Conversation flowed freely at the dinner table. Reginald told them about all the places he’d traveled, and Fiona caught him up on everything that had happened while he was gone. He was less excited about the royal commendation than about Gordon’s counterfeit scheme and the rose from the king’s brother—further proof that he was Fiona’s family. Cecilia, meanwhile, livened up the conversation with anecdotes about Norman’s daily visits to the Clayburn residence.
“Then you know what, Sister? I forgot to put in the cinnamon, but Norman never even noticed!”
“Hey, I did think it tasted a little different than usual.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, but it still tasted great, so I didn’t care.”
Merry from start to finish, Cecelia was clearly in high spirits from Fiona’s return and her uncle’s visit. There was something else, though, something about her banter with Norman. On the surface, their interactions seemed the same as always, but something about it felt different to Fiona. They’re the same as before…but also not the same, I guess.
They’d always gotten along well. Fiona did not doubt that Cecelia was very fond of Norman, but Cecilia had always seemed unaware of the possibility that her feelings for Norman might be romantic in nature—so Fiona herself couldn’t be certain whether Cecilia loved Norman as a brother or as something else. For his part, the way Norman treated Cecilia seemed to fall somewhere between friendly and romantic. This had been the case for a long time, but now, Fiona sensed their dynamic shifting to something a little more intimate than familial.
Maybe my absence lit the spark, she thought. Spending time together daily without Fiona present had probably changed the way they perceived each other. Fiona didn’t think that they had acknowledged their feelings for one another or made any other concrete changes to their relationship, but Fiona wholeheartedly welcomed even subtle changes like this.
She had always thought they would make a great couple. Cecelia had been special to Norman ever since they were little kids—not like Fiona, who remained nothing more than a friend to him even after the idea of marriage was broached. In her opinion, it made far more sense for Cecilia, not Fiona, to marry Norman. And what was wrong with that, now that Fiona’s sickly little sister was finally on the mend? The future was not preordained, anyway. Fiona was healthy now, certainly, but there was no guarantee that she wouldn’t be beset by a horrible accident or sudden illness. People ought to let their hearts, not logic, decide whom they married, just like their mother and father had.
The baron also noticed the change in Cecilia and Norman’s relationship. He looked happy as he watched them interact, but at times, a hint of worry colored his eyes. Fiona assumed that was because he saw himself in Norman and was recalling how Cecelia’s birth had sent his own wife to an early grave. And if that weren’t enough, she was sure he was also deeply conflicted over how to handle Fiona.
His daughters were living reminders of the woman he loved. He wanted to keep them close for as long as possible. As his daughters, Fiona and Cecilia appreciated their father’s love, but in spite of that, a part of Fiona wished he would stop feeling this way.
Well, now that she’d stopped the engagement from becoming official, she could finally go traveling with her uncle. It was the best choice for her dreams and for her land; this was the conclusion she arrived at every time she thought about it. It was the entire reason she and Giles had started their sham romance in the first place.
And Giles can’t stay a bachelor forever either. No matter how infamously marriage-averse he was, a handsome man with a pedigree like firstborn son of an earl would find it exceedingly difficult to remain single until he died. Besides, for all his aversions, Giles treated Fiona like a perfect gentleman, so she was certain he was capable of marriage. It’s obvious he simply interacted with the wrong type of woman all this time.
The same sorts of faces attended all the parties in Giles’s circle, and Giles’s parents selected all his potential mates using the same set of criteria. The houses best matched for an earl were probably filled with young ladies that Giles did not get along with, like Caroline. But some day, he would find a woman that was perfect for him, and that woman would not be Fiona.
Fiona was his for a limited time by contract—nothing more. Giles had only agreed to the charade on the grounds that she wouldn’t fall in love with him. The sudden kiss on her cheek and the warmth of his hand on her back felt so vivid in her memory, but she needed to keep her sights set on the mission at hand.
And yet…her heart tormented her with memories of that night in her room at the march, and of that moment at the opera.
Stop it, Fiona! None of that meant anything. Nothing happened!
No matter what she told it, her heart wouldn’t stop its incessant pounding. She knew it was because she had no experience with romance. She pressed her hands to her cheeks, willing her emotions not to show, and in doing so attracted the concerned gaze of her uncle.
