She would be safe from loving him.
So why did it feel as though he'd just torn out his own heart and ground it beneath his heel?
June adjusted the ribbons of her bonnet. Her traveling pelise, the same one she'd worn upon arriving at Icemere just weeks ago, hung perfectly pressed against her frame, buttoned to the throat as if the additional fabric might somehow protect herheart. How strange that dismantling a life took so little time, that hopes could be folded away like linens, dreams tucked into corners like handkerchiefs.
The drawing room felt cavernous this morning as June stood near the center, her posture perfect as it had been during countless society events where she'd hidden her true feelings behind a mask of indifference. She had perfected that skill over years; how fortunate that she could employ it now.
This was for the best, for she had known from the beginning this was not a love match.
"The carriage awaits, My Lady," Winters announced from the doorway, his dignified face betraying nothing of what must be considerable curiosity. The entire household must be wondering why their new duchess was departing mere weeks after arrival.
June nodded. "Thank you, Winters. I shall be out momentarily."
As the butler withdrew, June gathered her reticule and gloves. She had delayed as long as possible, hoping—foolishly—that Dominic might appear. But he had remained absent since their confrontation earlier that morning.
"June, my dear."
She turned to find Louisa entering the drawing room, her pale eyes damp with unshed tears. The sight pierced June's carefullyconstructed armor. She had not expected the parting from her mother-in-law to be so difficult.
Louisa crossed the room swiftly, taking June's hands in her own. "Is there truly no other way? Must you leave us?"
June squeezed the older woman's fingers gently. "I fear the differences between your son and myself are too great for us to continue living together."
"Differences?" Louisa repeated, her voice soft with disbelief. "I have never seen two people more perfectly matched in intellect and spirit."
The words struck June like a physical blow. She turned away, moving to straighten an already perfectly arranged vase of flowers on a side table.
"Sometimes intellectual compatibility is not enough," she said, focusing on the pale blooms rather than Louisa's searching gaze. "Dominic and I want different things from life."
"And what does he want that you cannot provide?" Louisa pressed. "Or what do you desire that he refuses to give?"
His heart, June thought.His trust. The chance to face whatever comes together rather than being pushed away for my own 'protection.'
But she merely said, "He has made his position clear."
Louisa moved to stand beside her, one hand coming to rest on June's arm. "My son can be stubborn to the point of foolishness," she said. "A trait he inherited from his father, I'm afraid."
"Yes, well, it appears to be a formidable Blake family trait," June replied, unable to keep a note of bitterness from her voice.
"But you are now Duchess of Icemere," Louisa said, her voice quivering slightly. "Why must you leave the castle?"
June finally turned to face her mother-in-law fully. "Dominic offered to leave," she admitted. "But I would prefer it if I do. I also wish to see my family."
The truth was more complex. She could not bear to remain at Icemere, surrounded by reminders of what might have been, watching Dominic avoid her as if she carried some contagious disease. And, more painfully, she could not stay knowing he believed himself doomed, watching him waste precious time preparing for a death that might be years away rather than living fully in the present.
"Your family," Louisa repeated softly. "Yes, I understand. But I had hoped... I had thought perhaps we might become family to each other."
The simple statement, delivered with such genuine longing, threatened to undo June's careful composure. She swallowed hard against the tightness in her throat.
"I shall write," she promised. "And this separation need not be permanent. You are my family too."
"You must know," Louisa said, "that whatever my son has said or done, he does not wish for your unhappiness."
"No," June agreed, her voice remarkably steady. "He merely wishes for my absence."
Louisa's face crumpled at this, and she pulled June into a sudden, fierce embrace. The unexpected physical contact broke something within June's carefully constructed walls. She returned the embrace, allowing herself this one moment of genuine connection before she departed.
"You are good for him," Louisa whispered against her ear. "Even if he is too stubborn to see it."
