Lorenzo sat on his bed, thinking whether he should retire. He still wanted to eat dinner with his family—his parents, younger sister and brother—for the first time in months. He missed his family, and that would be nice. 

“Bring me a cup of coffee,” he asked his valet, unpacking his stuff from his trip. He had only taken one or two grand suits. 

“Of course, Signore.” He went out of the room, coming back with a boiled pot of coffee. 

“Were there many people in the kitchen?” 

“Just the usual,” he said. “The servants are all there to do their jobs.”

He found it hard to hear Gennaro say a single word. He took a sip, feeling more alive than it was. Then, they heard a door knock. Lorenzo turned, blinking, wondering who it was.  

Gennaro then went to open it to see the guest. It being a part of his duties. Lorenzo drank it whole, before 

It was a maid dressed in the light yellow livery, under an apron of the family.  

“Signorina Cecelia would like to see you. If it isn’t bothering you.” Gennaro told him. 

He felt more energized now. “Let her in.” 

He stood up as the maid went to see his sister standing outside. Though he didn’t quite know why, but she came inside. She dressed in the same gown, of pale pink with a light white hat with a simple pink ribbon. Her brown curly hair, with bangs framing her face, was a delicate beauty. She had her father’s hair and eyes, but with soft features. She took a seat opposite him, having missed him incredibly. 

Despite it all, she always loved life, and wanted to be with him, discussing and talking about everything. He rarely found her bothersome. 

“You’re not taking a rest?” She asked, puzzled.. “I don’t leave, but when I do, that’s the first thing that I want to do when I come back.” 

“No, not yet,” he said. “I’m not tired, and I’m going to miss dinner if I take a break. The meeting with Papa took up most of my afternoon, but I can get a midday meal.”

“That makes sense, since dinner is only a few hours away.” 

“I need to pass you your gift inside.” He reached inside, more than happy, only to come up short and twitched. 

Cecelia laughed. “Is anything wrong?” 

“I left my gift with Signor Baldoleto.” Lorenzo couldn’t meet her eyes.  

“We can do that later.” She answered. “But why did you come back so soon?”

His parents didn’t tell her anything. That was clear. 

She knew Papa always felt that he had to shield her. Perhaps, until she was engaged and married, would he tell her? But Lorenzo doubted it would hurt her to know. 

“I know that he’s changed after all his illness. The doctor even told once to prepare his last rites for my mother. I was in the corner hearing him, but then they brushed it off once he recovered.” 

Cecelia was sharp. She liked to write poetry, often sometimes noticing things about her life. She preferred botany, and to take walks in the house. Truly relishing nature and writing poetry about it when she could no longer take it. 

“Yes, he’s worried. He wants me to at least know how to run the Marquisate.” Lorenzo put his hands. “I feel bad for not coming back the moment I caught wind of it.”

And that was why he was here now. 

“Why didn’t you?” She asked. 

“I had so much more things to settle, and then, just as I was about to leave, Papa told me not to come.” 

He looked, he didn’t quite know. But here Cecelia was. 

“Is the stress really affecting you?” She asked. “Papa expects a lot out of you, clearly more than he does for Federico.”

And ever for her. But he sometimes wondered whether it would be so much easier. If he had been a girl, he wouldn’t know that much. But it was upon his father’s charity that he would learn more than what a girl needed to be a good wife. Cecelia was his favourite, and he didn’t mind having an intelligent daughter. 

“Yes, I cannot deny it, but I don’t know whether I should tell you.” They could have kept her innocent, but Cecelia was never an innocent. Or far from the sheltered girls who sought love, companionship and romance. But it was hard for her to seek because of her health. 

“Did it the meeting badly?”

Lorenzo didn’t quite know how to answer the question. “I told him something that I wanted to do. He was right to point it out.”

“What was it?” Cecelia asked. 

“I hoped to reform Stressa, to change it.” He told her. Before he could find his travelogue, he did that when he was traveling back home. As it documented it all. 

