and, when the time came, the legal right to offer Violet marriage again without delay, constraint, or scandal.
Not to feed his pride or soothe his conscience.
Not to rewrite the past or make himself feel forgiven.
But for the child he had denied…
and the woman he had broken.
For the family he meant to fight for.
He lengthened his stride, urgency propelling him toward Lord Nathaniel’s estate.
The hour was late, but the morning post would go out at first light.
If his letter was written and sealed before dawn, it would be carried to the northern mail coach by midday.
His letter would be among them.
And for the first time since arriving at the village, a faint smile touched his mouth—unbidden, but honest—as he pictured Violet and Lily sitting with him in the grass, their faces so achingly similar.
He would make this right.
Failure was no longer a possibility—it was simply not permitted.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Violet felt as though she were going mad.
It had been two weeks since William and her father repaired her fence, and she had not gone a single day without seeing him.
Not that he intruded.
Not that he approached her.
Not that he forced conversation.
He simply… appeared.
Helping someone else.
Quietly.
Steadily.
Always just close enough that she could feel the shape of his presence.
And Lily, dear heaven, was delighted.
“Mr. Ashford!” she would chirp, practically glowing, as though she’d stumbled upon a hidden treasure rather than the source of Violet’s greatest turmoil.
Sometimes he offered Lily a sweet. Always after looking to Violet first for silent permission. And Lily would turn those pleading eyes upon her—the same eyes she used when begging to stay up a few minutes longer at night—and truly, what was Violet supposed to do?
Say no to kindness?
Say no to Lily’s joy?
Say no simply because William Ashford was the one offering it?
