“See?” Margaret beamed, gesturing toward the scene inside. “We’re doing everything just the way you taught us. You should be so proud!”
Proud.Yes, she was proud. Incredibly, overwhelmingly proud of how well they’d adapted, how capably they’d taken charge of their own lives.
So why did it feel like someone had reached into her chest and squeezed her heart until it stopped beating?
“They look very happy,” she said quietly.
“Oh, we are!” Margaret squeezed her arm affectionately. “And it’s all thanks to you. Everything you taught us about responsibility and caring for each other—we’re using all of it. You gave us the tools to take care of ourselves, and now, we can.”
Without her. They could manage perfectly well without her.
“I should let you get on with your day,” Sybil said, forcing a smile. “I’m sure you have lessons to attend to.”
“Actually, I’m helping with the morning meals. We take turns now, so everyone learns proper domestic skills.” Margaret hesitated. “Would you like to come in? Everyone would be so excited to see you.”
Would they? Or would they be politely pleased while secretly thinking how unnecessary my visit was?
“Perhaps another time,” Sybil said gently. “I have some errands to finish in the village.”
Margaret nodded understandingly and hurried inside, leaving Sybil standing alone on the cobblestones, staring through the windows at the life that had once revolved around her and now seemed to manage quite well in her absence.
This is what you wanted,she told herself firmly.For them to be independent, capable, and able to thrive on their own. This is success, not failure.
But it felt like failure. It felt like the hollow ache of being suddenly, completely unnecessary.
Hugo found her in the morning room an hour later, staring out the window with unseeing eyes. She held an open book in her lap, but he could tell from her stillness that she hadn’t turned a page in some time.
The same chapter as yesterday. I thought as much.
He’d been working in his study when he’d seen her return from the village, her shoulders set with the kind of careful composure that usually meant she was holding herself together through sheer force of will. His first instinct had been to give her privacy, to let her work through whatever was troubling her on her own.
The sensible thing. The practical thing. What any reasonable husband would do.
But something about the defeated slump of her shoulders had made it impossible for him to concentrate on estate business. He’d found himself listening for sounds from the morning room, wondering what had put that lost expression on her face.
You should go back to your work. She’s made it clear she values her independence.
Instead, he found himself pushing the door open.
“Good morning,” he said carefully.
She startled slightly, turning from the window with an almost guilty expression. “Oh. Hugo. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Deep in your reading, I see.” He nodded toward the book in her lap.
A flush crept up her neck. “Yes, well. It’s quite… absorbing.”
Quite absorbing. The same page she was on yesterday morning.
“I’m sure it is.” He moved closer, noting the shadows under her eyes and the way her fingers gripped the book’s edges too tightly. “How was your visit to the village?”
“Fine. Perfectly fine.” The words came out too quickly, too bright. “I stopped by the apothecary and ran into one of the girls from the orphanage. Everyone’s settling in beautifully at the Assembly rooms.”
Ah. That explains the look.
“I’m glad to hear it,” he said quietly.
“Yes. Very glad.” She turned back to the window, her voice carefully neutral. “They’ve organized themselves into quite an efficient system. Teaching schedules, household duties, everything is running smoothly. Margaret was telling me how well they’ve all adapted.”