Cecelia loved it, and he never found it a bother. It helped to deal with the boredom of the long carriage rides, and to spot scenic pieces of nature. She always used them or tried to find them when she traveled herself. 

“Thank you.” Cecelia took a book before a pause. Then she looked, wishing to speak, her eyes right at him. “But hear me out? I think there’s something you’re not telling him?” 

Lorenzo agreed. His sister often seemed to read the emotions better than Lorenzo did. His father had grilled into him how to read the room so he didn’t offend his guests, or his peoples or seem disinterested in their welfare. He always struggled with it.

“If you feel the need to change, you're telling him he did a terrible job, that in your eyes, he’s not nearly as successful.” Cecelia asked. 

He jolted. “Although I don’t think he sees it that way, more in the sense that it isn’t a simple task.”

Cecelia looked at them in silence. She was quite right. Perhaps deep down, he felt hurt. Even if his objections were more logical. His mother would have done the same too. Even if it was unspoken on his lips, his father would not have taken that well. 

He leaned, but they were no longer quite father and son. His father was now his tutor to stewardship of the estates. 

“You’re quite right,” he said. “I’m fantastic at accidentally going off on the wrong foot.” 

“I don’t think it’s that bad,” she said. 

“I’ll talk to Mama later about it.” This was better suited for his mother, as Cecelia was tongue-tied. He understood her best, and she vice versa. 

They had grown closer ever since the day he became the heir to his father’s estate. 

“Well, I should let you see your gift, even if it means that I’m going to visit Placido.” He was about to get out. 

Cecelia stopped him. “Would it be a bother to find Signor Baldoleto?” 

He put on his coat, leading her out right into the room. Then he stopped. “I don’t know where he would stay.” 

“Well, if I’m just about to grab a book, he doesn’t mind.” He looked at them. 

Cecelia trusted him, and Lorenzo knew him best. 

“I’ll take you there.” Cecelia agreed to take him directly to the room. It was alongside his room, although Cecelia’s room was on the opposite side of the house. 

“The maid told me,” she told him. “I asked, just in case you both wanted to talk to each other.” 

Then, he knocked on the door, his valet, Amico, opening the door. 

“Is Signor Baldoleto busy?” He asked. 

“He’s reading. I’ll inform him of your arrival.” The valet went inside with a bow before opening the door for them. 

Lorenzo went inside, knowing that he was right. 

“I’m guessing you’re looking for this.” Placido passed him two original books, one about botany and the other being a collection of poems. 

This was what he was looking for. He took it up and passed it with both hands to her. 

“This is what you wanted.” 

Cecelia smiled, embracing her, but also turning to him with a smile. “Thank you. I was searching for them but also for the book about gardens and plants. But the local library here didn’t have it, and there is only one book that I learned was purchased in France.”

That was why she begged them to buy it when they went there. A book about 

She liked to work in the garden as a hobby, one thing that was open to her as she remained home. Cecelia quickly left, eager to devote herself again. 

“So, how are you settling in?” He asked, needing to do so for his friend, taking a seat down. 

“Well,” he said, flipping. “The room is pleasant, a fireplace, everything I need, and I’ve already eaten a good meal. Signora de Moreni also invited me for dinner later.”

Lorenzo smiled. 

Placido, eager to return to his books, then raised his eyebrow. “Are you here for a reason?” 

He folded his hands, knowing that he had to tell him. Perhaps internally, it was him knowing this truth, but refusing to face up to it until he could not. “My return here is my father wanting to teach me the ways of the world. And I don’t think I can leave it soon.” 

Though Lorenzo would love to, but for now, it was out of reach. Perhaps later he’ll see it again.

“I see,” he said. “Then I’ll just stay here for a few days before continuing my journey home. I hope I’m not too much of a nuisance.” 

“We have few guests, so no, you’re not.” 

Lorenzo turned and walked out the door, knowing that his acceptance means that travel would be impossible for a few years.