She'd missed something. Meghan was aware enough to know that, to sense that something had clicked for Cecilia, something that Meg herself hadn't seen. It wasn't any sort of ancient intuition so much as the child of a woman who easily flew into temper, who'd spent her childhood trying to anticipate attacks, to try and diffuse them.
"I don't know what you mean," she admitted, shifting uneasily in her chair, studying Cecilia's face with frank unease.