“Emily! Mary! Mr. Ashford!”
The girls dissolved into shrieks and laughter.
William rose at once when Violet neared, stepping back farther than necessary, his hands clasped behind him, careful not to intrude.
“Mrs. Grey,” he said gently in greeting.
He never once forgot the name she used now.
Never slipped.
Never assumed.
She inclined her head.
Mary tugged on his sleeve. “Mrs. Grey is taking us to the meadow—won’t you come with us?”
Emily clung to his arm. “You promised to read the next part!”
And Lily looked up at him, bright and trusting. “Please?”
William looked to Violet immediately, seeking permission not from the children, but from her.
Her throat tightened.
“If you wish to join them,” she said carefully, “I won’t stop you.”
It was the closest she could come to granting permission.
His expression softened with a quiet exhale.
“Only if you’re comfortable with it.”
She didn’t answer.
But she didn’t object.
And that was enough.
In the meadow, the girls ran wild—through tall grass, weaving clover crowns, gathering wildflowers. William followed at a respectful distance. When they begged him to run, he did—laughing when Mary tackled him, letting Lily braid a crooked strand of grass into his sleeve, and answering Emily’s endless questions with patient amusement.
When the sun dipped low, they escorted Mary and Emily back to the estate.
Violet stood in the foyer, Lily’s hand in hers, just about to leave when Nathaniel stepped out from the drawing room—calm, composed, as if he had been
waiting for precisely that moment.
“Mrs. Grey,” he called gently. “May I speak with you a moment?”
She tensed.
Nathaniel walked toward her. Violet released Lily’s hand, murmured for her to wait by the door, and met him halfway, her heartbeat tightening with every step.
“I want you to know,” he began softly, “that I am stepping back.”
Violet blinked. “Stepping back?”
A sad smile touched his mouth.
