“You’re smiling,” Sebastian cut in. “Very slightly. Like a man who’s just been handed something precious and is pretending it’s nothing of consequence.”
Edward reached for his wineglass. “You’re imagining things.”
“Am I?” Sebastian tilted his head. “Because you didn’t ask why she was doing it. Or which orphanages. Or with whom. You simply reacted.”
Edward took a measured sip. “She’s kind.”
Sebastian’s voice softened. “She’s more than that, and you know it.”
Silence settled, heavier this time.
Edward finally spoke. “You said thetonhas forgotten.”
“Yes.”
“And she’s free to move as she wishes.”
Sebastian nodded. “Largely.”
Edward looked down at his plate, his appetite gone. “Good.”
Sebastian studied him for a long moment. “You’re a fool,” he said without heat. “But you’re not blind.”
Edward gave a humorless laugh. “Careful.”
Sebastian rose. “Finish your dinner. I’ll leave you to your thoughts.”
Edward did not stop him.
When Sebastian left the room, Edward remained in his seat, staring at his own reflection in the wineglass until several hours passed.
Later, in the study, the fire had burned too low. He noticed because the room had cooled, not because he had been watching it. He rose from his chair, set his untouched glass aside, and reached for the poker. The logs collapsed with a dull clatter, sending up a brief flare of heat.
Better.
He sat back, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair.
Orphanages, he thought. Beatrice with her lists. Her careful handwriting. Her insistence on noticing what others overlooked.
Beatrice standing in rooms she did not need to enter, choosing discomfort because it mattered. And him leaving because it hurt less to withdraw than to hope.
He closed his eyes. The distance had not soothed him. Rather, it had sharpened him, cut him cleanly down to the truth he had been avoiding since London.
He missed her. Not the Duchess. Not their arrangement. Not the civility.Buther.Beatrice. The woman who hummed without realizing it. Who corrected him without condescension. Who loved fiercely and quietly and entirely, even when it cost her.
He loved her.
The realization did not frighten him. That was the most startling part. It did not rush in or overwhelm. It settled. Firm. Correct. Like a truth that had waited until he stopped resisting it.
He straightened abruptly, the decision settling with a calm that surprised him.
He stood up, moved to the window, and stared out at the land he had governed for years. Every hedge cut to rule. Every pathaccounted for. A world that responded to him because it was meant to.
Beatrice did not. She never had.
This was not something to be managed from afar. Not something that would resolve itself through patience or propriety. If he stayed, nothing would change. If he stayed, he wouldloseher.
He crossed the room and rang the bell.
