“I imagine he does. Children that age are remarkable creatures—endless curiosity matched only by their capacity for chaos.”
They both laughed, and the sound made Tobias’s jaw clench hard enough to ache.
Walk away. Just walk away. You’re torturing yourself for absolutely no reason.
But his feet remained planted. His hand still gripped the doorframe with enough force that his knuckles had gone white.
He watched Ashbourne lean forward slightly—not inappropriately close, nothing that would scandalize Mrs. Boldwood’s watchful presence. Just enough to suggest genuine interest. Investment.
The sort of gesture a man made when courting a woman he found appealing.
Uncomfortable.That’s what this feeling was, Tobias decided. Uncomfortable watching his brother’s widow entertain another gentleman. Perfectly natural discomfort born of protective instinct and familial concern.
Absolutely, categoricallynotjealousy.
Jealousy would imply he wanted Amelia for himself. Which was ridiculous. Impossible. She was Edward’s widow, for Heaven’s sake. His nephew’s mother. Forbidden in every way.
The fact that he’d wanted to kiss her in the drawing room last week had nothing to do with anything. That had been... proximity. Candlelight. The particular vulnerability of late evening making them both temporarily insane.
It meant nothing.
Then why does watching Ashbourne smile at her make you want to commit violence?
Tobias released his death grip on the doorframe before he could accidentally tear it from the wall. His hand trembled slightly as he forced it to his side—not from anger, he told himself. From the morning’s exertions. From lack of sleep. From anything except the churning mess of emotions he refused to name.
He turned away from the drawing room before he could do something spectacularly stupid. Like barging in and inventing some excuse for why Ashbourne needed to leave immediately.Or perhaps suggesting the man had urgent business elsewhere. In Scotland. For the next decade.
You’re being absurd. Pathetic. She deserves better than your jealous?—
No. Not jealous.Uncomfortable.
The distinction was important.
His feet carried him through familiar corridors without conscious direction. Past the library where Edward used to hold court over estate ledgers. Past the dining room where Tobias had sat through countless silent meals, Edward’s disapproval hanging heavier than the chandelier above.
How did you do it?The question rose unbidden, addressed to his brother’s ghost.How did you manage to be so thoroughly cold whilst somehow gaining everything worth having?
Because Edward had gained it all, hadn’t he? The title. The estate. The respect of peers and tenants alike. A beautiful wife who’d tried so desperately to please him. A son to carry on the family name.
All acquired through systematic calculation and rigid propriety, without an ounce of warmth to soften the edges.
Tobias had never managed that coldness. Had tried, perhaps, in his own way—cultivating the rake’s reputation, the carelesscharm, the determination to feel nothing too deeply. But even that had been a performance rather than a genuine lack of feeling.
He felteverythingtoo intensely. Always had.
Which was precisely the problem.
His wandering brought him to the nursery without intending it. Through the open door, he could hear Mary’s soft humming—the particular tune she sang when attempting to coax Henry into napping.
Emphasis onattempting.
“No sleep!” Henry’s voice rang out with the authority of a general refusing surrender. “Not tired, Mary! Want to play!”
“Master Henry, your mama said?—”
“Want Papa!”
Tobias found himself smiling despite everything. The boy’s voice could probably be heard in London. Certainly, Lord Ashbourne and Amelia would hear it in the drawing room, which meant Amelia would worry that Henry was being difficult.
