Tobias crumpled up the letter in his hand. This was how Edward had proposed marriage? Of course, he knew that there was no… romance, no love, between his brother and his wife… but he had expected at least some form of… endearment.
He reached for another letter—this one in a feminine hand he recognized from the morning room stationery.
My dear Lord Redmond,
I am most honored by your proposal and accept with genuine pleasure. I confess I have always admired your steadiness of character and dedication to your responsibilities. I hope most sincerely that I shall prove a wife worthy of your regard.
I know you perhaps do not place great value upon romantic sentiment, but I wanted you to know that I enter this union with sincere affection and hope for our future happiness together. I believe that with time and understanding, we might build something quite beautiful...
The letter continued in that same hopeful, earnest vein—a young woman attempting to forge an emotional connection with a man who clearly valued only practical considerations.
He opened letter after letter, searching for some form of warmth—there was none to be had. Through every letter Amelia penned, he saw her hope fade. No wonder she had been so cool, so composed at her wedding, again at her husband’s funeral.
Had Edward’s coldness iced the very warmth out of his wife, too?
Tobias carefully returned the letters to their hiding place. He felt as though he had violated something sacred—witnessed private pain that was never meant for another’s observation.
Yet the knowledge changed everything.
Amelia’s careful composure was not a natural stoicism, but rather learned survival tactic That perfect mask she wore had been systematically constructed, letter by letter, disappointment by disappointment, until she had become precisely what Edward had required: an undemanding, emotionally restrained wife who knew better than to expect any feeling at all from her husband. Edward had always been proud of his hardness… only now did Tobias fully understand that the hardness extended to his wife.
And would have e extended to his child.
And now she was a widow. Alone with a young child. Dependent upon Tobias’s goodwill for her very security.
The thought crystallized in his mind with sudden clarity: Amelia and Henry would remain under his protection. Not as some temporary arrangement, not as a mere obligation to take care of.
They would remain at Redmond Park, in their home, until such time as Amelia chose to remarry—if indeed she ever chose such a course. He would provide for them, protect them, and ensure they had everything they needed. It was his duty as the new viscount. His responsibility toward his brother’s widow and heir. That was all. Of course it was.
CHAPTER 3
“It’s alright. Hush now, my darling. Hush.”
Amelia’s voice was little more than a whisper as she rocked Henry against her chest, the familiar motion providing comfort not only to her son but to a degree to her as well. The nursery had become her sanctuary over the past few days—a refuge from the endless parade of mourners, from the oppressive silence that hung over Redmond Park like a shroud.
Three days had passed since they had laid Edward to rest. Three days of condolences she did not want to hear, of tears she could not shed, of a loss that felt more like liberation than sorrow… which, of course, led to guilt that weighed heavily on her.
Henry’s small fist clutched at the black silk of her mourning gown, his eyelids growing heavy as she hummed softly. One year old, and already he had lost the father he would never truly know. The thought twisted something sharp and painful beneath her ribs.
What would she tell him when he was old enough to ask? That his father had been a good man? It would not be entirely untrue. Edward had been dutiful, responsible, and proper in all things. He had simply never been warm. And it was true that there was a part of her that feared what his coldness would have done to their son.
The door to the nursery creaked open, and Amelia’s gaze snapped toward the sound. Immediately, she looked down again. Not that it was fast enough to prevent the image from being etched into her mind.
The image of Lord Tobias Grant in the doorway, his broad frame filling the space in a manner that Edward never had. His chestnut hair was disheveled, as though he had been running his hands through it repeatedly, and his cravat hung loose about his throat. He looked nothing like his overly polished brother.
He looked rather… lost.
“Forgive the intrusion,” he said quietly, his grey eyes finding hers across the dim room. “I hope I did not disturb you. I… I thought perhaps we might speak?”
Amelia’s pulse quickened at this, though she was not certain whether it was with fear or anticipation. Of course, she knew that her brother-in-law would inherit the estate. She knew not what it would mean for her. She glanced down at Henry, whose breathing had finally settled into the steady rhythm of sleep, before nodding slowly.
“Of course, my lord.” She rose carefully, mindful not to wake the child, and carried him to his cot. She lingered as she laid him down, her hand resting on his chest for a few seconds longer than necessary. When she finally turned to face Tobias, she took a deep breath.
“He is a beautiful child,” Tobias said, his voice rough with something that might have been emotion. “Edward would have been… that is, I am sure he was…”
He trailed off, and Amelia felt an unexpected pang of sympathy for this man who had inherited not only a title but the burden of his cold brother’s unfinished life.
“Thank you,” she replied softly. “He is my greatest joy.”
