil said softly, and Elizabeth reached to squeeze his hand, proud of how naturally he now spoke of Catherine.

From his position by the window, Laurence made a sound that might have been amusement. "Aunt Catherine was certainly unique," he said, his usually stern features softening slightly. "I remember her sending me detailed letters about the Scottish wildflowers I'd mentioned in passing. Pages and pages of her paintings and observations."

"The paintings!" Madeleine exclaimed. "Oh Elizabeth, has Cecil shown you Mother's entire collection? She was remarkably talented. Remember how she used to set up her easel in the gardens? She'd be out there for hours, trying to capture the perfect light."

"Until Father would come looking for her," Cecil added, surprising them all with his gentle tone. "He'd pretend to be cross about her missing tea, but then he'd just end up sitting with her while she finished."

A comfortable silence fell over the room as they all absorbed this peaceful memory. Elizabeth studied her husband's profile, noting how the tension that usually accompanied mentions of his parents had eased into something softer, more contemplative.

"They did love each other," Emily said softly, voicing what they were all thinking. "Whatever else happened, I believe that was true."

Cecil's hand tightened briefly around Elizabeth's before relaxing. "Yes," he agreed, his voice steady. "They did. It wasn't perfect, but it was real." His eyes met Elizabeth's, full of meaning. "Sometimes love is stronger than our mistakes."

"Speaking of love," Laurence drawled, breaking the moment with practiced precision, "I require considerably more brandy before this conversation becomes any more maudlin."

"You always need more brandy, cousin," Cecil retorted, but there was warmth in his voice. If anything, he seemed grateful for Laurence's particular brand of gruff deflection.

"I say," Percival interjected, rising from his chair with the easy grace that had first caught Madeleine's eye, "wasn't there some wager about that new French brandy I acquired? Something about Scottish spirits being superior?"

"Was there?" Laurence's eyebrow arched imperiously. "I don't recall making any such bet."

"That's because you were three glasses deep in whisky at the time," Charles, Emily's husband, supplied helpfully. "Something about French spirits being fit only for, what was it? 'Dandies and dilettantes,' I believe were your exact words."

"How fortunate that I've never been known to suffer from excessive pride," Laurence said dryly, though his lips twitched. "Very well, Percy. Lead on. Let us settle this debate like gentlemen."

"Through excessive consumption and questionable wagers?" Madeleine teased. "How terribly burdensome for you, cousin."

"The trials I endure for my homeland," Laurence agreed solemnly, though there was a glint in his eye that made him look years younger.

As the men moved toward Percival's study, the patter of small feet announced a new arrival. Adelaide, Emily's daughter, came bursting into the room with her nurse close behind, her golden curls bouncing with each determined step.

"Uncle Cecil! Uncle Cecil!" she exclaimed, making a beeline for her favorite relative. "You promised me a story!"

Cecil scooped her up without hesitation, his dignified earl's persona melting away as he settled her on his knee. "Did I indeed? And what sort of story would my favorite niece like to hear?"

"I am your only niece," Adelaide informed him with all the gravity a four-year-old could muster.

"Ah, but that makes you even more precious, does it not?" Cecil tweaked one of her curls, making her giggle. "Now then, shall we have tales of knights and dragons? Perhaps a dashing pirate or two?"

"No!" Adelaide's curls bounced as she shook her head emphatically. "I want the story about the lady with the pretty mark! The one the fairies blessed!"

Elizabeth felt her cheeks warm as Emily and Madeleine exchanged knowing looks. Over the past months, Cecil had developed quite the repertoire of stories for their niece, but this particular tale—his heavily romanticized version of how he'd met Elizabeth—had become Adelaide's clear favorite.

"The fairy blessing story again?" Cecil's eyes found Elizabeth's, dancing with mischief. "Well, I suppose it is rather a good one. Though I must warn you, princess, your aunt might object to some of my embellishments."

"Aunt Elizabeth never objects," Adelaide said confidently. "She always smiles when you tell it, even when she pretends to scowl."

"Does she indeed?" Cecil's grin widened. "How very observant you are, my dear. Very well then—once upon a time, there was a beautiful lady who had been blessed by fairies at birth..."

"Blessed by fairies?" Elizabeth mouthed at him, touching her scar with amused exasperation.

He merely winked before continuing, "They gave her a special mark, you see, so that only the cleverest of men would recognize her true worth. But many foolish people couldn't see past the mark to the treasure beneath..."

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