didn’t sit well with him.
He owed Cecilia an apology. Not for dismissing her—she’d more than earned that—but for grabbing her as he’d done last night. “She’s meant to leave this morning.” Gideon retrieved his watch from his coat pocket and glanced down at it, frowning. Cecilia seemed to have no notion how to follow an order. “I told her to be downstairs by eight o’clock. It seems I’ll have to fetch her myself.”
He took a last gulp of his tea and rose from the table, but before he could move Haslemere jumped up, nearly toppling his chair behind him. “Perhaps it would be better if I speak to her. If you make a mess of it—”
“It’s all right, Haslemere. I promise you I’ll be a perfect gentleman.” A grim smile twitched at Gideon’s lips. Occasionally he could still manage to behave in a manner that befitted a marquess. “Sit down and finish your breakfast.”
Gideon made his way from the dining parlor to the entrance hall. There was no sign of Cecilia, but Amy was on her hands and knees at the bottom of the stairs scrubbing the floors, a bucket by her side. “Good morning, Amy.”
Amy looked up at the sound of his voice. “Good morning, my lord,” she replied, politely enough, but Gideon didn’t miss the sour twist to her lips.
Here was one member of his household who wasn’t pleased about Cecilia’s dismissal. Amy looked as if she was one second away from tossing her cleaning rag in his face. “Did you happen to see Cecilia this morning?”
“Yes, my lord.” Amy’s voice was chilly. “She ran upstairs to bid Lady Isabella goodbye.”
“Thank you.” Gideon moved toward the stairs, giving Amy and her bucket a wide berth, aware she was glowering at his back as he passed.
He climbed the stairs and strode down the hallway to his bedchamber, but once he got to the connecting door he paused with his hand on the latch. There was a strange sound coming from Isabella’s room. That is, not strange, but not a sound that had been heard much at Darlington Castle these past twelve months or more.
Isabella was laughing. Not the muted laugh of an anxious child who’d seen too much loss in her young life, but the carefree, joyful laugh of a child who, if even for only this brief moment, was happy in the way a child should be.
Entirely, unabashedly happy.
Cecilia was singing to her. Gideon pressed an ear to the door, his chest aching at the sound of her low, sweet voice. He couldn’t make out her song—something about a pale-faced visage and the darts of death. His lips quirked. Not a lullaby, then, but Isabella didn’t seem to mind, because she was laughing.
He rested his forehead against the door, gratitude swelling inside him. He hadn’t heard Isabella laugh like that since Cassandra died. He’d begun to wonder if she ever would laugh like that again, or if the loss had stolen her laughter, and scarred her in ways Gideon didn’t yet understand.
“If Death commands the King to leave his crown, He at my feet must lay his scepter down—oh, dear.” Cecilia interrupted herself with a sigh. “This isn’t a proper song for you at all, is it, Isabella? I seemed destined to fail you in that regard.”
“What does the king do?” Isabella asked, utterly unconcerned with propriety.
“He hasn’t any choice, has he? He turns over his crown and scepter, just as death commands him to do.”
“What’s a scepter?”
“It’s a long stick made especially for a king from gold and jewels, just as a king’s crown is.”
“It is like Uncle Gideon’s walking stick?”
“Not quite the same. A marquess isn’t a king, but I imagine your uncle has a very fine walking stick.”
Gideon chuckled, then slid the door open as quietly as he could, curious to see this little tableau for himself. He leaned a hip against the door frame, taking in the scene before him.
Cecilia was seated in the rocking chair beside Isabella’s bed, her back to Gideon. His niece was enthroned on her lap like a tiny princess, plucking at a fold of her skirts. “I wish I could have a crown.”
“Well, of course, you do. Who wouldn’t like to have a golden crown? I daresay it would be easy enough to make you one with a bit of gilt paper. Perhaps we could…that is, perhaps Miss Amy could help you make one.”
Isabella didn’t notice the way Cecilia faltered. She let out a little squeal of glee at