"Thank you, yes."
She followed him through the familiar corridors, her heart heavy in her chest. She had walked these halls so many times over the past months, growing more comfortable with each visit, more at ease in this house that had begun to feel almost like a second home.
Now it felt foreign. Hostile. The elegant wallpaper and gleaming furniture seemed to mock her presumption; the country neighbour who had dared to imagine she might belong here.
Rosanne was waiting in the morning room, her face pale and anxious. She rose as Lillian entered, crossing the space between them with quick, urgent steps.
"Lillian. Oh, Lillian, thank goodness you have come." She took Lillian's hands in hers, squeezing tightly. "I have been so worried. When you did not reply to my letter..."
"I apologise. I did not know what to say."
"There is nothing to apologise for. This is Daniel's doing, not yours." Rosanne's expression darkened. "I could murder him, Lillian. I truly could. After everything…..To treat you like this….."
"Rosanne." Lillian freed her hands gently and moved to sit on the settee. "Please. I did not come to discuss your brother."
"But we must discuss him. Someone must make him see reason..."
"No." The word came out sharper than Lillian intended, and she saw Rosanne flinch. She softened her tone. "I appreciate your concern. Truly, I do. But I cannot force a man to feel what he does not feel, and I will not demean myself by trying."
"But hedoesfeel."
"Does he?" Lillian met her friend's eyes steadily. "He told me he loved me, Rosanne. He held me in his arms and made me believe that what we felt was real and significant and worth fighting for. And then, less than a day later, he refused to see me. He has sent no word, no explanation, no acknowledgment that I exist."
"Because he is frightened."
"I know he is frightened. I have always known he was frightened. But there comes a point when fear ceases to be an explanation and becomes merely an excuse." Lillian's voice trembled slightly, but she pressed on. "I cannot build a life with a man who runs every time emotion becomes too intense. I cannot spend my years waiting for him to decide whether his love for me outweighs his terror of feeling anything at all."
Rosanne was silent for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice was subdued.
"I understand. I do not agree, but I understand." She sank onto the settee beside Lillian, her shoulders slumping. "I had such hopes, you know. When I saw how he looked at you, when I realised that you had somehow breached those terrible walls of his, I thought perhaps..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "But it does not matter what I thought. What matters is what you need."
"What I need is to stop hoping for things that are not going to happen." Lillian reached out and took Rosanne's hand. "But that does not mean our friendship must end. You are dear to me, Rosanne —quite apart from any feelings I may have had for your brother. I would not wish to lose you."
"Nor I you." Rosanne squeezed her hand, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "You are the best friend I have ever had, Lillian. The only person who has ever seen me as myself, rather than as the Duke of Wyntham’s anxious little sister."
"Then let us speak no more of dukes and their foolishness. Tell me—what news of Lady Smith's house gathering? Has she sent the details of your arrival?"
The change of subject was deliberate, and Rosanne accepted it gratefully. They spent the next hour discussing the upcoming gathering, the guests who would attend, the activities that would be offered, Rosanne's anxieties about navigating the social complexities of such an event.
It was almost comfortable. Almost normal. If Lillian did not allow herself to think about the man closeted in his study a few corridors away, she could almost pretend that nothing had changed.
Almost.
***
They were deep in discussion of appropriate dinner conversation when the door opened and Daniel walked in.
Lillian's heart stopped.
He looked terrible. That was the only word for it. His face was pale, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion, his usually immaculate appearance showing small signs of neglect; a cravat not quite perfectly tied, a coat that did not sit quite right on his shoulders. He looked like a man who had not slept in days, who had been fighting a battle with himself and losing.
He also looked like a man who had not expected to find her here.
"Lillian." Her name escaped him before he could stop it—Lillian, notMiss Whitcombe, that intimate familiarity that he had earned and then abandoned. His expression flickered, and she saw him struggle to compose himself, to rebuild the walls that her presence had momentarily breached.
"Your Grace." She rose, her movements stiff with the effort of maintaining her composure. "I apologise for intruding. I was not aware you would be joining us."
"I was not…...I had thought…." He stopped, his jaw tightening. "I came to speak with Rosanne. I did not know you were here."
