“You should not be here.” Her voice was cold, carefully controlled. “You’ve hurt me enough.”
The words struck like physical blows. But Edmund had ridden through the night for this. Had finally found courage he should have claimed weeks ago.
He wouldn’t retreat now.
“I know.” He moved closer but stopped several feet away because closing the full distance felt presumptuous. “I know I’ve hurt you. Know I’ve said things that can’t be unsaid. But Isadora, please. Just listen.”
“Why should I?” She turned away from him, back toward the carriage. “So you can deliver more pretty lies? Tell me again how I’m nothing more than convenience? Explain once more why you kissed me like I mattered, then pushed me away like I was something shameful?”
“Because I was wrong.” The confession tore from him. “About everything. All those things they whisper—the duel, the dishonor, the lies about Lily—none of it matters. I thought I was protecting you both by keeping silent, by holding you at arm’s length. But I see it now. I made everything worse.”
Isadora turned to face him. And the devastation in her eyes—the evidence of pain he’d caused—made Edmund want to fall to his knees.
“Why should I believe you?” Her voice wavered. “You’ve said before that you cared. That our marriage might mean something. And every time I dared to hope, you pushed me away. Why should this time be different?”
“Because I will not hide from the truth anymore.” Edmund moved closer. Close enough to see tears threatening to spill. Close enough that reaching out would close the remaining distance between them. “Because I’ve spent a week watching Lillian weep. Watching invitations vanish. Watching my silence destroy everything I claimed to protect.”
He drew breath. Steadied himself.
“The truth is that I love you, Isadora. I’ve loved you from the moment you defied me in that corridor. From the moment you touched my scar without flinching. From the moment I watched you with Lillian and understood what family could actually mean.”
She opened her mouth. He pressed on before she could speak.
“You are not convenience. Not some practical arrangement I agreed to out of duty. You are my wife. My heart. The only way I can protect you and Lily is by standing beside you in truth, not by pushing you away.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks now. But she didn’t speak. Didn’t move.
Edmund felt his own control fracturing.
“I called you nothing more than convenience. Said it to hurt you. To push you away because I was terrified that caring for you meant betraying James’s memory. Because I was convinced that if I let myself love you, I’d inevitably destroy you the way I destroyed him.”
His voice cracked.
“But the only thing I’ve destroyed is what we might have had. The only person I’ve hurt is you. And Lillian. And myself. Because pushing you away didn’t protect anyone. It just proved I was too much a coward to risk feeling anything real.”
Isadora wrapped her arms around herself. “And if you fail me again?”
The question struck deep. Fair. Devastating.
“I won’t,” Edmund said simply. Let steel enter his voice. The sort of oath he’d sworn to James in a field at dawn, sworn to Lillian the night he’d become her guardian. “I would rather die than let fear drive you from me again. Would rather face society’s judgment, would rather tell the truth about the duel and damn the consequences, would rather burn every wall I’ve built?—”
He stopped, drew breath.
“I love you, Isadora. And I will spend every remaining day of my life proving it if you’ll give me the chance.”
She stood there. Silent. Dawn light strengthened and the innkeeper watched from a discreet distance and Edmund’s heart hammered so hard he could hear it in his ears.
Then—finally—she spoke.
“You broke my heart.” Barely above a whisper. “Called me nothing. Made me believe for one perfect moment that perhaps we might have something real, then shattered that belief with three words.”
“I know.” Edmund moved closer still. “And I will regret those words until my dying breath. Will carry the knowledge of what I did to you as another scar. But Isadora?—”
He reached for her.
Slowly. Giving her time to retreat. To refuse. To tell him he’d lost his chance through cruelty and cowardice.
She didn’t resist.
