Page 67 of Her Lion of a Duke
Leonard turned to Cecilia, who merely shrugged and followed the woman. He did the same, sitting beside Cecilia while the woman read their palms and drew cards.
He had never believed in anything of the sort, but he had to admit that there was a strange energy surrounding the woman. Cecilia, on the other hand, was completely invested, listening intently.
“The two of you are happy,” the woman said with a smile. “I see long life lines in your palms, so you will have so many good years.”
As she continued reading the cards, however, her brow creased.
“Interesting,” she murmured.
“What is it?” Cecilia asked.
“Deception,” the woman replied. “Though you are both kind to one another, I see lies and secrets. This could be anything. Perhaps one of you has been sneaking scraps to your dog?”
Cecilia chuckled nervously, while Leonard wondered just how the woman knew about Brutus.
“Whatever is being hidden must come out,” the woman continued. “That is the only way to find true contentment.”
They left quickly after that.
“How strange,” Leonard said, trying to sound nonchalant but failing.
“Indeed. Do you have anything to confess?”
He did, of course. He needed to tell Cecilia about Henry’s appearances, and hearing that it was a deception ate away at him.
Suddenly, Cecilia nudged him playfully.
“Come now,” she quipped. “Such things are not real. It was an excellent guess about Brutus, though.”
Leonard let out a laugh, but he could not shake the woman’s words from his mind.
By evening, he could see that his wife truly needed to return home. She was stifling her yawns, but when nobody was looking, she allowed a few to escape. As they said their goodbyes, however, an older lady approached them.
“Before you go, Your Graces,” she said quickly, a bundle in her arms, “the villagers would like to give you this gift. It took the women weeks to make it.”
Leonard thanked her and took it, unraveling it to reveal a delicately embroidered quilt. Each square looked slightly different, meaning that every lady had made a square in her own way.
“Oh,” Cecilia gasped. “This is beautiful! Thank you.”
They returned home, Cecilia holding the quilt to her chest the whole ride.
“This is truly exquisite,” she noted. “Where should we keep it?”
“You may keep it in your room, if you wish. The women made it, so while they claim it is for us, it is more likely meant for you.”
“Do you think so? I cannot believe it. It is so beautiful.”
She turned to the stairs excitedly, but Leonard cleared his throat, halting her. She turned back with a curious look, and he asked a maid to take the quilt to her room.
“I need to speak with you about something.”
She paled, and he knew that it was going to be a difficult conversation.
“Shall we go to the study?” he asked, and she nodded.
Once there, he slumped in his chair, but Cecilia paced. He could see the tremors in her hands, the discomfort in the way her eyes darted around the room.
“There is nothing wrong,” he began, trying to soothe her. “Not with you, at least.”
