He lifted his gaze—painfully, deliberately—to Nathaniel.
“I wrote to the Queen. I asked to be relieved of my post. And then I wrote to you.”
He drew a slow, steady breath.
“I came because I have loved Violet for most of my life. Because if she allows it, I mean to make what amends I can.”
His voice trembled—not from weakness, but from truth finally spoken aloud.
“I would marry her now, as I should have married her then. And I will spend the rest of my life making it right…if she gives me even the smallest chance.”
Nathaniel was silent for several breaths—long enough for William to feel each one.
When he finally spoke, his tone was steady, but not unkind.
“That,” he said at last, “is for Violet to decide.”
Nathaniel’s gaze dropped briefly to the floor, as if steadying himself before he spoke, his expression somber.
“The Violet I know is a woman of deep feeling—and deeper wounds,” he said quietly. “She has never spoken your name to me, but…” He drew a slow, measured breath.
“…she told me enough to understand she never expected you to return. She believes you knew of the child and chose another woman anyway.”
His voice gentled, though the truth did not.
“She believes you rejected them both.”
William’s throat tightened painfully.
“Of course she does,” he whispered. “I as good as told her so. The last time I saw her, I told her I meant to marry another. I told her that what she had written me—what she had confided in those letters—did not change my intent. That nothing she said would alter my decision to marry a woman of breeding.”
He swallowed hard, shame clawing up his throat.
“She tried to reason with me,” he said quietly. “She kept asking me about the letters, and all I could think was that their contents bore no weight on my decision—because I had not received a single one. And when she kept trying to talk me out of it, I… I thought she was refusing to accept the truth. And then she called me a coward and I—”
He drew a jagged breath.
“I was cruel. Deliberately cruel. I thought if I made myself cold enough, sharp enough, she would stop trying to change my mind. I told myself it was mercy—God help me—but I only succeeded in driving her away with a blow she never deserved.”
Nathaniel looked toward the window, then back.
“Violet will return with the children within a few hours,” he said. “I will ask my girls to come inside—upstairs to the nursery with me—when they arrive, with Lily.”
He paused.
“And then—I will give you whatever chance she allows.”
William closed his eyes briefly, breath shuddering out.
“Thank you.”
Nathaniel’s expression softened, only slightly.
“Do not thank me yet, Ashford,” he said quietly. “I have asked leave to court Mrs. Grey more than once. She told me her history because she did not wish me to build hope on a lie—and because she believed herself unworthy of more. She carries the blame for what was done to her as though it were hers alone.”
He drew a breath.
“I told her the man who promised her forever and left her at such a young age pregnant to marry another, and then had her sent away, is the one who should be ashamed—not her. I would marry her in a heartbeat. But I also want what is best for her—and I am not arrogant enough to assume that is me, if her heart still lies elsewhere.”
