When he finally did, his voice was low, almost reflective. “I know what it is like to have one parent that you can never be good enough for. But I suppose fathers were always meant to be stricter. In that respect, you have been most fortunate.”
She smiled, nodding just once. “I truly have.”
He hesitated for a moment but then decided to continue, to open up at least a little. “My parents’ marriage was… not one I would wish upon anyone,” he said, carefully choosing his words. “It was a union without kindness, without joy. A house filled with duty but entirely devoid of warmth. I grew up watching two peopleshare a name yet live as strangers… sometimes worse than strangers.”
His gaze drifted briefly to the window where the darkness pressed against the glass. “I swore long ago I would never allow my own marriage to become such a thing. And I will not have that for us, Cordelia.”
Her eyes softened, and she nodded. “Nor would I,” she murmured, the conviction in her tone matching his own.
They held each other’s gaze for a long moment, the unspoken agreement settling between them like a gentle promise. Mason found a surprising ease in it, in this small but vital accord. Perhaps they did not yet share all the things that made a true marriage, but on this point, they were united.
Inwardly, he felt a quiet, stubborn determination. Wholeheartedly, he wished they might find their way to one another in time. But for now, it was enough, perhaps even more than enough, to know she was safe from that snake of a guardian. The knowledge settled something restless in him, even as it stirred a desire to protect her that went deeper than he cared to examine just yet.
He allowed himself a small smile, lifting his wine glass slightly. “To safe harbors,” he said.
Her lips curved as she raised hers in return. “To safe harbors.”
The clink of glass between them was a simple thing, but to Mason, it felt like the first stone laid in the foundation of something far greater.
A bit later, as they were finishing their makeshift dinner, Mason rose from the table, setting his napkin aside as Cordelia dabbed delicately at her lips. The last of the candlelight caught in her hair, lending it a ruddy warmth, and for a fleeting moment, he wondered if she had any idea how dangerously captivating she looked.
“Well,” she said, smoothing her skirts as she stood, “I think I ought to retire. Will you show me to my chamber?”
“Of course,” he replied without hesitation, pushing back his chair. He offered her his arm, and when she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, the simple contact sent a ripple of warmth through him.
They made their way up the wide staircase, the faint creak of polished wood underfoot echoing in the stillness. The grand hallway above was bathed in shadows, the sconces unlit, but moonlight spilled in from tall windows, lending the place an oddly peaceful air.
When they reached the door to her chamber, Mason opened it for her and stepped aside. To his surprise and obvious relief everything inside was in perfect order. The bed was neatly made, the wardrobe doors shut tight, and when he opened one experimentally, it was stocked with fresh linens, spare blankets, and even a few slippers placed neatly at the bottom.
Cordelia blinked then glanced at him with a small smile. “So… the servants are gone, yet somehow, everything is perfectly in place.”
Mason tilted his head in mock thought. “Clearly, they anticipated our early arrival with supernatural foresight. Perhaps the linens arranged themselves in our absence.”
She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Or perhaps they were simply thorough in their duties before they vanished to the festivities.”
“Ah, yes,” he said, leaning against the doorframe, “abandoning us entirely but at least doing so with impeccable housekeeping skills.”
Mason let his gaze sweep over the room one last time, as if ensuring for himself that nothing was amiss before he turned back to her.
“Do you need anything else?” he asked.
Cordelia shook her head. “No, I’m quite all right, thank you. I suspect I’ll fall asleep the moment my head touches the pillow.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “A wise plan. Travel can be more exhausting than one realizes.”
She nodded, already stepping further into the room, her fingers brushing the edge of the bedpost in an absent, almost tendermotion. He lingered in the doorway, the words “good night” sitting on his tongue yet somehow reluctant to cross his lips just yet. There was something quietly compelling about the sight of her here safe, in his home, after all the days of worry and uncertainty that had preceded this moment.
Finally, he inclined his head. “Then I shall leave you to rest. Good night, Cordelia.”
She turned, offering him a faint but genuine smile. “Good night, Mason.”
For a heartbeat longer than was necessary, he remained there, as though something held him rooted to the spot. Then, with a silent exhale, he stepped back, closed the door softly behind him, and walked down the hall, carrying with him the unshakable thought that, despite everything, he did not want this night to end.
Cordelia woke to the gentle pull of sunlight spilling across her bed, warm and golden, coaxing her from the last threads of sleep. She stretched, feeling the rare and delicious sensation of having slept deeply without a single troubled dream. The quiet murmur of the sea drifted through the open window, a soft, rhythmic call that drew her from the bed.
Slipping to the window, she pulled the curtain aside and caught her breath. The sea spread before her in a shimmering expanseof blue and silver, each wave rolling lazily to the shore before retreating again, leaving a lace of foam upon the sand.
The air was clear and salt-sweet, and her heart lifted at the sight. She wanted to be there, to step into the cool embrace of the water, to wade until the sand shifted under her feet, to feel the wind toss her hair like a child again.