“Fiona, is something wrong?”
“Wh-why do you ask?”
Reginald hummed thoughtfully. “Just a hunch.” He shrugged playfully and, to Fiona’s relief, did not press further.
Dinner ended with a lingering air of discomfort, and Norman went home. And after they saw him off, Fiona chanced asking Cecilia a question. “Are you sad to see Norman go?”
“I was a little sad about it yesterday,” Cecilia replied, “but now I’ve got you and Uncle here!” Her carefree smile showed that she was sincere.
Cecilia would likely outgrow the remaining traces of childlike innocence in her eyes next year when she came of age. The thought of her growing up made Fiona both happy and sad. It was surreal to think that her time as Cecelia’s surrogate mother was coming to an end. For now, Cecilia was tired, so Fiona sent her to bed.
“Fiona,” Reginald called to her, “do you have a minute?”
He and Fiona were the only ones left in the parlor; the baron and Hans had also retired to their personal quarters. Fiona made to sit on the sofa, but instead, Reginald opened the giant windows and invited her out to the porch. Night had fallen, the sky sparkled with stars, and a cool, refreshing breeze was blowing.
Leaning against the railing beside Reginald, Fiona spoke first. She had something on her mind. “Uncle, why did you ask to see Lord Giles tomorrow?”
Reginald had visited the Clayburns with only the clothes on his back. Roche had met him at the train station to pick up the bulky paintings he’d brought with him, and Fiona had been disappointed not to be able to view them at the Clayburn house. Naturally, she was excited to view them at Roche’s gallery in the morning. She just didn’t understand why Reginald had asked to meet Giles there.
“Ah, that,” Reginald said. “I wanted to show him my paintings.”
Fiona’s jaw dropped. “Will you tell him you’re Raymond?” Only the Clayburns and Roche knew Reginald’s other identity. It was a secret that not even the gallery staff knew.
“I haven’t decided yet. I just thought I should tell him that I brought Raymond originals to the gallery.”
Fiona tilted her head, confused. His intentions were opaque to her. Reginald had all sorts of reasons for keeping a low profile, and he was particularly wary of the nobility finding out who he really was. He was careful never to do anything that might even imply a connection between himself and the artist Raymond. That he might tell Giles his secret was inconceivable.
“I heard that your relationship with Giles began because of a fake of one of my paintings,” Reginald continued.
“Well, it… Yes, technically, it did.”
Reginald slanted his eyes upward and bobbed his head. He was not stargazing; this was something he did when he had a scheme brewing. He bobbed his head like that when he was hiding a present from Fiona or Ceceila, for example, and no matter what they did to get the secret out of him, he always refused to give them any further hints about it. “Is he the sort of person who tells other people’s secrets?”
“Of course not,” Fiona replied promptly. She had become associated with Giles relatively recently, but she trusted he wasn’t that sort of person.
“Yeah, I thought not. If he were that kind of guy, I’d recommend you break up with him immediately.” With a curt nod, Reginald shifted his gaze from the sky to Fiona. “Hey, Fiona. What do you want to do?”
“What…do you mean?”
“Do you still want to travel with me?”
His expression and tone of voice were jovial as ever, but when Fiona met Reginald’s amber eyes, a shade lighter than hers, she saw a hint of gravitas in them. Those eyes took her voice right out of her, and her mind raced, recalling all the stories of foreign lands that her uncle had told her, time and time again since she was a little girl. Unknown lands, unknown buildings, hair and skin of varying shades, unfamiliar languages and music, the energy of a bazaar. In her mind’s eye, she saw herself in a lively crowd of people garbed in vibrant cloth, not the tight dresses she was used to.
Someone in that crowd called her name, and when she reached out, her fingertips almost touched—
No…this can’t be.
Fiona had imagined herself in that foreign land countless times, but until now, the man she’d imagined by her side had always been her uncle, his sleeves stained with paint.
She clenched her fists, feeling the weight of the ring on her left hand.
“Yes…of course I do,” she finally replied. She shook her head warningly at the figure in her mind who had taken her hand in that crowd.
“I see.” Reginald set his hand on the top of her head and smiled, and Fiona smiled back. The stars shone brilliantly in the night sky above them.