Page 67 of Surrender Your Grace
“What about Mary and Henry. Please don’t fault them.”
He hesitated. “Henry allowed you to go into such a place. He knew better.”
“He tried to stop me. I insisted.”
“He’s being paid to keep you safe,” Andrew said without inflection. “Not to be easily swayed.”
“I gave him no choice,” she said. “He was just doing as bidden. He’s loyal.”
“And that loyalty very nearly got you killed.”
“I’m fine,” she reminded him. “Just bruised.”
His jaw ticked, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he said, “I’m doubling your guard. No outings without my approval. None. And you will rest exactly as the physician directed.”
“May I recover in the salon or your study?” she asked.
He studied her at length, something unspoken flickering in his gaze. “We’ll see how well you follow instructions these first few days.”
“You’re very strict,” she murmured.
“When the situation warrants, yes. I’m determined to protect you.” He brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “Until you take your safety seriously, I’ll be both husband and sentinel.”
***
The air in London had turned bitterly cold, snow falling in steady flakes that softened the city’s grime and silenced its usual bustle. Inside Sommerville House, the family gathered in the drawing room before a roaring fire. The Christmas trimmings were understated. A modest tree stood in the corner, decorated with gold-ribboned ornaments and sprigs of holly, while greenery laced the banisters and mantels with red velvet bows. Restraint over lavishness felt right this year.
They hadn’t traveled to Arendale for the holiday. His mother had quietly insisted on staying in London, and Maggie had backed her. The loss of James still hung heavy in their hearts this first Christmas season without him, especially tonight, on Christmas Eve.
Andrew crossed to Cici and handed her a cup of hot cocoa—dark, rich, and topped with a dusting of nutmeg.
“With extra chocolate,” he murmured. “Just the way you like it.”
She smiled, accepting it with a quiet, “Thank you.”
Gifts were exchanged, nothing lavish but something thoughtful: a rosewood tea caddy for the dowager, new gloves and sketching pencils for Maggie, a pair of drop pearl earrings for Cici from Andrew.
There was one neatly wrapped parcel remaining under the tree.
“That’s for you,” she offered, words tight with hesitation.
He set aside his brandy, retrieve it, and returned to her side.
“It’s not much, but… I wanted it to be meaningful.”
Andrew arched a brow. “You risked life and limb for ‘not much’?”
She flushed, but a smile tugged at her lips. “Open it.”
He undid the wrapping carefully, revealing the leather-bound volume beneath. His expression changed the instant he saw the title:A Compendium of Arendale: Folklore, Ruins, and Founding Families.
“Cici,” he murmured, running his hand reverently over the cover. “I’ve only ever seen references to this book… I didn’t know it still existed.”
“The man at Hatchard’s told me about it,” she said, her voice quieter now. “I thought… with your love of history, and the way you talk about the ruins, and the willow trees by the lake—”
With one arm around her waist, he pulled close and kissed her temple. “It’s perfect.”
“I hoped it might feel like home.”
